CHAPTER EIGHT

wbyaferninapothereimprovisingafewphrasestodancewiththebarrel-organagainsnatchingadetachedgaietyfromadrunkenmanthenaltogetherabsorbedbywordsthepoorshoutacrossthestreetateachother(sooutright,solusty)—yetallthewhilehavingforcentre,formagnet,ayoungmanaloneinhisroom. "Lifeiswicked—lifeisdetestable,"criedRoseShaw. Thestrangethingaboutlifeisthatthoughthenatureofitmusthavebeenapparenttoeveryoneforhundredsofyears,noonehasleftanyadequateaccountofit.ThestreetsofLondonhavetheirmapbutourpassionsareuncharted.Whatareyougoingtomeetifyouturnthiscorner? "Holbornstraightaheadofyou,"saysthepoliceman.Ah,butwhereareyougoingifinsteadofbrushingpasttheoldmanwiththewhitebeard,thesilvermedal,andthecheapviolin,youlethimgoonwithhisstory,whichendsinaninvitationtostepsomewhere,tohisroom,presumably,offQueen'sSquare,andthereheshowsyouacollectionofbirds'eggsandaletterfromthePrinceofWales'ssecretary,andthis(skippingtheintermediatestages)bringsyouonewinter'sdaytotheEssexcoast,wherethelittleboatmakesofftotheship,andtheshipsailsandyoubeholdontheskylinetheAzoresandtheflamingoesriseandthereyousitonthevergeofthemarshdrinkingrum-punch,anoutcastfromcivilization,foryouhavecommittedacrime,areinfectedwithyellowfeveraslikelyasnot,and—fillinthesketchasyoulike.AsfrequentasstreetcornersinHolbornarethesechasmsinthecontinuityofourways.Yetwekeepstraighton. RoseShaw,talkinginratheranemotionalmannertoMr.BowleyatMrs.Durrant'seveningpartyafewnightsback,saidthatlifewaswickedbecauseamancalledJimmyrefusedtomarryawomancalled(ifmemoryserves)HelenAitken. Bothwerebeautiful.Bothwereinanimate.Theovaltea-tableinvariablyseparatedthem,andtheplateofbiscuitswasallheevergaveher.Hebowedsheinclinedherhead.Theydanced.Hedanceddivinely.Theysatinthealcoveneverawordwassaid.Herpillowwaswetwithtears.KindMr.BowleyanddearRoseShawmarvelledanddeplored.BowleyhadroomsintheAlbany.Rosewasre-borneveryeveningpreciselyastheclockstruckeight.Allfourwerecivilization'striumphs,andifyoupersistthatacommandoftheEnglishlanguageispartofourinheritance,onecanonlyreplythatbeautyisalmostalwaysdumb.Malebeautyinassociationwithfemalebeautybreedsintheonlookerasenseoffear.OftenhaveIseenthem—HelenandJimmy—andlikenedthemtoshipsadrift,andfearedformyownlittlecraft.Oragain,haveyoueverwatchedfinecolliedogscouchantattwentyyards'distance?Asshepassedhimhiscuptherewasthatquiverinherflanks.Bowleysawwhatwasup-askedJimmytobreakfast.HelenmusthaveconfidedinRose.Formyownpart,Ifinditexceedinglydifficulttointerpretsongswithoutwords.AndnowJimmyfeedscrowsinFlandersandHelenvisitshospitals.Oh,lifeisdamnable,lifeiswicked,asRoseShawsaid. ThelampsofLondonupholdthedarkasuponthepointsofburningbayonets.Theyellowcanopysinksandswellsoverthegreatfour-poster.Passengersinthemail-coachesrunningintoLondonintheeighteenthcenturylookedthroughleaflessbranchesandsawitflaringbeneaththem.Thelightburnsbehindyellowblindsandpinkblinds,andabovefanlights,anddowninbasementwindows.ThestreetmarketinSohoisfiercewithlight.Rawmeat,chinamugs,andsilkstockingsblazeinit.Rawvoiceswrapthemselvesroundtheflaringgas-jets.Armsakimbo,theystandonthepavementbawling—Messrs.KettleandWilk