The Gale of the World.
Language: English
Pages: 368
ISBN: B0000EEY17
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
which cannot accept anything but the earth, the sea, the tangible universe! Without the misnamed supernatural these to me seem incomplete, unfinished … As I move about in the sunshine I feel in the midst of the supernatural: in the midst of immortal things … as commonly understood, a ‘miracle’ is a mere nothing. I can conceive soul-works done by simple will or thought a thousand times greater. I marvel that they do not happen at this moment. The air, the sunlight, the night, all that surrounds me
light. If only he knew the height at which he baled out. If ten thousand feet, it would take seventy two seconds to hit the deck. He began to count from ten to thirty—allowing ten seconds to have lapsed before he started counting. At thirty he opened up, not knowing that he had been dropping into a hundred-mile updraught. The fabric held; the shock caused him temporarily to lose consciousness; then he was aware of swinging wide sometimes with legs above his head, while feeling any moment he would
the wreckage which spread away in all directions as far as could be seen. She took his hand. “Elizabeth was thinking of you, so often. I told her what happened at the cricket match, and do you know what she said? ‘It isn’t fair!’ You see, while we were all on the beach here, with Lucy and the children, Lucy told her a lot about you, and Elizabeth’s eyes were opened.” “I think I needed some shock before things could come into adjustment.” “The angels are trying all the time, Phillip.”
at Old-stone, once visited by Mornington and Laura; then he was strong enough to go for a walk; but not into Lynmouth, not under The Chains. Melissa took him by bus across the moor, and down to the shallow coast by the estuary of the Two Rivers. One morning as they walked through the sand-hills wild sweet calls came down from the sky as a gathering of curlews passed overhead to feed at the tide-line—survivors of the storm upon the moor, crying delight at the gleaming sands below. “The curlews
than the dilemma of Western man, viewed from all aspects, with sympathy and precision. For the Great War was the epitome of lovelessness in Western Civilisation. That is the theme that has long possessed me. And Laura, with her eyes haunted and compassionate, sweet girl, longs to seduce me from this death-work, seeing herself as Persephone leading me back to life from the gentian-blue halls of Dis, into which poor D. H. Lawrence entered when he died at Vence by the Mediterranean Sea in 1930.