Author: W. Riley
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Excerpt from Windyridge
Yet how strange it all seems how ridiculously fantastic I cannot get away from that thought, and I am constantly asking myself whether Providence or Fate, or any other power with a capital letter at the beginning, is directing the move for my good, or whether it is just whimsicalness on my part, self originated and self-explanatory - the explanation being that I am mad, as I said before.
When I look back on the events of the last three days and realise that I have crossed my Rubicon and burned my boats behind me, and that I had no con scious intention of doing anything Of the kind when I set out, I just gasp. If I had stayed to reason with myself I should never have had the courage to pack a few things into a bag and take a third-class ticket for Airlee at King's Cross, with the avowed intention of hearing a Yorkshire choir sing in a summer festival. Yet it seems almost prophetic as I recall the incident that I declined to take a return ticket, though, to be sure, there was no advantage in doing so no reduction, I mean. Whether there was an advantage remains to be seen; I verily believe I should have returned rather than have wasted that return half. I dislike waste.
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