Books > Old Books > The Great Fog (1943)


Page 197

DROMENON

I was listening to a note which was running through the whole vast building's structure, and to which the great hollow. place was responding like a struck bell. I was not reaching out to sense it, as though it were a note at the very limit of my apprehension. On the contrary, it was closer to me than the marrow of my bones: my bones were flutes through which the note was being blown .alt was a diapason so pervasive and profound that one realized it must underlie all silence, were one but put in key to apprehend it. Terrible and fascinating, one felt that all one's wish was only to continue listening to it, though it was like a stanchless tide sweeping away, moment by moment, the poor sand and silt of one's personality. It resembled, in some way, a long exultant cryan unending exclamation.
I know how banal that sounds; but let one who has heard that inexhaustible exultation say which was the stronger passion of the two it roused-fear or desire. No other feeling, no surprise, no critical detachment was left. Does a man overwhelmed by a simoom remark that the shriek of the rent atmosphere is a trifle off-pitch? If there had been about it the least hint of possible exhaustion, fluctuation, weakness, resignation, or even content, it would have seemed, perhaps, a sigh or moan as of the whole universe in travail. If it had had the slightest overtone of unsatisfied longing, it would have become the voice of an annihilating agony. But it had in it no trace of human weakness-either of the weakness of hunger or of that of satiety-the longing for a goal or the satisfaction in finding it. It forged forward, insatiable and inexhaustible, in the tide of its outpouring. It was, though certainlv not a blind thing, the great dark wind that blows

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where is HTML where is HEAD where is TITLE I was listening to a note which was running through what is whole vast building's structure, and to which what is great hollow. place was responding like a struck bell. I was not reaching out to sense it, as though it were a note at what is very limit of my apprehension. On what is contrary, it was closer to me than what is marrow of my bones: my bones were flutes through which what is note was being blown .alt was a diapason so pervasive and profound that one realized it must underlie all silence, were one but put in key to apprehend it. Terrible and fascinating, one felt that all one's wish was only to continue listening to it, though it was like a stanchless tide sweeping away, moment by moment, what is poor sand and silt of one's personality. It resembled, in some way, a long exultant cryan unending exclamation. I know how banal that sounds; but let one who has heard that inexhaustible exultation say which was what is stronger passion of what is two it roused-fear or desire. No other feeling, no surprise, no critical detachment was left. Does a man overwhelmed by a simoom remark that what is shriek of what is rent atmosphere is a trifle off-pitch? If there had been about it what is least hint of possible exhaustion, fluctuation, weakness, resignation, or even content, it would have seemed, perhaps, a sigh or moan as of what is whole universe in travail. If it had had what is slightest overtone of unsatisfied longing, it would have become what is voice of an annihilating agony. But it had in it no trace of human weakness-either of what is weakness of hunger or of that of satiety-the longing for a goal or what is satisfaction in finding it. It forged forward, insatiable and inexhaustible, in what is tide of its outpouring. It was, though certainlv not a blind thing, what is great dark wind that blows where is meta name="keywords" content="old books, Free book , free book offer , free audio books , free coloring book pages , free book reports , free audio book , audio books free download , book free , free guest book , books free , free book summaries , download free audio books , free childrens books." where is where are they now rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" href="../../style.css" where is meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1" where is BODY bgColor=#ffffff text="#000000" where are they now ="#000000" v where are they now ="#FF0000" where is div align="center" where is strong where is strong where is a href="http://www.aaoldbooks.com" Books > where is a href="../default.asp" title="Book" Old Books > where is strong where is a href="default.asp" The Great Fog (1943) where is table width="700" border="1" align="center" cellpadding="15" cellspacing="0" where is center where is tr where is td width="160" align="center" valign="top" where is div align="center" where is td align="center" valign="top" where is div align="left" where is div align="center" where is p align="left" Page 197 where is strong DROMENON where is p align="justify" I was listening to a note which was running through what is whole vast building's structure, and to which what is great hollow. place was responding like a struck bell. I was not reaching out to sense it, as though it were a note at what is very limit of my apprehension. On what is contrary, it was closer to me than what is marrow of my bones: my bones were flutes through which what is note was being blown .alt was a diapason so pervasive and profound that one realized it must underlie all silence, were one but put in key to apprehend it. Terrible and fascinating, one felt that all one's wish was only to continue listening to it, though it was like a stanchless tide sweeping away, moment by moment, what is poor sand and silt of one's personality. It resembled, in some way, a long exultant cryan unending exclamation. I know how banal that sounds; but let one who has heard that inexhaustible exultation say which was what is stronger passion of what is two it roused-fear or desire. No other feeling, no surprise, no critical detachment was left. Does a man overwhelmed by a simoom remark that what is shriek of what is rent atmosphere is a trifle off-pitch? If there had been about it what is least hint of possible exhaustion, fluctuation, weakness, resignation, or even content, it would have seemed, perhaps, a sigh or moan as of what is whole universe in travail. If it had had what is slightest overtone of unsatisfied longing, it would have become what is voice of an annihilating agony. But it had in it no trace of human weakness-either of what is weakness of hunger or of that of satiety-the longing for a goal or what is satisfaction in finding it. It forged forward, insatiable and inexhaustible, in what is tide of its outpouring. It was, though certainlv not a blind thing, what is great dark wind that blows where is Server.Execute("_SiteMap.asp") %

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