Волны

           ’However,sinceonemustleap(totellyouthisstory),Ileap,here,atthispoint,andalightnowuponsomeperfectlycommonplaceobject--saythepokerandtongs,asIsawthemsometimelater,afterthatladywhohadmademeByronhadmarried,underthelightofonewhomIwillcallthethirdMissJones.Sheisthegirlwhowearsacertaindressexpectingoneatdinner,whopicksacertainrose,whomakesonefeel"Steady,steady,thisisamatterofsomeimportance",asoneshaves.Thenoneasks,"Howdoesshebehavetochildren?"Oneobservesthatsheisalittleclumsywithherumbrella;butmindedwhenthemolewascaughtinthetrap;andfinally,wouldnotmaketheloafatbreakfast(IwasthinkingoftheinterminablebreakfastsofmarriedlifeasIshaved)altogetherprosaic--itwouldnotsurpriseonesittingoppositethisgirltoseeadragon-flyperchedontheloafatbreakfast.Alsosheinspiredmewithadesiretoriseintheworld;alsoshemademelookwithcuriosityatthehithertorepulsivefacesofnew-bornbabies.Andthelittlefiercebeat--tick-tack,tick-tack--ofthepulseofone’smindtookonamoremajesticrhythm.IroameddownOxfordStreet.Wearethecontinuers,wearetheinheritors,Isaid,thinkingofmysonsanddaughters;andifthefeelingissograndioseastobeabsurdandoneconcealsitbyjumpingontoabusorbuyingtheeveningpaper,itisstillacuriouselementintheardourwithwhichonelacesupone’sboots,withwhichonenowaddressesoldfriendscommittedtodifferentcareers.