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CHAPTER TWELVE

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    heardof—poorman—inRangoon.Hewillnevercomebackanymore.ButitisthegovernesseswhostarttheGreekmyth.Lookatthatforahead(theysay)—nose,yousee,straightasadart,curls,eyebrows—everythingappropriatetomanlybeautywhilehislegsandarmshavelinesonthemwhichindicateaperfectdegreeofdevelopment—theGreekscaringforthebodyasmuchasfortheface.AndtheGreekscouldpaintfruitsothatbirdspeckedatit.FirstyoureadXenophonthenEuripides.Oneday—thatwasanoccasion,byGod—whatpeoplehavesaidappearstohavesenseinit"theGreekspirit"theGreekthis,that,andtheotherthoughitisabsurd,bytheway,tosaythatanyGreekcomesnearShakespeare.Thepointis,however,thatwehavebeenbroughtupinanillusion. Jacob,nodoubt,thoughtsomethinginthisfashion,theDailyMailcrumpledinhishandhislegsextendedtheverypictureofboredom. "Butit'sthewaywe'rebroughtup,"hewenton. Anditallseemedtohimverydistasteful.Somethingoughttobedoneaboutit.Andfrombeingmoderatelydepressedhebecamelikeamanabouttobeexecuted.ClaraDurranthadlefthimatapartytotalktoanAmericancalledPilchard.AndhehadcomeallthewaytoGreeceandlefther.Theyworeevening-dresses,andtalkednonsense—whatdamnednonsense—andheputouthishandfortheGlobeTrotter,aninternationalmagazinewhichissuppliedfreeofchargetotheproprietorsofhotels. InspiteofitsramshackleconditionmodernGreeceishighlyadvancedintheelectrictramwaysystem,sothatwhileJacobsatinthehotelsitting-roomthetramsclanked,chimed,rang,rang,rangimperiouslytogetthedonkeysoutoftheway,andoneoldwomanwhorefusedtobudge,beneaththewindows.Thewholeofcivilizationwasbeingcondemned. Thewaiterwasquiteindifferenttothattoo.Aristotle,adirtyman,carnivorouslyinterestedinthebodyoftheonlyguestnowoccupyingtheonlyarm-chair,cameintotheroomostentatiously,putsomethingdown,putsomethingstraight,andsawthatJacobwasstillthere. "Ishallwanttobecalledearlyto-morrow,"saidJacob,overhisshoulder."IamgoingtoOlympia." Thisgloom,thissurrendertothedarkwaterswhichlapusabout,isamoderninvention.Perhaps,asCruttendonsaid,wedonotbelieveenough.Ourfathersatanyratehadsomethingtodemolish.Sohaveweforthematterofthat,thoughtJacob,crumplingtheDailyMailinhishand.HewouldgointoParliamentandmakefinespeeches—butwhatusearefinespeechesandParliament,onceyousurrenderaninchtotheblackwaters?Indeedtherehasneverbeenanyexplanationoftheebbandflowinourveins—ofhappinessandunhappiness.Thatrespectabilityandeveningpartieswhereonehastodress,andwretchedslumsatthebackofGray'sInn—somethingsolid,immovable,andgrotesque—isatthebackofit,Jacobthoughtprobable.ButthentherewastheBritishEmpirewhichwasbeginningtopuzzlehimnorwashealtogetherinfavourofgivingHomeRuletoIreland.WhatdidtheDailyMailsayaboutthat? Forhehadgrowntobeaman,andwasabouttobeimmersedinthings—asindeedthechambermaid,emptyinghisbasinupstairs,fingeringkeys,studs,pencils,andbottlesoftabloidsstrewnonthedressing-table,wasaware. ThathehadgrowntobeamanwasafactthatFlorindaknew,asshekneweverything,byinstinct. AndBettyFlandersevennowsuspectedit,asshereadhisletter,postedatMilan,"Tellingme,"shecomplainedtoMrs.Jarvis,"reallynothingthatIwanttoknow"butshebroodedoverit. FannyElmerfeltittodesperation.Forhewouldtakehisstickandhishatandwouldwalktothewindow,andlookperfectlyabsent-mindedandverysterntoo,shethought. "Iamgoing,"hewouldsay,"tocadgeamealofBonamy." "Anyhow,IcandrownmyselfintheThames,"Fannycried,asshehurriedpasttheFoundlingHospital. "ButtheDailyMailisn'ttobetrusted,"Jacobsaidtohimself,lookingaboutforsomethingelsetoread.Andhesighedagain,beingindeedsoprofoundlygloomythatgloommusthavebeenlodgedinhimtocloudhimatanymoment,whichwasoddinamanwhoenjoyedthingsso,wasnotmuchgiventoanalysis,butwashorriblyromantic,ofcourse,Bonamythought,inhisroomsinLincoln'sInn. "Hewillfallinlove,"thoughtBonamy."SomeGreekwomanwithastraightnose." ItwastoBonamythatJacobwrotefromPatras—toBonamywhocouldn'tloveawomanandneverreadafoolishbook. Thereareveryfewgoodbooksafterall,forwecan'tcountprofusehistories,travelsinmulecartstodiscoverthesourcesoftheNile,orthevolubilityoffiction. Ilikebookswhosevirtueisalldrawntogetherinapageortwo.Ilikesentencesthatdon'tbudgethougharmiescrossthem.Ilikewordstobehard—suchwereBonamy'sviews,andtheywonhimthehostilityofthosewhosetasteisallforthefreshgrowthsofthemorning,whothrowupthewindow,andfindthepoppiesspreadinthesun,andcan'tforbearashoutofjubilationattheastonishingfertilityofEnglishliterature.ThatwasnotBonamy'swayatall.Thathistasteinliteratureaffectedhisfriendships,andmadehimsilent,secretive,fastidious,andonlyquiteathiseasewithoneortwoyoungmenofhisownwayofthinking,wasthechargeagainsthim. ButthenJacobFlanderswasnotatallofhisownwayofthinking—farfromit,Bonamysighed,layingthethinsheetsofnotepaperonthetableandfallingintothoughta
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