Capitolo 66
correlating and co-ordinating the world we live in you/he/she is finding too much
for us. Binary, telegraphs the place of penny, the special edition has
devastation finally played with our nervous systems. We am on always the
curtain, while dressing again wicker and perpetually lacerating. We launch our breakfasts; us
catches the train or 'bus from the skin of our teeth, to beat us in the
City; us I unload to Scotland or above in Paris on the business; we have lunch in
London and supper in Glasgow, Belfast or Calcutta. (You excuse the imagination.)
The ribbon clicca in our ears the last quotation in Eries perpetually; the
telephone encircles above us to moments that it brings trouble. Anything is always
happening in some place to disturb our equanimity; we lacerate opened the _Times_
with feverish alacrity, to learn that Kimberleyses or Jabez Balfour has,
fallen, that Matabelelands you/he/she has been painted red, that divides you/he/she has gone
on, or gone down, or it evaporated. Life is a tumult of excitement and
confusion. Financially, 'the tis a series to dissolve sights; personally 'the tis
a rush; socially, 'the tis a mosaic of cleverly-equipped appointments. You allow to fall out
a piece, and you can never replace him/it. You are full from next week
Monday to Saturday--business every day, what calls to like (the rescue
the mark!) every evening. Old poor ease is dead. We expedite and we expedite there
and gust eternally. One turns of morning job up to night: then
dresses and you dine: one turns of night excitement up to morning. A release
of shaken sleep, and again the capo_ of _da. Not a hour, not one minute, us
you/he/she can call ours really. A thread from a sick patient in bed in Warwickshire! A thread
from a client hard hit in Hansards! Editors without end that you/they ask more
copy! more copy! Proud to be all right Your really particular work, and 'the tis the
the life of everybody of us.
The first generation after Stephenson and the Rocket threw I cross with
it somehow. They inherited the constitutions of sound of the men on that they sat