I rage when I think of such a piece of physical excellence marred and dimmed by our harsh English struggle.

And all for what?
For a commonplace, make-believe art, vulgarising in the long run both to the artist and the public! There is a sense of tragic waste about it.

Suppose London destroys her health--there are some signs of it--what a futile, ironical pathos there would be in it.

I long to step in, to "have at" somebody, to stop it.
'A little incident later on threw a curious light upon her.

We had moved on to the other side of the pond and were basking in the fir-wood.