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| Land's End, Cornwall |
And what can this sorrow be?
It is brewed by the earth itself. It comes from the houses on
the coast. We start transparent, and then the cloud thickens. All history
backs our pane of glass. To escape is vain.
But whether this is the right interpretation of Jacob's gloom as
he sat naked, in the sun, looking at the Land's End, it is impossible
to say; for he never spoke a word. Timmy sometimes wondered (only for a
second) whether his people bothered him.... No matter. There are things
that can't be said. Let's shake it off. Let's dry ourselves, and take
up the
first thing that comes handy....
Only half a sentence followed; but these half-sentences are like
flags set on tops of buildings to the observer of external sights down
below. What was the coast of Cornwall, with its violet scents, and
mourning emblems, and tranquil piety, but a screen happening to hang
straight behind as his mind marched up?
(JR 48-9)
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