4
The strange shock of the bedroom, the strange new thing springing out from it ... the clear soft bright tones, the bright white light streaming through the clear muslin, the freshness of the walls ... the flattened dumpy shapes of dark green bedroom crockery gleaming in a corner; the little green bowl standing in the middle of the white spread of the dressing table cover ... wild violets with green leaves and tendrils put there by somebody with each leaf and blossom standing separate ... touching your heart; joy, looking from the speaking pale mauve little flowers to the curved rim of the green bowl and away to the green crockery in the corner; again and again the fresh shock of the violets ... the little cold change in the room after the books, strange fresh bindings and fascinating odd shapes and sizes, gave out their names ... The White Boat—Praxiter—King Chance—Mrs. Prendergast’s Palings ... the promise of them in their tilted wooden case by the bedside table from every part of the room, their unchanged names, the chill of the strange sentences inside—like a sort of code written for people who understood, written at something, clever raised voices in a cold world. In Mrs. Prendergast’s Palings there were cockney conversations spelt as they were spoken. None of the books were about ordinary people ... three men, seamen, alone, getting swamped in a boat in shallow water in sight of land ... a man and a girl he had no right to be with wandering on the sands, the cold wash and sob of the sea; her sudden cold salt tears; the warmth of her shuddering body. Praxiter beginning without telling you anything, about the thoughts of an irritating contemptuous superior man, talking at the expense of everybody. Nothing in any of them about anything one knew or felt; casting you off ... giving a chill ache to the room. To sit ... alone, reading in the white light, amongst the fresh colours—but not these books. To go downstairs was a sacrifice: coming back there would be the lighting of the copper candlestick, twisting beautifully up from its stout stem. What made it different to ordinary candlesticks? What? It was like ... a gesture.