Волны

           Londonconsistsoffallenfactoriesandafewgasometers.AtthesametimeIamnotinvolvedinthispageantry.Iseetheviolet-sashedpriestsandthepicturesquenursemaids;Inoticeexternalsonly.Isitherelikeaconvalescent,likeaverysimplemanwhoknowsonlywordsofonesyllable."Thesunishot,"Isay."Thewindiscold."Ifeelmyselfcarriedroundlikeaninsectontopoftheearthandcouldswearthat,sittinghere,Ifeelitshardness,itsturningmovement.Ihavenodesiretogotheoppositewayfromtheearth.CouldIprolongthissenseanothersixinchesIhaveaforebodingthatIshouldtouchsomequeerterritory.ButIhaveaverylimitedproboscis.Ineverwishtoprolongthesestatesofdetachment;Idislikethem;Ialsodespisethem.Idonotwishtobeamanwhositsforfiftyyearsonthesamespotthinkingofhisnavel.Iwishtobeharnessedtoacart,avegetable-cartthatrattlesoverthecobbles.

           ’ThetruthisthatIamnotoneofthosewhofindtheirsatisfactioninoneperson,orininfinity.Theprivateroomboresme,alsothesky.Mybeingonlyglitterswhenallitsfacetsareexposedtomanypeople.LetthemfailandIamfullofholes,dwindlinglikeburntpaper.Oh,MrsMoffat,MrsMoffat,Isay,comeandsweepitallup.Thingshavedroppedfromme.Ihaveoutlivedcertaindesires;Ihavelostfriends,somebydeath--Percival--othersthroughsheerinabilitytocrossthestreet.Iamnotsogiftedasatonetimeseemedlikely.Certainthingsliebeyondmyscope.Ishallneverunderstandtheharderproblemsofphilosophy.Romeisthelimitofmytravelling.