Волны

           Iputintoconcreteformmanythingsthatwehaddimlyobservedaboutourcommonfriends.Imademytransitionseasily.Butnowletmeaskmyselfthefinalquestion,asIsitoverthisgreyfire,withitsnakedpromontoriesofblackcoal,whichofthesepeopleamI?Itdependssomuchupontheroom.WhenIsaytomyself,"Bernard",whocomes?Afaithful,sardonicman,disillusioned,butnotembittered.Amanofnoparticularageorcalling.Myself,merely.Itishewhonowtakesthepokerandrattlesthecinderssothattheyfallinshowersthroughthegrate."Lord,"hesaystohimself,watchingthemfall,"whatapother!"andthenheadds,lugubriously,butwithsomesenseofconsolation,"MrsMoffatwillcomeandsweepitallup--"IfancyIshalloftenrepeattomyselfthatphrase,asIrattleandbangthroughlife,hittingfirstthissideofthecarriage,thentheother,"Oh,yes,MrsMoffatwillcomeandsweepitallup."Andsotobed.’

           ’Inaworldwhichcontainsthepresentmoment,’saidNeville,’whydiscriminate?Nothingshouldbenamedlestbysodoingwechangeit.Letitexist,thisbank,thisbeauty,andI,foroneinstant,steepedinpleasure.Thesunishot.Iseetheriver.Iseetreesspeckedandburntintheautumnsunlight.Boatsfloatpast,throughthered,throughthegreen.Farawayabelltolls,butnotfordeath.Therearebellsthatringforlife.Aleaffalls,fromjoy.Oh,Iaminlovewithlife!Lookhowthewillowshootsitsfinespraysintotheair!Lookhowthroughthemaboatpasses,filledwithindolent,withunconscious,withpowerfulyoungmen.