Now At Last I Know Why I

She Could Give Herself Up To The Written Word As Naturally As A Good Dancer To Music Or A Fine Swimmer To Water. The Only Difficulty Was That After Finishing The Last Sentence She Was Left With A Feeling At Once Hollow And Uncomfortably Full. Exactly Like Indigestion.

And I Saw That All My Life I Had Known That This Was Going To Happen, And That I'd Been Afraid For A Long Time, I'd Been Afraid For A Long Time. There's Fear, Of Course, With Everybody. But Now It Had Grown, It Had Grown Gigantic; It Filled Me And It Filled The Whole World.

Now At Last I Know Why I Was Brought Here And What I Have To Do.

I Watched Her Die Many Times. In My Way, Not In Hers. In Sunlight, In Shadow, By Moonlight, By Candlelight. In The Long Afternoons When The House Was Empty. Only The Sun Was There To Keep Us Company. We Shut Him Out. And Why Not? Very Soon She Was As Eager For What's Called Loving As I Was - More Lost And Drowned Afterwards.

All Of A Writer That Matters Is In The Book Or Books. It Is Idiotic To Be Curious About The Person.