Волны

           Theglazed,shinylookofmatchboardisstillinmyeyes.Imustwaitforfieldsandhedges,andwoodsandfields,andsteeprailwaycuttings,sprinkledwithgorsebushes,andtrucksinsidings,andtunnelsandsuburbangardenswithwomenhangingoutwashing,andthenfieldsagainandchildrenswingingongates,tocoveritover,toburyitdeep,thisschoolthatIhavehated.

           ’IwillnotsendmychildrentoschoolnorspendanightallmylifeinLondon.Hereinthisvaststationeverythingechoesandboomshollowly.Thelightisliketheyellowlightunderanawning.Jinnyliveshere.Jinnytakesherdogforwalksonthesepavements.Peoplehereshootthroughthestreetssilently.Theylookatnothingbutshop-windows.Theirheadsbobupanddownallataboutthesameheight.Thestreetsarelacedtogetherwithtelegraphwires.Thehousesareallglass,allfestoonsandglitter;nowallfrontdoorsandlacecurtains,allpillarsandwhitesteps.ButnowIpasson,outofLondonagain;thefieldsbeginagain;andthehouses,andwomenhangingwashing,andtreesandfields.Londonisnowveiled,nowvanished,nowcrumbled,nowfallen.Thecarbolicandthepitch-pinebegintolosetheirsavour.Ismellcornandturnips.Iundoapaperpackettiedwithapieceofwhitecotton.Theeggshellsslideintothecleftbetweenmyknees.Nowwestopatstationafterstation,rollingoutmilkcans.Nowwomenkisseachotherandhelpwithbaskets.NowIwillletmyselfleanoutofthewindow.Theairrushesdownmynoseandthroat--thecoldair,thesaltairwiththesmellofturnipfieldsinit.