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The
red
curtains
and
the
white
blinds
blew
in
and
out
,
flapping
against
the
edge
of
the
window
,
and
the
light
which
entered
by
flaps
and
breadths
unequally
had
in
it
some
brown
tinge
,
and
some
abandonment
as
it
blew
through
the
blowing
curtains
in
gusts
.
Here
it
browned
a
cabinet
,
there
reddened
a
chair
,
here
it
made
the
window
waver
in
the
side
of
the
green
jar
.
All
for
a
moment
wavered
and
bent
in
uncertainty
and
ambiguity
,
as
if
a
great
moth
sailing
through
the
room
had
shadowed
the
immense
solidity
of
chairs
and
tables
with
floating
wings
.
'
And
time
,
'
said
Bernard
,
'
lets
fall
its
drop
.
The
drop
that
has
formed
on
the
roof
of
the
soul
falls
.
On
the
roof
of
my
mind
time
,
forming
,
lets
fall
its
drop
.
Last
week
,
as
I
stood
shaving
,
the
drop
fell
.
I
,
standing
with
my
razor
in
my
hand
,
became
suddenly
aware
of
the
merely
habitual
nature
of
my
action
(
this
is
the
drop
forming
)
and
congratulated
my
hands
,
ironically
,
for
keeping
at
it
.
Shave
,
shave
,
shave
,
I
said
.
Go
on
shaving
.
The
drop
fell
.
All
through
the
day
's
work
,
at
intervals
,
my
mind
went
to
an
empty
place
,
saying
,
"
What
is
lost
?
What
is
over
?
"
And
"
Over
and
done
with
,
"
I
muttered
,
"
over
and
done
with
,
"
solacing
myself
with
words
.
People
noticed
the
vacuity
of
my
face
and
the
aimlessness
of
my
conversation
.
The
last
words
of
my
sentence
tailed
away
.
And
as
I
buttoned
on
my
coat
to
go
home
I
said
more
dramatically
,
"
I
have
lost
my
youth
.
"
'
It
is
curious
how
,
at
every
crisis
,
some
phrase
which
does
not
fit
insists
upon
coming
to
the
rescue
--
the
penalty
of
living
in
an
old
civilization
with
a
notebook
.
This
drop
falling
has
nothing
to
do
with
losing
my
youth
.
This
drop
falling
is
time
tapering
to
a
point
.
Time
,
which
is
a
sunny
pasture
covered
with
a
dancing
light
,
time
,
which
is
widespread
as
a
field
at
midday
,
becomes
pendant
.
Time
tapers
to
a
point
.
As
a
drop
falls
from
a
glass
heavy
with
some
sediment
,
time
falls
.
These
are
the
true
cycles
,
these
are
the
true
events
.
Then
as
if
all
the
luminosity
of
the
atmosphere
were
withdrawn
I
see
to
the
bare
bottom
.
I
see
what
habit
covers
.
I
lie
sluggish
in
bed
for
days
.
I
dine
out
and
gape
like
a
codfish
.
I
do
not
trouble
to
finish
my
sentences
,
and
my
actions
,
usually
so
uncertain
,
acquire
a
mechanical
precision
.
On
this
occasion
,
passing
an
office
,
I
went
in
and
bought
,
with
all
the
composure
of
a
mechanical
figure
,
a
ticket
for
Rome
.
'N
ow
I
sit
on
a
stone
seat
in
these
gardens
surveying
the
eternal
city
,
and
the
little
man
who
was
shaving
in
London
five
days
ago
looks
already
like
a
heap
of
old
clothes
.
London
has
also
crumbled
.
London
consists
of
fallen
factories
and
a
few
gasometers
.
At
the
same
time
I
am
not
involved
in
this
pageantry
.
I
see
the
violet-sashed
priests
and
the
picturesque
nursemaids
;
I
notice
externals
only
.
I
sit
here
like
a
convalescent
,
like
a
very
simple
man
who
knows
only
words
of
one
syllable
.
