Волны

           Mylaughtershallmakethemtwistintheirseats;shalldrivethemhowlingbeforeme.No;theyareimmortal.Theytriumph.TheywillmakeitimpossibleformealwaystoreadCatullusinathird-classrailwaycarriage.TheywilldrivemeinOctobertotakerefugeinoneoftheuniversities,whereIshallbecomeadon;andgowithschoolmasterstoGreece;andlectureontheruinsoftheParthenon.ItwouldbebettertobreedhorsesandliveinoneofthoseredvillasthantoruninandoutoftheskullsofSophoclesandEuripideslikeamaggot,withahigh-mindedwife,oneofthoseUniversitywomen.That,however,willbemyfate.Ishallsuffer.Iamalreadyateighteencapableofsuchcontemptthathorse-breedershateme.Thatismytriumph;Idonotcompromise.Iamnottimid;Ihavenoaccent.Idonotfinickaboutfearingwhatpeoplethinkof"myfatherabankeratBrisbane"likeLouis.

           ’Nowwedrawnearthecentreofthecivilizedworld.Therearethefamiliargasometers.Therearethepublicgardensintersectedbyasphaltpaths.Therearetheloverslyingshamelesslymouthtomouthontheburntgrass.PercivalisnowalmostinScotland;histraindrawsthroughtheredmoors;heseesthelonglineoftheBorderhillsandtheRomanwall.Hereadsadetectivenovel,yetunderstandseverything.

           Thetrainslowsandlengthens,asweapproachLondon,thecentre,andmyheartdrawsouttoo,infear,inexultation.Iamabouttomeet--what?Whatextraordinaryadventurewaitsme,amongthesemailvans,theseporters,theseswarmsofpeoplecallingtaxis?Ifeelinsignificant,lost,butexultant.Withasoftshockwestop.