He felt fit and
ready for any work. Life was quick in his sinews, his brain was a
weathercock, his strength was tireless. At last he had found a man's
life. He had never had a chance before. Life had been too easy and
sheltered; he had been coddled like a child; he had never roughed it
except for his own pleasure. Now he was outside this backbone of the
world with a task before him, and only his wits for his servant. Eton
and Oxford, Eton and Oxford--so it had been for generations--an
education sufficient to damn a race. Stocks was right, and he had all
along been wrong; but now he was in a fair way to taste the world's iron
and salt, and he exulted at the prospect.
It was hard walking in the nullah. In and out of great crevices the
road wound itself, on the brink of stupendous waterfalls, or in the
heart of a brushwood tangle. Soon a clear vault of sky replaced the
out-jutting crags, and he came out on a little plateau where a very cold
wind was blowing. The smell of snow was in the air, a raw smell like
salt when carried on a north wind over miles of granite crags. But on
the little tableland the moon was shining clearly. It was green with
small cloud-berries and dwarf juniper, and the rooty fragrance was for
all the world like an English bolt or a Highland pasture. Lewis flung
himself prone and buried his face among the small green leaves.
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