THE WAVES 
and Susan and Rhoda. This is only here ; this is only now. 
Now we lie under the currant bushes and every time the 
breeze stirs we are mottled all over. My hand is like a snake’s 
skin. My knees are pink floating islands. Your face is 
like an apple tree netted under.” 
“The heat is going,” said Bernard, “from the Jungle. 
The leaves flap black wings over us. Miss Curry has blown 
her whistle on the terrace. We must creep out from the 
awning of the currant leaves and stand upright. ‘There are 
twigs in your hair, Jinny. There is a green caterpillar on 
your neck. We must form, two by two. Miss Curry is 
taking us for a brisk walk, while Miss Hudson sits at her 
desk settling her accounts.” 
“It is dull,” said Jinny, “ walking along the high road 
with no windows to look at, with no bleared eyes of blue 
glass let into the pavement.” 
“ We must form into pairs,” said Susan, “and walk in 
order, not shuffling our feet, not lagging, with Louis going 
first to lead us, because Louis is alert and not a wool- 
gatherer.” 
“ Since I am supposed,” said Neville, “ to be too delicate 
to go with them, since I get so easily tired and then am sick, 
I will use this hour of solitude, this reprieve from con- 
versation, to coast round the putlieus of the house and 
recover. if I can, by standing on the same stair half-way 
up the landing, what I felt when I heard about the dead man 
through the swing-door last night when cook was shoving 
in and out the dampers. He was found with his throat 
cut. The apple-trec leaves became fixed in the sky; the 
moon glared; 1 was unable to lift my foot up the stair. 
He was found in the gutter. His blood gurgled down the 
gutter. His jowl was white as a dead codfish. I shall call 
this stricture, this rigidity, ¢ death among the apple trees’ 
for ever. There were the floating, pale-grey clouds; and 
the immitigable tree; the implacable tree with its greaved 
silver bark. The ripple of my life was unavailing. I was 
unable to pass by. There was an obstacle. ‘I cannot 
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