第87部分(第1/7 頁)

knew　that　only　the　cipher　of　him　was　there；　nothing　was　filled

in。　He　went　to　the　theatre；　what　he　heard　and　saw　fell　upon　a

cold　surface　of　consciousness；　which　was　now　all　that　he　was；

there　was　nothing　behind　it；　he　could　have　no　experience　of　any

sort。　Mechanical　registering　took　place　in　him；　no　more。　He　had

no　being；　no　contents。　Neither　had　the　people　he　came　into

contact　with。　They　were　mere　permutations　of　known　quantities。

There　was　no　roundness　or　fullness　in　this　world　he　now

inhabited；　everything　was　a　dead　shape　mental　arrangement；

without　life　or　being。

Much　of　the　time；　he　was　with　friends　and　rades。　Then　he

forgot　everything。　Their　activities　made　up　for　his　own

negation；　they　engaged　his　negative　horror。

He　only　became　happy　when　he　drank；　and　he　drank　a　good　deal。

Then　he　was　just　the　opposite　to　what　he　had　been。　He　became　a

warm；　diffuse；　glowing　cloud；　in　a　warm；　diffuse　formless

fashion。　Everything　melted　down　into　a　rosy　glow；　and　he　was　the

glow；　and　everything　was　the　glow；　everybody　else　was　the　glow；

and　it　was　very　nice；　very　nice。　He　would　sing　songs；　it　was　so

nice。

Ursula　went　back　to　Beldover　shut　and　firm。　She　loved

Skrebensky；　of　that　she　was　resolved。　She　would　allow　nothing

else。

She　read　his　long；　obsessed　letter　about　getting　married　and

going　to　India；　without　any　particular　response。　She　seemed　to

ignore　what　he　said　about　marriage。　It　did　not　e　home　to　her。

He　seemed；　throughout　the　greater　part　of　his　letter；　to　be

talking　without　much　meaning。

She　replied　to　him　pleasantly　and　easily。　She　rarely　wrote

long　letters。

I