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Now
the
corn
was
cut
.
Now
only
a
brisk
stubble
was
left
of
all
its
flowing
and
waving
.
Slowly
a
great
owl
launched
itself
from
the
elm
tree
and
swung
and
rose
,
as
if
on
a
line
that
dipped
,
to
the
height
of
the
cedar
.
On
the
hills
the
slow
shadows
now
broadened
,
now
shrank
,
as
they
passed
over
.
The
pool
on
the
top
of
the
moor
looked
blank
.
No
furry
face
looked
there
,
or
hoof
splashed
,
or
hot
muzzle
seethed
in
the
water
.
A
bird
,
perched
on
an
ash-coloured
twig
,
sipped
a
beak
full
of
cold
water
.
There
was
no
sound
of
cropping
,
and
no
sound
of
wheels
,
but
only
the
sudden
roar
of
the
wind
letting
its
sails
fill
and
brushing
the
tops
of
the
grasses
.
One
bone
lay
rain-pocked
and
sun-bleached
till
it
shone
like
a
twig
that
the
sea
has
polished
.
The
tree
,
that
had
burnt
foxy
red
in
spring
and
in
midsummer
bent
pliant
leaves
to
the
south
wind
,
was
now
black
as
iron
,
and
as
bare
.
The
land
was
so
distant
that
no
shining
roof
or
glittering
window
could
be
any
longer
seen
.
The
tremendous
weight
of
the
shadowed
earth
had
engulfed
such
frail
fetters
,
such
snail-shell
encumbrances
.
Now
there
was
only
the
liquid
shadow
of
the
cloud
,
the
buffeting
of
the
rain
,
a
single
darting
spear
of
sunshine
,
or
the
sudden
bruise
of
the
rainstorm
.
Solitary
trees
marked
distant
hills
like
obelisks
.
The
evening
sun
,
whose
heat
had
gone
out
of
it
and
whose
burning
spot
of
intensity
had
been
diffused
,
made
chairs
and
tables
mellower
and
inlaid
them
with
lozenges
of
brown
and
yellow
.
Lined
with
shadows
their
weight
seemed
more
ponderous
,
as
if
colour
,
tilted
,
had
run
to
one
side
.
Here
lay
knife
,
fork
and
glass
,
but
lengthened
,
swollen
,
and
made
portentous
.
Rimmed
in
a
gold
circle
the
looking-glass
held
the
scene
immobile
as
if
everlasting
in
its
eye
.
Meanwhile
the
shadows
lengthened
on
the
beach
;
the
blackness
deepened
.
The
iron
black
boot
became
a
pool
of
deep
blue
.
The
rocks
lost
their
hardness
.
The
water
that
stood
round
the
old
boat
was
dark
as
if
mussels
had
been
steeped
in
it
.
The
foam
had
turned
livid
and
left
here
and
there
a
white
gleam
of
pearl
on
the
misty
sand
.
'
Hampton
Court
,
'
said
Bernard
.
'
Hampton
Court
.
This
is
our
meeting-place
.
Behold
the
red
chimneys
,
the
square
battlements
of
Hampton
Court
.
The
tone
of
my
voice
as
I
say
"
Hampton
Court
"
proves
that
I
am
middle-aged
.
Ten
years
,
fifteen
years
ago
,
I
should
have
said
"
Hampton
Court
?
"
with
interrogation
--
what
will
it
be
like
?
Will
there
be
lakes
,
mazes
?
Or
with
anticipation
,
What
is
going
to
happen
to
me
here
?
Whom
shall
I
meet
?
Now
,
Hampton
Court
--
Hampton
Court
--
the
words
beat
a
gong
in
the
space
which
I
have
so
laboriously
cleared
with
half
a
dozen
telephone
messages
and
post
cards
,
give
off
ring
after
ring
of
sound
,
booming
,
sonorous
:
and
pictures
rise
--
summer
afternoons
,
boats
,
old
ladies
holding
their
skirts
up
,
one
urn
in
winter
,
some
daffodils
in
March
--
these
all
float
to
the
top
of
the
waters
that
now
lie
deep
on
every
scene
.
There
at
the
door
by
the
Inn
,
our
meeting-place
,
they
are
already
standing
--
Susan
,
Louis
,
Rhoda
,
Jinny
and
Neville
.
They
have
come
together
already
.
In
a
moment
,
when
I
have
joined
them
,
another
arrangement
will
form
,
another
pattern
.
What
now
runs
to
waste
,
forming
scenes
profusely
,
will
be
checked
,
stated
.
I
am
reluctant
to
suffer
that
compulsion
.
Already
at
fifty
yards
distance
I
feel
the
order
of
my
being
changed
.
The
tug
of
the
magnet
of
their
society
tells
upon
me
.
I
come
nearer
.
They
do
not
see
me
.
Now
Rhoda
sees
me
,
but
she
pretends
,
with
her
horror
of
the
shock
of
meeting
,
that
I
am
a
stranger
.
Now
Neville
turns
.
Suddenly
,
raising
my
hand
,
saluting
Neville
I
cry
,
"
I
too
have
pressed
flowers
between
the
pages
of
Shakespeare
's
sonnets
,
"
and
am
churned
up
.
My
little
boat
bobs
unsteadily
upon
the
chopped
and
tossing
waves
.
There
is
no
panacea
(
let
me
note
)
against
the
shock
of
meeting
.
'
It
is
uncomfortable
too
,
joining
ragged
edges
,
raw
edges
;
only
gradually
,
as
we
shuffle
and
trample
into
the
Inn
,
taking
coats
and
hats
off
,
does
meeting
become
agreeable
.
Now
we
assemble
in
the
long
,
bare
dining-room
that
overlooks
some
park
,
some
green
space
still
fantastically
lit
by
the
setting
sun
so
that
there
is
a
gold
bar
between
the
trees
,
and
sit
ourselves
down
.
'
'N
ow
sitting
side
by
side
,
'
said
Neville
,
'
at
this
narrow
table
,
now
before
the
first
emotion
is
worn
smooth
,
what
do
we
feel
?
Honestly
now
,
openly
and
directly
as
befits
old
friends
meeting
with
difficulty
,
what
do
we
feel
on
meeting
?
Sorrow
.
The
door
will
not
open
;
he
will
not
come
.
And
we
are
laden
.
Being
now
all
of
us
middle-aged
,
loads
are
on
us
.
Let
us
put
down
our
loads
.
What
have
you
made
of
life
,
we
ask
,
and
I
?
You
,
Bernard
;
you
,
Susan
;
you
,
Jinny
;
and
Rhoda
and
Louis
?
The
lists
have
been
posted
on
the
doors
.
Before
we
break
these
rolls
,
and
help
ourselves
to
fish
and
salad
,
I
feel
in
my
private
pocket
and
find
my
credentials
--
what
I
carry
to
prove
my
superiority
.
I
have
passed
.
