第65部分(第3/7 頁)

　no　longer　cared

about　anything　on　earth；　neither　man　nor　woman；　nor　God　nor

humanity。　He　had　e　to　a　stability　of　nullification。　He　did

not　care　any　more；　neither　about　his　body　nor　about　his　soul。

Only　he　would　preserve　intact　his　own　life。　Only　the　simple；

superficial　fact　of　living　persisted。　He　was　still　healthy。　He

lived。　Therefore　he　would　fill　each　moment。　That　had　always　been

his　creed。　It　was　not　instinctive　easiness：　it　was　the

inevitable　oute　of　his　nature。　When　he　was　in　the　absolute

privacy　of　his　own　life；　he　did　as　he　pleased；　unscrupulous；

without　any　ulterior　thought。　He　believed　neither　in　good　nor

evil。　Each　moment　was　like　a　separate　little　island；　isolated

from　time；　and　blank；　unconditioned　by　time。

He　lived　in　a　large　new　house　of　red　brick；　standing　outside

a　mass　of　homogeneous　red…brick　dwellings；　called　Wiggiston。

Wiggiston　was　only　seven　years　old。　It　had　been　a　hamlet　of

eleven　houses　on　the　edge　of　healthy；　half…agricultural　country。

Then　the　great　seam　of　coal　had　been　opened。　In　a　year　Wiggiston

appeared；　a　great　mass　of　pinkish　rows　of　thin；　unreal　dwellings

of　five　rooms　each。　The　streets　were　like　visions　of　pure

ugliness；　a　grey…black　macadamized　road；　asphalt　causeways；　held

in　between　a　flat　succession　of　wall；　window；　and　door；　a

new…brick　channel　that　began　nowhere；　and　ended　nowhere。

Everything　was　amorphous；　yet　everything　repeated　itself

endlessly。　Only　now　and　then；　in　one　of　the　house…windows

vegetables　or　small　groceries　were　displayed　for　sale。

In　the　middle　of　the　town　was　a　large；　open；　shapeless　space；

or　market…place；　of　black　trodden