Mr Claudius Patton
From: Claudius Patton <firstname.lastname@example.org>
Date: Aug 26, 2006 5:06 PM
We are the discoverers of an unknown
land. There is abristling of chimneys and towers. Now I will wrap
my agony inside my pocket-handkerchief. Let them count out their
tortoise-shells, their red admirals and cabbage whites. The waves
close over us, the beechleaves meet above our heads. And not only
from natural evils will man be largely free. The lady sits between
the two long windows, writing. I see a crimson tassel, said Jinny,
twisted with gold threads.
The other, painfullystumbles among
hot stones in the desert. I raised my head from my flower-pot and
looked through a chink inthe hedge. Now I will wrap my agony inside
my pocket-handkerchief. Thatis our founder; our illustrious founder,
standing in the courtyardwith one foot raised. The black bars on
the clock face are green oases. I hatewandering and mixing things
together. Look at the table-cloth, flying white along the table,
saidRhoda. Now Miss Hudson, said Rhoda, has shut the book. Miss
Curry has blown her whistle on theterrace. I will plant alighthouse
here, a head of Sweet Alice. Now Mrs Constable pulls up her thick
black stockings, said Susan.
A caterpillar is curled in a green
ring, said Susan, notchedwith blunt feet. The horrible ceremony
is over, the tips, and the good-byesin the hall. The scaffoldings
and work-sheds of the Open Conspiracy may fareviolently in that
tornado. I am a boy ingrey flannels with a belt fastened by a brass
snake up here. She danced in flecked with diamonds light as dust.
This is denounced as imperialism, and regarded as criminal. Everybody
seems to be doing things for this moment only; and neveragain. The
heat is going, said Bernard, from the Jungle. All these releases
are plainly possible forhim. I am relieved of hard contacts and
collisions. But I am pale; I am neat, and my knickerbockers are
drawn togetherby a belt with a brass snake.
Here is Rhoda on the path rockingpetals
to and fro in her brown basin. The wavesrise; their crests curl;
look at the lights on the mastheads. He is like the seaweed hung
outsidethe window, damp now, now dry. Up here my eyes are green
leaves, unseeing. Suddenly a bee booms in my ear, said Neville.
The black bars on the clock face are green oases. Miss Curryspreads
wide the black book on the harmonium. Jinnys eyes break into a thousand