Волны

           Lookatthegradationsofhealthycolourhereontheknuckles,hereonthepalm.Mybodyhasbeenuseddaily,rightly,likeatoolbyagoodworkman,allover.Thebladeisclean,sharp,worninthecentre.(Webattletogetherlikebeastsfightinginafield,likestagsmakingtheirhornsclash.)Seenthroughyourpaleandyieldingflesh,evenapplesandbunchesoffruitmusthaveafilmedlookasiftheystoodunderglass.Lyingdeepinachairwithoneperson,onepersononly,butonepersonwhochanges,youseeoneinchoffleshonly;itsnerves,fibres,thesullenorquickflowofbloodonit;butnothingentire.Youdonotseeahouseinagarden;ahorseinafield;atownlaidout,asyoubendlikeanoldwomanstraininghereyesoverherdarning.ButIhaveseenlifeinblocks,substantial,huge;itsbattlementsandtowers,factoriesandgasometers;adwelling-placemadefromtimeimmemorialafteranhereditarypattern.Thesethingsremainsquare,prominent,undissolvedinmymind.Iamnotsinuousorsuave;Isitamongyouabradingyoursoftnesswithmyhardness,quenchingthesilver-greyflickeringmoth-wingquiverofwordswiththegreenspurtofmycleareyes.

           ’Nowwehaveclashedourantlers.Thisisthenecessaryprelude;thesaluteofoldfriends.’

           ’Thegoldhasfadedbetweenthetrees,’saidRhoda,’andasliceofgreenliesbehindthem,elongatedlikethebladeofaknifeseenindreams,orsometaperingislandonwhichnobodysetsfoot.Nowthecarsbegintowinkandflicker,comingdowntheavenue.