We’re all of us on a bus, on a merry-go-round, or a tram, or a train, or a pit-trolley, or in a private car, being conveyed around the mechanisms of a materialist system. We never meet because we’ve only just got off some sort of conveyance and we’re going to get on another in half an hour. And so on, till it’s the hearse. It’s the system. I believe the English, a sufficient quantity of them, are weary of materialism and weary of hardening their hearts to keep it going. ….. We’re all afraid we’re going to be run over by the bus, so we hop on it and are carried away.