Лорд Джим

Chapter 21

           Eachbladeofgrasshasitsspotonearthwhenceitdrawsitslife,itsstrength;andsoismanrootedtothelandfromwhichhedrawshisfaithtogetherwithhislife.Idon’tknowhowmuchJimunderstood;butIknowhefelt,hefeltconfusedlybutpowerfully,thedemandofsomesuchtruthorsomesuchillusionIdon’tcarehowyoucallit,thereissolittledifference,andthedifferencemeanssolittle.Thethingisthatinvirtueofhisfeelinghemattered.Hewouldnevergohomenow.Nothe.Never.Hadhebeencapableofpicturesquemanifestationshewouldhaveshudderedatthethoughtandmadeyoushuddertoo.Buthewasnotofthatsort,thoughhewasexpressiveenoughinhisway.Beforetheideaofgoinghomehewouldgrowdesperatelystiffandimmovable,withloweredchinandpoutedlips,andwiththosecandidblueeyesofhisgloweringdarklyunderafrown,asifbeforesomethingunbearable,asifbeforesomethingrevolting.Therewasimaginationinthathardskullofhis,overwhichthethickclusteringhairfittedlikeacap.Astome,Ihavenoimagination(Iwouldbemorecertainabouthimtoday,ifIhad),andIdonotmeantoimplythatIfiguredtomyselfthespiritofthelanduprisingabovethewhitecliffsofDover,toaskmewhatI—returningwithnobonesbroken,sotospeakhaddonewithmyveryyoungbrother.Icouldnotmakesuchamistake.Iknewverywellhewasofthoseaboutwhomthereisnoinquiry;Ihadseenbettermengoout,disappear,vanishutterly,withoutprovokingasoundofcuriosityorsorrow.

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