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a bogey used to hide the other, the more significant side; the war, a gigantic world revolution set going by monomaniacs to destroy the old order of things and bring in its stead, under the illusion of liberty, a great homogeneous mass of people of all countries who are to contribute to the wealth and prosperity of a minority, an international minority of plutocrats."
This evening I had a visit from my sfollata. I was indulging in a quiet brain stretch with "Time and Western Man". Reluctantly I left Time as an inconceivable concept "strong in mystery", to face Time as an ever-present actuality,"one with the world of human emotions."
The lady desired to see me alone and took the occasion to knock at my door while Natalie was out visiting our neighbors. She came to remonstrate, tired as she was, against Natalie's letter which on returning, she found under her door. This letter Natalie had read to me: a quite justifiable protest against the state of the still unfinished refuge which the Sfollata's engineer had volunteered to construct for us. The bags had again been piled up and again they had burst. But it was quite clear what our excited sfollata thought about the matter: in war-times there could be no logical reasoning, no arguing. Such high-sounding sentiments as one's rights, one's word of honour, one's responsibilities, belonged to the past. In times of chaos it behoves us to be as pliable as possible, to accept without murmuring whatever comes our way (poor inconsistent  "Sfollata" who never ceases arraigning