But unfortunately the story does not end there. During these years of war her very genuine emotions of hate were fed and nourished by war propaganda; her emotional hunger was satisfied in some measure by the daily tale of victories over the enemy. She had, as it were, ten thousand Germans for breakfast every morning. And when the War stopped, certainly something went out of her life. No one would pretend that these flaming passions of five years went for so little in her emotional experience that they could just be dropped from one day to another without something going unsatisfied. And then she cannot get coal; her projected journey to the Riviera is delayed by a railway strike; she has troubles with servants; faces a preposterous super-tax and death duties; an historical country seat can no longer be maintained and old associations must be broken up; Labour threatens revolution--or her morning paper says it does; Labour leaders say grossly unfair things about dukes. Here, indeed, is a new hostility, a new enemy tribe, on which the emotions cultivated so assiduously during five years, but hungry and unfed since the War, can once more feed and find some satisfaction. The Bolshevist, or the Labour agitator, takes the place of the Hun; the elements of enmity and disruption are already present. And something similar takes place with the miner, or labour man, in reference to the duchess and what she stands for. For him also the main problem of life had resolved itself during the War into something simple and emotional; an enemy to be fought and overcome. Not a puzzling intellectual difficulty, with all the hesitations and uncertainties of intellectual decision dependent upon sustained mental effort. The rights and wrongs were settled for him; right was our side, wrong the enemy's. What we had to do was to crush him. That done, it would be a better world, his country 'a land fit for heroes to live in.'