Волны

           ’Inthebeginning,therewasthenursery,withwindowsopeningontoagarden,andbeyondthatthesea.Isawsomethingbrighten--nodoubtthebrasshandleofacupboard.ThenMrsConstableraisedthespongeaboveherhead,squeezedit,andoutshot,right,left,alldownthespine,arrowsofsensation.Andso,aslongaswedrawbreath,fortherestoftime,ifweknockagainstachair,atable,orawoman,wearepiercedwitharrowsofsensation--ifwewalkinagarden,ifwedrinkthiswine.Sometimesindeed,whenIpassacottagewithalightinthewindowwhereachildhasbeenborn,Icouldimplorethemnottosqueezethespongeoverthatnewbody.Then,therewasthegardenandthecanopyofthecurrantleaveswhichseemedtoencloseeverything;flowers,burninglikesparksuponthedepthsofgreen;aratwreathingwithmaggotsunderarhubarbleaf;theflygoingbuzz,buzz,buzzuponthenurseryceiling,andplatesuponplatesofinnocentbreadandbutter.Allthesethingshappeninonesecondandlastforever.Facesloom.Dashingroundthecorner."Hullo,"onesays,"there’sJinny.That’sNeville.That’sLouisingreyflannelwithasnakebelt.That’sRhoda."Shehadabasininwhichshesailedpetalsofwhiteflowers.ItwasSusanwhocried,thatdaywhenIwasinthetool-housewithNeville;andIfeltmyindifferencemelt.Nevilledidnotmelt."Therefore,"Isaid,"Iammyself,notNeville",awonderfuldiscovery.SusancriedandIfollowedher.