5. tring Quartet

        ell,    your eye over t tubes and trams and omnibuses, private carriages not a feure to believe, landaus    it, o t I begin to s—

        If i’s true, as t Regent Street is up, and treaty signed, and t cold for time of year, and even at t rent not a flat to be    of influenza its after effects; if I betten to e about t my glove in train; if ties of blood require me, leaning foro accept cordially tatingly—

        “Seven years since !”

        “t time in Venice.”

        “And where are you living now?”

        “ell, te afternoon suits me t, t    asking too much—”

        “But I kne once!”

        “Still, the war made a break—”

        If t ttle arro—no sooner is one laund in addition turned on tric lig a o improve and revise, stirring besides regrets, pleasures, vanities, and desires—if it’s all ts I mean, and ts, tlemen’s sail coats, and pearl tie–pins t e to t chere?

        Of    bees every minute more difficult to say     no time it happened.

        “Did you see the procession?”

        “the King looked cold.”

        “No, no, no. But ?”

        “S a    Malmesbury.”

        “o find one!”

        On trary, it seems to me pretty sure t s’s all a matter of flats and s and sea gulls, or so it seems to be for a ting e. Not t I    boast, sioo sit passive on a gilt ing t mistaken, t ively seeking somet?    t of cloaks; and gloves—ton or unbutton? tc elderly face against t ago urbane and flusaciturn and sad, as if in s tuning in te–room? ruments, ae squares u; rest tips of tand; aneous movement lift tly poise t te, t violin ts ohree—

        Flouris! tree on top of tain. Fountai; drops desd. But ters of t and deep, rader trailing er leaves, ed fis ers, no into an eddy    tion of fis t te spirals into tepping ligted under arco side, hum, hah!

        “t’s an early Mozart, of course—”

        “But tune, like all unes, makes one despair—I mean    do I mean? t’s t of music! I    to dance, laug pink cakes, yello story, no at? You said notleman opposite. . . But suppose—suppose—hush!”

        trailing . oven togetricably ingled, bound in pain and strewn in sorrow—crash!

        t sinks. Rising, t n to a dusky ipped, dras t sings, unseals my sorroes its tenderness but deftly, subtly,    until in ttern, tion, t ones unify; soar, sob, sink to rest, sorrow and joy.

        ? Remain unsatisfied? I say all’s beeled; yes; laid to rest under a coverlet of rose leaves, falling. Falling. A t, like a little parace dropped from an invisible balloon, turns, flutters     reach us.

        “No, no. I notiot’s t of music—te, you say?”

        “t—blinder eachis slippery floor.”

        Eyeless old age, grey–ands on t, being, so sternly, the red omnibus.

        “hey play! ho!”

        tongue is but a clapper. Simplicity itself. t    me are brigtle. tree flasain. Very strange, very exg.

        “ho!” hush!

        the grass.

        “If, madam, you ake my hand—”

        “Sir, I rust you . Moreover, ing urf are the shadows of our souls.”

        “t. ts dreaming into mid stream.

        “But to return. urrod on tticoat.    could I do but cry ‘Aop to fi? At o deating in t in    skull–cap and furred slippers, snatc, you kno—to    listen! the horns!”

        tleman replies so fast to tty exoing in a sob of passion, t tinguiser, flig, celestial bliss—all floated out on t ripple of tender endearment—until t first far distant, gradually sounds more and more distinctly, as if senesg t pool, lemons, lovers, and fisrumpets and supported by clarions te ararble pillars. . . tramp and trumpeting. g and gour. Firm establis. Fast foundations. Marcrod to eart ty to o peris my joy; naked advance. Bare are to none; casting no s; severe. Back to go, find treet, mark t to tarry night.

        “Good nig. You go this way?”

        “Alas. I go t.”
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