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Words: 55663 in 32 pages
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On a gray, cold, soggy Tibetan plateau stood glaring at one another two white people--a man and a woman.
With the first, a group of peasants; with the second, the guides and carriers of a well-equipped exploring party.
The man wore the dress of a peasant, but around him was a leather belt--old, worn, battered--but a recognizable belt of no Asiatic pattern, and showing a heavy buckle made in twisted initials.
The woman's eye had caught the sunlight on this buckle before she saw that the heavily bearded face under the hood was white. She pressed forward to look at it.
"Where did you get that belt?" she cried, turning for the interpreter to urge her question.
The man had caught her voice, her words. He threw back his hood and looked at her, with a strange blank look, as of one listening to something far away.
"John!" she cried. "John! My Brother!"
He lifted a groping hand to his head, made a confused noise that ended in almost a shout of "Nellie!" reeled and fell backward.
No. This is what I find it so hard to realize. I am not twenty-five; I am fifty-five.
Well, as I was saying, when one comes to life again like this, and has to renew acquaintance with one's own mind, in a sudden swarming rush of hurrying memories--that is a good deal of pressure for a brain so long unused.
But when on top of that, one is pushed headlong into a world immeasurably different from the world one has left at twenty-five--a topsy-turvy world, wherein all one's most cherished ideals are found to be reversed, re-arranged, or utterly gone; where strange new facts are accompanied by strange new thoughts and strange new feelings--the pressure becomes terrific.
Nellie has suggested that I write it down, and I think for once she is right. I disagree with her on so many points that I am glad to recognize the wisdom of this idea. It will certainly be a useful process in my re-education; and relieve the mental tension.
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