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- Джон Фоулз
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These
last
few
days
I
’
ve
felt
Godless
.
I
’
ve
felt
cleaner
,
less
muddled
,
less
blind
.
I
still
believe
in
a
God
.
But
he
’
s
so
remote
,
so
cold
,
so
mathematical
.
I
see
that
we
have
to
live
as
if
there
is
no
God
.
Prayer
and
worship
and
singing
hymns
—
all
silly
and
useless
.
I
’
m
trying
to
explain
why
I
’
m
breaking
with
my
principles
(
about
never
committing
violence
)
.
It
is
still
my
principle
,
but
I
see
you
have
to
break
principles
sometimes
to
survive
.
It
’
s
no
good
trusting
vaguely
in
your
luck
,
in
Providence
or
God
’
s
being
kind
to
you
.
You
have
to
act
and
fight
for
yourself
.
The
sky
is
absolutely
empty
.
Beautifully
pure
and
empty
.
As
if
the
architects
and
builders
would
live
in
all
the
houses
they
built
!
Or
could
live
in
them
all
.
It
’
s
obvious
,
it
stares
you
in
the
face
.
There
must
be
a
God
and
he
can
’
t
know
anything
about
us
.
(
Same
evening
.
)
I
’
ve
been
very
mean
with
him
all
day
.
Several
times
he
’
s
tried
to
speak
,
but
I
’
ve
shut
him
up
.
Did
I
want
him
to
bring
me
anything
?
I
said
,
I
want
nothing
.
I
am
your
prisoner
.
If
you
give
me
food
I
shall
eat
it
to
keep
alive
.
Our
relations
from
now
on
are
strictly
those
of
a
prisoner
and
a
warder
.
Now
please
leave
me
alone
.
Luckily
I
’
ve
plenty
to
read
.
He
’
ll
go
on
bringing
me
cigarettes
(
if
he
doesn
’
t
I
shan
’
t
ask
him
for
them
)
and
food
.
That
’
s
all
I
want
of
him
.
He
’
s
not
human
;
he
’
s
an
empty
space
disguised
as
a
human
.
November
20th
I
’
m
making
him
wish
he
never
set
eyes
on
me
.
He
brought
in
some
baked
beans
for
lunch
.
I
was
reading
on
the
bed
.
He
stood
for
a
moment
and
then
started
to
go
out
.
I
jumped
to
the
table
,
picked
up
the
plate
and
hurled
it
at
him
.
I
don
’
t
like
baked
beans
,
he
knows
it
,
I
suppose
he
’
d
been
lazy
.
I
wasn
’
t
in
a
temper
,
I
just
pretended
.
He
stood
there
with
the
filthy
little
bits
of
orange
sauce
on
his
so
-
clean
clothes
and
looking
sheepish
.
I
don
’
t
want
any
lunch
,
I
snapped
at
him
.
And
turned
my
back
.
