Across
this mist fled droves and droves of stars. They carried him out of
himself--out, out, out!... His upper mind then made a vehement effort
to recover equilibrium. An idea was in him that some one would
presently turn a somersault and disappear. The effort had a result, it
seemed, for the enormous thing passed slowly away again into the
caverns of his under-self, ... and he realised that he was conducting
himself in a foolish and irresponsible manner, which Minks, in
particular, would disapprove. He was staring rudely--at a shadow, or
rather, at two eyes in a shadow. With another effort--oh, how it
hurt!--he focused sight again upon surface things. It seemed his turn
to say something.
'I beg your pardon,' he stammered, 'but I thought--it seemed to me for
a moment--that I--remembered.'
The face came close as he said it. He saw it clear a moment. The
figure grew defined against the big stone fountain--the little hands
in summer cotton gloves, the eyes beneath the big brimmed hat, the
streaming veil. Then he went lost again--more gloriously than before.
Instead of the human outline in the dusky street of Bourcelles, he
stared at the host of stars, at the shimmering design of gold, at the
Pleiades, whose fingers of spun lustre swung the Net loose across the
world....
'Flung from huge Orion's hand.
Pages:
535
536
537
538
539
540
541
542
543
544
545
546
547
548
549
550
551
552
553
554
555
556
557
558
559