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The
vine
that
had
been
killed
by
last
year
's
frost
was
putting
out
a
leaf
or
two
.
She
walked
heavily
with
her
sons
across
her
meadows
.
She
went
about
the
land
attended
by
men
in
gaiters
,
pointing
with
her
stick
at
a
roof
,
at
hedges
,
at
walls
fallen
into
disrepair
.
The
pigeons
followed
her
,
waddling
,
for
the
grain
that
she
let
fall
from
her
capable
,
earthy
fingers
.
"
But
I
no
longer
rise
at
dawn
,
"
she
said
.
Then
Jinny
--
entertaining
,
no
doubt
,
some
new
young
man
.
They
reached
the
crisis
of
the
usual
conversation
.
The
room
would
be
darkened
;
chairs
arranged
.
For
she
still
sought
the
moment
.
Without
illusions
,
hard
and
clear
as
crystal
,
she
rode
at
the
day
with
her
breast
bared
.
She
let
its
spikes
pierce
her
.
When
the
lock
whitened
on
her
forehead
she
twisted
it
fearlessly
among
the
rest
.
So
when
they
come
to
bury
her
nothing
will
be
out
of
order
.
Bits
of
ribbons
will
be
found
curled
up
.
But
still
the
door
opens
.
Who
is
coming
in
?
she
asks
,
and
rises
to
meet
him
,
prepared
,
as
on
those
first
spring
nights
when
the
tree
under
the
big
London
houses
where
respectable
citizens
were
going
soberly
to
bed
scarcely
sheltered
her
love
;
and
the
squeak
of
trams
mixed
with
her
cry
of
delight
and
the
rippling
of
leaves
had
to
shade
her
languor
,
her
delicious
lassitude
as
she
sank
down
cooled
by
all
the
sweetness
of
nature
satisfied
.
Our
friends
,
how
seldom
visited
,
how
little
known
--
it
is
true
;
and
yet
,
when
I
meet
an
unknown
person
,
and
try
to
break
off
,
here
at
this
table
,
what
I
call
"
my
life
"
,
it
is
not
one
life
that
I
look
back
upon
;
I
am
not
one
person
;
I
am
many
people
;
I
do
not
altogether
know
who
I
am
--
Jinny
,
Susan
,
Neville
,
Rhoda
,
or
Louis
;
or
how
to
distinguish
my
life
from
theirs
.
'S
o
I
thought
that
night
in
early
autumn
when
we
came
together
and
dined
once
more
at
Hampton
Court
.
Our
discomfort
was
at
first
considerable
,
for
each
by
that
time
was
committed
to
a
statement
,
and
the
other
person
coming
along
the
road
to
the
meeting-place
dressed
like
this
or
that
,
with
a
stick
or
without
,
seemed
to
contradict
it
.
I
saw
Jinny
look
at
Susan
's
earthy
fingers
and
then
hide
her
own
;
I
,
considering
Neville
,
so
neat
and
exact
,
felt
the
nebulosity
of
my
own
life
blurred
with
all
these
phrases
.
He
then
boasted
,
because
he
was
ashamed
of
one
room
and
one
person
and
his
own
success
.
Louis
and
Rhoda
,
the
conspirators
,
the
spies
at
table
,
who
take
notes
,
felt
,
"
After
all
,
Bernard
can
make
the
waiter
fetch
us
rolls
--
a
contact
denied
us
.
"
We
saw
for
a
moment
laid
out
among
us
the
body
of
the
complete
human
being
whom
we
have
failed
to
be
,
but
at
the
same
time
,
can
not
forget
.
All
that
we
might
have
been
we
saw
;
all
that
we
had
missed
,
and
we
grudged
for
a
moment
the
other
's
claim
,
as
children
when
the
cake
is
cut
,
the
one
cake
,
the
only
cake
,
watch
their
slice
diminishing
.
'
However
,
we
had
our
bottle
of
wine
,
and
under
that
seduction
lost
our
enmity
,
and
stopped
comparing
.
And
,
half-way
through
dinner
,
we
felt
enlarge
itself
round
us
the
huge
blackness
of
what
is
outside
us
,
of
what
we
are
not
.
The
wind
,
the
rush
of
wheels
became
the
roar
of
time
,
and
we
rushed
--
where
?
And
who
were
we
?
We
were
extinguished
for
a
moment
,
went
out
like
sparks
in
burnt
paper
and
the
blackness
roared
.
Past
time
,
past
history
we
went
.
For
me
this
lasts
but
one
second
.
It
is
ended
by
my
own
pugnacity
.
I
strike
the
table
with
a
spoon
.
If
I
could
measure
things
with
compasses
I
would
,
but
since
my
only
measure
is
a
phrase
,
I
make
phrases
--
I
forget
what
,
on
this
occasion
.
We
became
six
people
at
a
table
in
Hampton
Court
.
We
rose
and
walked
together
down
the
avenue
.
In
the
thin
,
the
unreal
twilight
,
fitfully
like
the
echo
of
voices
laughing
down
some
alley
,
geniality
returned
to
me
and
flesh
.
Against
the
gateway
,
against
some
cedar
tree
I
saw
blaze
bright
,
Neville
,
Jinny
,
Rhoda
,
Louis
,
Susan
,
and
myself
,
our
life
,
our
identity
.
Still
King
William
seemed
an
unreal
monarch
and
his
crown
mere
tinsel
.
