第93部分(第3/7 頁)

stined　to　find　the　bottom　of　all　things

to…day：　the　bottom　of　all　things。　Well；　at　any　rate　she　was

walking　along　the　bottom…most　bed……she　was　quite　safe：

quite　safe；　if　she　had　to　go　on　and　on　for　ever；　seeing　this　was

the　very　bottom；　and　there　was　nothing　deeper。　There　was　nothing

deeper；　you　see；　so　one　could　not　but　feel　certain；　passive。

She　arrived　home　at　last。　The　climb　up　the　hill　to　Beldover

had　been　very　trying。　Why　must　one　climb　the　hill？　Why　must　one

climb？　Why　not　stay　below？　Why　force　one's　way　up　the　slope？　Why

force　one's　way　up　and　up；　when　one　is　at　the　bottom？　Oh；　it　was

very　trying；　very　wearying；　very　burdensome。　Always　burdens；

always；　always　burdens。　Still；　she　must　get　to　the　top　and　go

home　to　bed。　She　must　go　to　bed。

She　got　in　and　went　upstairs　in　the　dusk　without　its　being

noticed　she　was　in　such　a　sodden　condition。　She　was　too　tired　to

go　downstairs　again。　She　got　into　bed　and　lay　shuddering　with

cold；　yet　too　apathetic　to　get　up　or　call　for　relief。　Then

gradually　she　became　more　ill。

She　was　very　ill　for　a　fortnight；　delirious；　shaken　and

racked。　But　always；　amid　the　ache　of　delirium；　she　had　a　dull

firmness　of　being；　a　sense　of　permanency。　She　was　in　some　way

like　the　stone　at　the　bottom　of　the　river；　inviolable　and

unalterable；　no　matter　what　storm　raged　in　her　body。　Her　soul

lay　still　and　permanent；　full　of　pain；　but　itself　for　ever。

Under　all　her　illness；　persisted　a　deep；　inalterable

knowledge。

She　knew；　and　she　cared　no　more。　Throughout　her　illness；

distorted　into　vague　forms；　persisted　the　question　of　herself

and　Skrebensky；　like　a　gnawin