And it's all very bewildering.
As for me, I'm off.

I'm damned if I'll be shunted along any more.

And I'm thrice damned if I'll go another yard towards that sterilized New Jerusalem, either forwards or backwards.

New Jerusalem may rot, if it waits for me.

I'm not going.
So good-by! There we leave humanity, encamped in an appalling mess beside the railway-smash of love, sitting down, however, and having not a bad time, some of 'em, feeding themselves fat on the plunder: others, further down the line, with mouths green from eating grass.
But all grossly, stupidly, automatically gabbling about getting the love-service running again, the trains booked for the New Jerusalem well on the way once more.