Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Chapter Ninety Nine: In which our hero discovers the limitations of pathos ...
There is a full moon and the bright air is filled with frost.
In the nearby wood, owls cry and foxes yelp.
Imagine a darkened bedroom in which an exhausted trucker lays down in the hope that sleep will come quickly, but there is a chill in the air and he reluctantly shifts himself in search of some socks because his feet won’t warm up.
The loved one brings in her own little heart-shaped hot-water bottle and she settles down for the night in comfort, on her side of the bed, whereupon, if you had been listening, you might have heard him telling her that,
“In an ideal world, you would curl yourself around my feet !”
And after her contemptuous snort, you might just have caught her monosyllabic rejection, projected as if towards a badly behaved dog.
In the nearby wood, owls cry and foxes yelp.
Imagine a darkened bedroom in which an exhausted trucker lays down in the hope that sleep will come quickly, but there is a chill in the air and he reluctantly shifts himself in search of some socks because his feet won’t warm up.
The loved one brings in her own little heart-shaped hot-water bottle and she settles down for the night in comfort, on her side of the bed, whereupon, if you had been listening, you might have heard him telling her that,
“In an ideal world, you would curl yourself around my feet !”
And after her contemptuous snort, you might just have caught her monosyllabic rejection, projected as if towards a badly behaved dog.
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