Волны

           Letusgobacktogether,overthebridge,undertheelmtrees,tomyroom,where,withwallsroundusandredsergecurtainsdrawn,wecanshutoutthesedistractingvoices,scentsandsavoursoflimetrees,andotherlives;thesepertshop-girls,disdainfullytripping,theseshuffling,heavy-ladenoldwomen;thesefurtiveglimpsesofsomevagueandvanishingfigure--itmightbeJinny,itmightbeSusan,orwasthatRhodadisappearingdowntheavenue?Again,fromsomeslighttwitchIguessyourfeeling;Ihaveescapedyou;Ihavegonebuzzinglikeaswarmofbees,endlesslyvagrant,withnoneofyourpoweroffixingremorselesslyuponasingleobject.ButIwillreturn.’

           ’Whentherearebuildingslikethese,’saidNeville,’Icannotendurethatthereshouldbeshop-girls.Theirtitter,theirgossip,offendsme;breaksintomystillness,andnudgesme,inmomentsofpurestexultation,torememberourdegradation.

           ’Butnowwehaveregainedourterritoryafterthatbriefbrushwiththebicyclesandthelimescentandthevanishingfiguresinthedistractedstreet.Herewearemastersoftranquillityandorder;inheritorsofproudtradition.Thelightsarebeginningtomakeyellowslitsacrossthesquare.Mistsfromtheriverarefillingtheseancientspaces.Theycling,gently,tothehoarystone.Theleavesnowarethickincountrylanes,sheepcoughinthedampfields;buthereinyourroomwearedry.Wetalkprivately.Thefireleapsandsinks,makingsomeknobbright.

           ’YouhavebeenreadingByron.Youhavebeenmarkingthepassagesthatseemtoapproveofyourowncharacter.