Хвилі

           Butthereisachainwhirlinground,round,inasteel-bluecirclebeneath.’

           ’Itishate,itislove,’saidSusan.Thatisthefuriouscoal-blackstreamthatmakesusdizzyifwelookdownintoit.Westandonaledgehere,butifwelookdownweturngiddy.’

           ’Itislove,’saidJinny,’itishate,suchasSusanfeelsformebecauseIkissedLouisonceinthegarden;becauseequippedasIam,ImakeherthinkwhenIcomein,"Myhandsarered,"andhidethem.Butourhatredisalmostindistinguishablefromourlove.’

           ’Yettheseroaringwaters,’saidNeville,’uponwhichwebuildourcrazyplatformsaremorestablethanthewild,theweakandinconsequentcriesthatweutterwhen,tryingtospeak,werise;whenwereasonandjerkoutthesefalsesayings,"Iamthis;Iamthat!"Speechisfalse.

           ’ButIeat.IgraduallyloseallknowledgeofparticularsasIeat.Iambecomingweigheddownwithfood.Thesedeliciousmouthfulsofroastduck,fitlypiledwithvegetables,followingeachotherinexquisiterotationofwarmth,weight,sweetandbitter,pastmypalate,downmygullet,intomystomach,havestabilizedmybody.Ifeelquiet,gravity,control.Allissolidnow.Instinctivelymypalatenowrequiresandanticipatessweetnessandlightness,somethingsugaredandevanescent;andcoolwine,fittingglove-likeoverthosefinernervesthatseemtotremblefromtheroofofmymouthandmakeitspread(asIdrink)intoadomedcavern,greenwithvineleaves,musk-scented,purplewithgrapes.NowIcanlooksteadilyintothemill-racethatfoamsbeneath.