О дивный новый мир

           Hesettoworkatoncetomakeabowandarrows.

           Therewereashtreesnearthelighthouseand,forarrowshafts,awholecopsefullofbeautifullystraighthazelsaplings.Hebeganbyfellingayoungash,cutoutsixfeetofunbranchedstem,strippedoffthebarkand,paringbyparing,shavedawaythewhitewood,asoldMitsimahadtaughthim,untilhehadastaveofhisownheight,stiffatthethickenedcentre,livelyandquickattheslendertips.Theworkgavehimanintensepleasure.AfterthoseweeksofidlenessinLondon,withnothingtodo,wheneverhewantedanything,buttopressaswitchorturnahandle,itwaspuredelighttobedoingsomethingthatdemandedskillandpatience.

           Hehadalmostfinishedwhittlingthestaveintoshape,whenherealizedwithastartthathewassinging-singing!Itwasasthough,stumblinguponhimselffromtheoutside,hehadsuddenlycaughthimselfout,takenhimselfflagrantlyatfault.Guiltilyheblushed.Afterall,itwasnottosingandenjoyhimselfthathehadcomehere.Itwastoescapefurthercontaminationbythefilthofcivilizedlife;itwastobepurifiedandmadegood;itwasactivelytomakeamends.Herealizedtohisdismaythat,absorbedinthewhittlingofhisbow,hehadforgottenwhathehadsworntohimselfhewouldconstantlyremember–poorLinda,andhisownmurderousunkindnesstoher,andthoseloathsometwins,swarminglikeliceacrossthemysteryofherdeath,insulting,withtheirpresence,notmerelyhisowngriefandrepentance,buttheverygodsthemselves.