Cossar made no answer, and his irregular footfalls went striding on.
"It isn't our youth, Cossar. They are taking things over. They are beginning upon their own emotions, their own experiences, their own way. We have made a new world, and it isn't ours. This great place———"
"I planned it," said Cossar, his face close.
"But now?"
"Ah! I have given it to my sons."
Redwood could feel the loose wave of the arm that he could not see.
"That is it. We are over—or almost over."
"Your message!"
"Yes. And then———"
"We're over."
"Well———?"
"Of course we are out of it, we two old men," said Cossar, with his familiar note of sudden anger. "Of course we are. Obviously. Each man for his own time. And now—it's their time beginning. That's all right. Excavator's gang. We do our job and go. See? That is what Death is for. We work out all our little brains and all our little emotions, and then this lot begins afresh. Fresh and fresh! Perfectly simple. What's the trouble?"
He paused to guide Redwood to some steps.
"Yes," said Redwood, "but one feels———
He left his sentence incomplete.
"That is what Death is for." He heard Cossar insisting below him. "How else could the thing be done? That is what Death is for."
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