Волны

           Neville,afterstaringatthewindowthroughhistears,willseethroughhistears,andask,"Whopassesthewindow?"--"Whatlovelyboy?"ThisismytributetoPercival;witheredviolets,blackenedviolets.

           ’WhereshallIgothen?Tosomemuseum,wheretheykeepringsunderglasscases,wheretherearecabinets,andthedressesthatqueenshaveworn?OrshallIgotoHamptonCourtandlookattheredwallsandcourtyardsandtheseemlinessofherdedyewtreesmakingblackpyramidssymmetricallyonthegrassamongflowers?ThereshallIrecoverbeauty,andimposeorderuponmyraked,mydishevelledsoul?Butwhatcanonemakeinloneliness?AloneIshouldstandontheemptygrassandsay,Rooksfly;somebodypasseswithabag;thereisagardenerwithawheelbarrow.Ishouldstandinaqueueandsmellsweat,andscentashorribleassweat;andbehungwithotherpeoplelikeajointofmeatamongotherjointsofmeat.

           ’Hereisahallwhereonepaysmoneyandgoesin,whereonehearsmusicamongsomnolentpeoplewhohavecomehereafterlunchonahotafternoon.Wehaveeatenbeefandpuddingenoughtoliveforaweekwithouttastingfood.Thereforeweclusterlikemaggotsonthebackofsomethingthatwillcarryuson.Decorous,portly--wehavewhitehairwavedunderourhats;slimshoes;littlebags;clean-shavencheeks;hereandthereamilitarymoustache;notaspeckofdusthasbeenallowedtosettleanywhereonourbroadcloth.