But
we
--
against
the
brick
,
against
the
branches
,
we
six
,
out
of
how
many
million
millions
,
for
one
moment
out
of
what
measureless
abundance
of
past
time
and
time
to
come
,
burnt
there
triumphant
.
The
moment
was
all
;
the
moment
was
enough
.
And
then
Neville
,
Jinny
,
Susan
and
I
,
as
a
wave
breaks
,
burst
asunder
,
surrendered
--
to
the
next
leaf
,
to
the
precise
bird
,
to
a
child
with
a
hoop
,
to
a
prancing
dog
,
to
the
warmth
that
is
hoarded
in
woods
after
a
hot
day
,
to
the
lights
twisted
like
white
ribbon
on
rippled
waters
.
We
drew
apart
;
we
were
consumed
in
the
darkness
of
the
trees
,
leaving
Rhoda
and
Louis
to
stand
on
the
terrace
by
the
urn
.
'
When
we
emerged
from
that
immersion
--
how
sweet
,
how
deep
!
--
and
came
to
the
surface
and
saw
the
conspirators
still
standing
there
it
was
with
some
compunction
.
We
had
lost
what
they
had
kept
.
We
interrupted
.
But
we
were
tired
,
and
whether
it
had
been
good
or
bad
,
accomplished
or
left
undone
,
the
dusky
veil
was
falling
upon
our
endeavours
;
the
lights
were
sinking
as
we
paused
for
a
moment
upon
the
terrace
that
overlooks
the
river
.
The
steamers
were
landing
their
trippers
on
the
bank
;
there
was
a
distant
cheering
,
the
sound
of
singing
,
as
if
people
waved
their
hats
and
joined
in
some
last
song
.
The
sound
of
the
chorus
came
across
the
water
and
I
felt
leap
up
that
old
impulse
,
which
has
moved
me
all
my
life
,
to
be
thrown
up
and
down
on
the
roar
of
other
people
's
voices
,
singing
the
same
song
;
to
be
tossed
up
and
down
on
the
roar
of
almost
senseless
merriment
,
sentiment
,
triumph
,
desire
.
But
not
now
.
No
!
I
could
not
collect
myself
;
I
could
not
distinguish
myself
;
I
could
not
help
letting
fall
the
things
that
had
made
me
a
minute
ago
eager
,
amused
,
jealous
,
vigilant
,
and
hosts
of
other
things
,
into
the
water
.
I
could
not
recover
myself
from
that
endless
throwing
away
,
dissipation
,
flooding
forth
without
our
willing
it
and
rushing
soundlessly
away
out
there
under
the
arches
of
the
bridge
,
round
some
clump
of
trees
or
an
island
,
out
where
sea-birds
sit
on
stakes
,
over
the
roughened
water
to
become
waves
in
the
sea
--
I
could
not
recover
myself
from
that
dissipation
.
So
we
parted
.
'
Was
this
,
then
,
this
streaming
away
mixed
with
Susan
,
Jinny
,
Neville
,
Rhoda
,
Louis
,
a
sort
of
death
?
A
new
assembly
of
elements
?
Some
hint
of
what
was
to
come
?
The
note
was
scribbled
,
the
book
shut
,
for
I
am
an
intermittent
student
.
I
do
not
say
my
lessons
by
any
means
at
the
stated
hour
.
Later
,
walking
down
Fleet
Street
at
the
rush
hour
,
I
recalled
that
moment
;
I
continued
it
.
"
Must
I
for
ever
,
"
I
said
,
"
beat
my
spoon
on
the
table-cloth
?
Shall
I
not
,
too
,
consent
?
"
The
omnibuses
were
clogged
;
one
came
up
behind
another
and
stopped
with
a
click
,
like
a
link
added
to
a
stone
chain
.
People
passed
.
'M
ultitudinous
,
carrying
attaché-cases
,
dodging
with
incredible
celerity
in
and
out
,
they
went
past
like
a
river
in
spate
.
They
went
past
roaring
like
a
train
in
a
tunnel
.
Seizing
my
chance
I
crossed
;
dived
down
a
dark
passage
and
entered
the
shop
where
they
cut
my
hair
.
I
leant
my
head
back
and
was
swathed
in
a
sheet
.
Looking-glasses
confronted
me
in
which
I
could
see
my
pinioned
body
and
people
passing
;
stopping
,
looking
,
and
going
on
indifferent
.
The
hairdresser
began
to
move
his
scissors
to
and
fro
.
I
felt
myself
powerless
to
stop
the
oscillations
of
the
cold
steel
.
So
we
are
cut
and
laid
in
swaths
,
I
said
;
so
we
lie
side
by
side
on
the
damp
meadows
,
withered
branches
and
flowering
.
We
have
no
more
to
expose
ourselves
on
the
bare
hedges
to
the
wind
and
snow
;
no
more
to
carry
ourselves
erect
when
the
gale
sweeps
,
to
bear
our
burden
upheld
;
or
stay
,
unmurmuring
,
on
those
pallid
noondays
when
the
bird
creeps
close
to
the
bough
and
the
damp
whitens
the
leaf
.
We
are
cut
,
we
are
fallen
.
We
are
become
part
of
that
unfeeling
universe
that
sleeps
when
we
are
at
our
quickest
and
burns
red
when
we
lie
asleep
.
We
have
renounced
our
station
and
lie
now
flat
,
withered
and
how
soon
forgotten
!
Upon
which
I
saw
an
expression
in
the
tail
of
the
eye
of
the
hairdresser
as
if
something
interested
him
in
the
street
.
