Хвилі

           Ihadnotthoughtofhimformonths.Nowtolaughwithhim,tolaughwithhimatNeville--thatwaswhatIwanted,towalkoffarm-in-armtogetherlaughing.Buthewasnotthere.Theplacewasempty.

           ’Itisstrangehowthedeadleapoutonusatstreetcorners,orindreams.

           ’ThisfitfulgustblowingsosharpandcolduponmesentmethatnightacrossLondontovisitotherfriends,RhodaandLouis,desiringcompany,certainty,contact.Iwondered,asImountedthestairs,whatwastheirrelationship?Whatdidtheysayalone?Ifiguredherawkwardwiththetea-kettle.Shegazedovertheslateroofs--thenymphofthefountainalwayswet,obsessedwithvisions,dreaming.Shepartedthecurtaintolookatthenight."Away!"shesaid."Themoorisdarkbeneaththemoon."Irang;Iwaited.Louisperhapspouredoutmilkinasaucerforthecat;Louis,whosebonyhandsshutlikethesidesofadockclosingthemselveswithaslowanguishofeffortuponanenormoustumultofwaters,whoknewwhathasbeensaidbytheEgyptian,theIndian,bymenwithhighcheek-bonesandsolitairesinhairshirts.Iknocked:Iwaited;therewasnoanswer.Itrampeddownthestonestairsagain.Ourfriends--howdistant,howmute,howseldomvisitedandlittleknown.AndI,too,amdimtomyfriendsandunknown;aphantom,sometimesseen,oftennot.Lifeisadreamsurely.Ourflame,thewill-o’-the-wispthatdancesinafeweyes,issoontobeblownoutandallwillfade.Irecalledmyfriends.IthoughtofSusan.Shehadboughtfields.Cucumbersandtomatoesripenedinherhothouses.