Хвилі

           ButMissLambertwearsanopaquedress,thatfallsinacascadefromhersnow-whiteruffleasshesitsunderapictureofQueenAlexandrapressingonewhitefingerfirmlyonthepage.Andwepray.’

           ’Nowwemarch,twobytwo,’saidLouis,’orderly,processional,intochapel.Ilikethedimnessthatfallsasweenterthesacredbuilding.Iliketheorderlyprogress.Wefilein;weseatourselves.Weputoffourdistinctionsasweenter.Ilikeitnow,when,lurchingslightly,butonlyfromhismomentum,DrCranemountsthepulpitandreadsthelessonfromaBiblespreadonthebackofthebrasseagle.Irejoice;myheartexpandsinhisbulk,inhisauthority.Helaysthewhirlingdustcloudsinmytremulous,myignominiouslyagitatedmind--howwedancedroundtheChristmastreeandhandingparcelstheyforgotme,andthefatwomansaid,"Thislittleboyhasnopresent,"andgavemeashinyUnionJackfromthetopofthetree,andIcriedwithfury--toberememberedwithpity.Nowallislaidbyhisauthority,hiscrucifix,andIfeelcomeovermethesenseoftheearthunderme,andmyrootsgoingdownanddowntilltheywrapthemselvesroundsomehardnessatthecentre.Irecovermycontinuity,ashereads.Ibecomeafigureintheprocession,aspokeinthehugewheelthatturning,atlasterectsme,hereandnow.Ihavebeeninthedark;Ihavebeenhidden;butwhenthewheelturns(ashereads)IriseintothisdimlightwhereIjustperceive,butscarcely,kneelingboys,pillarsandmemorialbrasses.Thereisnocrudityhere,nosuddenkisses.