Хвилі

           Iamnohoarder--IshallleaveonlyacupboardofoldclotheswhenIdie--andIamalmostindifferenttotheminorvanitiesoflifewhichcauseLouissomuchtorture.ButIhavesacrificedmuch.VeinedasIamwithiron,withsilverandstreaksofcommonmud,Icannotcontractintothefirmfistwhichthoseclenchwhodonotdependuponstimulus.Iamincapableofthedenials,theheroismsofLouisandRhoda.Ishallneversucceed,evenintalk,inmakingaperfectphrase.ButIshallhavecontributedmoretothepassingmomentthananyofyou;Ishallgointomorerooms,moredifferentrooms,thananyofyou.ButbecausethereissomethingthatcomesfromoutsideandnotfromwithinIshallbeforgotten;whenmyvoiceissilentyouwillnotrememberme,saveastheechoofavoicethatoncewreathedthefruitintophrases.’

           ’Look,’saidRhoda;’listen.Lookhowthelightbecomesricher,secondbysecond,andbloomandripenesslieeverywhere;andoureyes,astheyrangeroundthisroomwithallitstables,seemtopushthroughcurtainsofcolour,red,orange,umberandqueerambiguoustints,whichyieldlikeveilsandclosebehindthem,andonethingmeltsintoanother.’

           ’Yes,’saidJinny,’oursenseshavewidened.Membranes,websofnervethatlaywhiteandlimp,havefilledandspreadthemselvesandfloatrounduslikefilaments,makingtheairtangibleandcatchinginthemfar-awaysoundsunheardbefore.’

           ’TheroarofLondon,’saidLouis,’isroundus.Motor-cars,vans,omnibusespassandrepasscontinuously.Allaremergedinoneturningwheelofsinglesound.