"
The
sun
is
hot
,
"
I
say
.
"
The
wind
is
cold
.
"
I
feel
myself
carried
round
like
an
insect
on
top
of
the
earth
and
could
swear
that
,
sitting
here
,
I
feel
its
hardness
,
its
turning
movement
.
I
have
no
desire
to
go
the
opposite
way
from
the
earth
.
Could
I
prolong
this
sense
another
six
inches
I
have
a
foreboding
that
I
should
touch
some
queer
territory
.
But
I
have
a
very
limited
proboscis
.
I
never
wish
to
prolong
these
states
of
detachment
;
I
dislike
them
;
I
also
despise
them
.
I
do
not
wish
to
be
a
man
who
sits
for
fifty
years
on
the
same
spot
thinking
of
his
navel
.
I
wish
to
be
harnessed
to
a
cart
,
a
vegetable-cart
that
rattles
over
the
cobbles
.
'
The
truth
is
that
I
am
not
one
of
those
who
find
their
satisfaction
in
one
person
,
or
in
infinity
.
The
private
room
bores
me
,
also
the
sky
.
My
being
only
glitters
when
all
its
facets
are
exposed
to
many
people
.
Let
them
fail
and
I
am
full
of
holes
,
dwindling
like
burnt
paper
.
Oh
,
Mrs
Moffat
,
Mrs
Moffat
,
I
say
,
come
and
sweep
it
all
up
.
Things
have
dropped
from
me
.
I
have
outlived
certain
desires
;
I
have
lost
friends
,
some
by
death
--
Percival
--
others
through
sheer
inability
to
cross
the
street
.
I
am
not
so
gifted
as
at
one
time
seemed
likely
.
Certain
things
lie
beyond
my
scope
.
I
shall
never
understand
the
harder
problems
of
philosophy
.
Rome
is
the
limit
of
my
travelling
.
As
I
drop
asleep
at
night
it
strikes
me
sometimes
with
a
pang
that
I
shall
never
see
savages
in
Tahiti
spearing
fish
by
the
light
of
a
blazing
cresset
,
or
a
lion
spring
in
the
jungle
,
or
a
naked
man
eating
raw
flesh
.
Nor
shall
I
learn
Russian
or
read
the
Vedas
.
I
shall
never
again
walk
bang
into
the
pillar-box
.
(
But
still
a
few
stars
fall
through
my
night
,
beautifully
,
from
the
violence
of
that
concussion
.
)
But
as
I
think
,
truth
has
come
nearer
.
For
many
years
I
crooned
complacently
,
"
My
children
...
my
wife
...
my
house
...
my
dog
.
"
As
I
let
myself
in
with
the
latch-key
I
would
go
through
that
familiar
ritual
and
wrap
myself
in
those
warm
coverings
.
Now
that
lovely
veil
has
fallen
.
I
do
not
want
possessions
now
.
(
Note
:
an
Italian
washer-woman
stands
on
the
same
rung
of
physical
refinement
as
the
daughter
of
an
English
duke
.
)
'
But
let
me
consider
.
The
drop
falls
;
another
stage
has
been
reached
.
Stage
upon
stage
.
And
why
should
there
be
an
end
of
stages
?
and
where
do
they
lead
?
To
what
conclusion
?
For
they
come
wearing
robes
of
solemnity
.
In
these
dilemmas
the
devout
consult
those
violet-sashed
and
sensual-looking
gentry
who
are
trooping
past
me
.
But
for
ourselves
,
we
resent
teachers
.
Let
a
man
get
up
and
say
,
"
Behold
,
this
is
the
truth
,
"
and
instantly
I
perceive
a
sandy
cat
filching
a
piece
of
fish
in
the
background
.
Look
,
you
have
forgotten
the
cat
,
I
say
.
So
Neville
,
at
school
,
in
the
dim
chapel
,
raged
at
the
sight
of
the
doctor
's
crucifix
.
