So much I dare
say, though I go back on nothing I said to you then about the keeping up
of decent barriers. Only being Christmas-night-soft I give myself the
licence of a holiday--for once. The night is clear as glass and the city
rises in a great semicircle, pierced by and outlined in twinkling lights,
right up to the ring of forts crowning the hills, where the sky begins--a
sky smothered in stars. I have been out, on deck, looking at it all, at
the black masts and funnels of the ships ranging to right and left
against the glare of the town, and at the oily, black water, thick with
floating filth and garbage and with wandering reflections like jewels and
precious metals on the surface of it--the rummiest mixture of fair and
foul. And then, all that faded out somehow--and I saw black water again,
but clean this time and with no reflections, under a close-drawn veil of
falling rain; and I felt to lift you out of the boat and carry you in
across the lawn and up to your room. And then I could not hold out
against temptation any longer, but came here into my cabin and sat down
to write to you.
Pages:
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420