第9部分 (第6/7頁)
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sband with his tortured eyes and the skin
drawn tight over his face; he was as a vision to her; not a
reality。 In a vision he was buried and put away。 Then the vision
ceased; she was untroubled; time went on grey; uncoloured; like
a long journey where she sat unconscious as the landscape
unrolled beside her。 When she rocked her baby at evening; maybe
she fell into a Polish slumber song; or she talked sometimes to
herself in Polish。 Otherwise she did not think of Poland; nor of
that life to which she had belonged。 It was a great blot looming
blank in its darkness。 In the superficial activity of her life;
she was all English。 She even thought in English。 But her long
blanks and darknesses of abstraction were Polish。
So she lived for some time。 Then; with slight uneasiness; she
used half to awake to the streets of London。 She realized that
there was something around her; very foreign; she realized she
was in a strange place。 And then; she was sent away into the
country。 There came into her mind now the memory of her home
where she had been a child; the big house among the land; the
peasants of the village。
She was sent to Yorkshire; to nurse an old rector in his
rectory by the sea。 This was the first shake of the kaleidoscope
that brought in front of her eyes something she must see。 It
hurt her brain; the open country and the moors。 It hurt her and
hurt her。 Yet it forced itself upon her as something living; it
roused some potency of her childhood in her; it had some
relation to her。
There was green and silver and blue in the air about her now。
And there was a strange insistence of light