‘Cold water begins to run from the scullery tap,’ said Rhoda, ‘over the mackerel in the bowl.’
#Eye nose lip pure music windows
‘Look at the house,’ said Jinny, ‘with all its windows white with blinds.’ ‘The beast stamps the elephant with its foot chained the great brute on the beach stamps,’ said Louis. ‘Birds are singing up and down and in and out all round us,’ said Susan. ‘Now the cock crows like a spurt of hard, red water in the white tide,’ said Bernard. ‘The back of my hand burns,’ said Jinny, ‘but the palm is clammy and damp with dew.’ ‘I feel each one, round or pointed, separately.’ ‘Stones are cold to my feet,’ said Neville. ‘And burning lights from the window-panes flash in and out on the grasses,’ said Louis. ‘The grey-shelled snail draws across the path and flattens the blades behind him,’ said Rhoda. ‘A caterpillar is curled in a green ring,’ said Susan, ‘notched with blunt feet.’ ‘The stalks are covered with harsh, short hairs,’ said Jinny, ‘and drops of water have stuck to them.’ ‘The birds’ eyes are bright in the tunnels between the leaves,’ said Neville. ‘Islands of light are swimming on the grass,’ said Rhoda. ‘A shadow falls on the path,’ said Louis, ‘like an elbow bent.’
‘The leaves are gathered round the window like pointed ears,’ said Susan. ‘It has beads of water on it, drops of white light.’ ‘Look at the spider’s web on the corner of the balcony,’ said Bernard. ‘I see a crimson tassel,’ said Jinny, ‘twisted with gold threads.’ ‘I see a globe,’ said Neville, ‘hanging down in a drop against the enormous flanks of some hill.’ ‘I hear a sound,’ said Rhoda, ‘cheep, chirp cheep chirp going up and down.’ ‘I see a slab of pale yellow,’ said Susan, ‘spreading away until it meets a purple stripe.’ It quivers and hangs in a loop of light.’ ‘I see a ring,’ said Bernard, ‘hanging above me. The birds sang their blank melody outside. The blind stirred slightly, but all within was dim and unsubstantial. The sun sharpened the walls of the house, and rested like the tip of a fan upon a white blind and made a blue finger-print of shadow under the leaf by the bedroom window. One bird chirped high up there was a pause another chirped lower down. The light struck upon the trees in the garden, making one leaf transparent and then another. Slowly the arm that held the lamp raised it higher and then higher until a broad flame became visible an arc of fire burnt on the rim of the horizon, and all round it the sea blazed gold. The surface of the sea slowly became transparent and lay rippling and sparkling until the dark stripes were almost rubbed out.
Gradually the fibres of the burning bonfire were fused into one haze, one incandescence which lifted the weight of the woollen grey sky on top of it and turned it to a million atoms of soft blue. Then she raised her lamp higher and the air seemed to become fibrous and to tear away from the green surface flickering and flaming in red and yellow fibres like the smoky fire that roars from a bonfire.
Behind it, too, the sky cleared as if the white sediment there had sunk, or as if the arm of a woman couched beneath the horizon had raised a lamp and flat bars of white, green and yellow spread across the sky like the blades of a fan. Gradually the dark bar on the horizon became clear as if the sediment in an old wine-bottle had sunk and left the glass green. The wave paused, and then drew out again, sighing like a sleeper whose breath comes and goes unconsciously. Gradually as the sky whitened a dark line lay on the horizon dividing the sea from the sky and the grey cloth became barred with thick strokes moving, one after another, beneath the surface, following each other, pursuing each other, perpetually.Īs they neared the shore each bar rose, heaped itself, broke and swept a thin veil of white water across the sand. The sea was indistinguishable from the sky, except that the sea was slightly creased as if a cloth had wrinkles in it. Be sure to check the copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing this file. This eBook was produced by: Don Lainson laws are changing all over the world. It is the writer’s most experimental novel, being structured in the form of soliloquies of the six protagonists of the story The Waves by Virginia Woolf The Waves is a novel by Virginia Woolf, first published in 1931.
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