I say “I will cut adrift -- I will sit on pavements and drink coffee, I will see the Southern hills; I will dream; I will take my mind out of its iron cage and let it swim.” I say all this; with energy; but shall I do it? Shan’t I peter out here, till the fountain fills again? I need solitude. I need space. I need air. I need the empty fields round me and my legs pounding along roads; and sleep.