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I
went
back
to
the
kitchen
.
I
erected
the
kerosene
stove
I
had
brought
on
top
of
the
useless
electric
cooker
and
got
busy
.
When
I
’
d
finished
laying
the
places
at
the
small
table
in
the
sitting
room
the
effect
seemed
to
me
fairly
good
.
I
fetched
a
few
candles
and
candlesticks
to
complete
it
,
and
set
them
ready
.
Of
Josella
there
was
still
no
visible
sign
,
though
there
had
been
sounds
of
running
water
some
little
time
ago
.
I
called
her
.
"
Just
coming
,
"
she
answered
.
I
wandered
across
to
the
window
and
looked
out
.
Quite
consciously
I
began
saying
good
-
by
to
it
all
.
The
sun
was
low
.
Towers
,
spires
,
and
facades
of
Portland
stone
were
white
or
pink
against
the
dimming
sky
.
More
fires
had
broken
out
here
and
there
.
The
smoke
climbed
in
big
black
smudges
,
sometimes
with
a
lick
of
flame
at
the
bottom
of
them
.
Quite
likely
,
I
told
myself
,
I
would
never
in
my
life
again
see
any
of
these
familiar
buildings
after
tomorrow
.
There
might
be
a
time
when
one
would
be
able
to
come
back
—
but
not
to
the
same
place
.
Fires
and
weather
would
have
worked
on
it
;
it
would
be
visibly
dead
and
abandoned
.
But
now
,
at
a
distance
,
it
could
still
masquerade
as
a
living
city
.
My
father
once
told
me
that
before
Hitler
’
s
war
he
used
to
go
round
London
with
his
eyes
more
widely
open
than
ever
before
,
seeing
the
beauties
of
buildings
that
be
had
never
noticed
before
—
and
saying
good
-
by
to
them
.
And
now
I
had
a
similar
feeling
.
But
this
was
something
worse
.
Much
more
than
anyone
could
have
hoped
for
had
survived
that
war
—
but
this
was
an
enemy
they
would
not
survive
,
it
was
not
wanton
smashing
and
willful
burning
that
they
waited
for
this
time
:
it
was
simply
the
long
,
slow
,
inevitable
course
of
decay
and
collapse
.
Standing
there
,
and
at
that
time
,
my
heart
still
resisted
what
my
head
was
telling
me
.
Still
I
had
the
feeling
that
it
was
all
something
too
big
,
too
unnatural
really
to
happen
.
Yet
I
knew
that
it
was
by
no
means
the
first
time
that
it
had
happened
.
The
corpses
of
other
great
cities
are
lying
buried
in
deserts
and
obliterated
by
the
jungles
of
Asia
.
Some
of
them
fell
so
long
ago
that
even
their
names
have
gone
with
them
.
But
to
those
who
lived
there
their
dissolution
can
have
seemed
no
more
probable
or
possible
than
the
necrosis
of
a
great
modem
city
seemed
to
me
.
.
.
It
must
be
,
I
thought
,
one
of
the
race
’
s
most
persistent
and
comforting
hallucinations
to
trust
that
"
it
can
’
t
happen
here
"
-
that
one
’
s
own
little
time
and
place
is
beyond
cataclysms
.
And
now
it
was
happening
here
.
Unless
there
should
be
some
miracle
,
I
was
looking
on
the
beginning
of
the
end
of
London
—
and
very
likely
,
it
seemed
,
there
were
other
men
,
not
unlike
me
,
who
were
looking
at
the
beginning
of
the
end
of
New
York
,
Paris
,
San
Francisco
,
Buenos
Aires
,
Bombay
,
and
all
the
rest
of
the
cities
that
were
destined
to
go
the
way
of
those
others
under
the
jungles
.
I
was
still
looking
out
when
a
sound
of
movement
came
from
behind
me
.
