Волны

           Andmyhairisuntidy,becausewhenMrsConstabletoldmetobrushittherewasaflyinaweb,andIasked,"ShallIfreethefly?ShallIlettheflybeeaten?"SoIamlatealways.Myhairisunbrushedandthesechipsofwoodstickinit.WhenIheardyoucryIfollowedyou,andsawyouputdownyourhandkerchief,screwedup,withitsrage,withitshate,knottedinit.Butsoonthatwillcease.Ourbodiesareclosenow.Youhearmebreathe.Youseethebeetletoocarryingoffaleafonitsback.Itrunsthisway,thenthatway,sothatevenyourdesirewhileyouwatchthebeetle,topossessonesinglething(itisLouisnow)mustwaver,likethelightinandoutofthebeechleaves;andthenwords,movingdarkly,inthedepthsofyourmindwillbreakupthisknotofhardness,screwedinyourpocket-handkerchief.’

           ’Ilove,’saidSusan,’andIhate.Idesireonethingonly.Myeyesarehard.Jinny’seyesbreakintoathousandlights.Rhoda’sarelikethosepaleflowerstowhichmothscomeintheevening.Yoursgrowfullandbrimandneverbreak.ButIamalreadysetonmypursuit.Iseeinsectsinthegrass.ThoughmymotherstillknitswhitesocksformeandhemspinaforesandIamachild,IloveandIhate.’

           ’Butwhenwesittogether,close,’saidBernard,’wemeltintoeachotherwithphrases.Weareedgedwithmist.Wemakeanunsubstantialterritory.’

           ’Iseethebeetle,’saidSusan.’Itisblack,Isee;itisgreen,Isee;Iamtieddownwithsinglewords.Butyouwanderoff;youslipaway;youriseuphigher,withwordsandwordsinphrases.