Волны

           ’NowIwillwalkdownOxfordStreetenvisagingaworldrentbylightning;Iwilllookatoakscrackedasunderandredwherethefloweringbranchhasfallen.IwillgotoOxfordStreetandbuystockingsforaparty.Iwilldotheusualthingsunderthelightningflash.OnthebaregroundIwillpickvioletsandbindthemtogetherandofferthemtoPercival,somethinggivenhimbyme.LooknowatwhatPercivalhasgivenme.LookatthestreetnowthatPercivalisdead.Thehousesarelightlyfoundedtobepuffedoverbyabreathofair.Recklessandrandomthecarsraceandroarandhuntustodeathlikebloodhounds.Iamaloneinahostileworld.Thehumanfaceishideous.Thisistomyliking.Iwantpublicityandviolenceandtobedashedlikeastoneontherocks.Ilikefactorychimneysandcranesandlorries.Ilikethepassingoffaceandfaceandface,deformed,indifferent.Iamsickofprettiness;Iamsickofprivacy.Irideroughwatersandshallsinkwithnoonetosaveme.

           ’Percival,byhisdeath,hasmademethispresent,hasrevealedthisterror,hasleftmetoundergothishumiliation--facesandfaces,servedoutlikesoup-platesbyscullions;coarse,greedy,casual;lookinginatshop-windowswithpendentparcels;ogling,brushing,destroyingeverything,leavingevenourloveimpure,touchednowbytheirdirtyfingers.

           ’Hereistheshopwheretheysellstockings.AndIcouldbelievethatbeautyisoncemoresetflowing.Itswhispercomesdowntheseaisles,throughtheselaces,breathingamongbasketsofcolouredribbons.