Your beauty, dear Edith, and your broad brow,
dear Rachel, and you, Fowler, with your firm and skilful hands, are now
almost as much to me as this hand that beats the arm of my chair. And as
little me. And the spirit that desires to know, the spirit that resolves
to do, that spirit that lives and has talked in us to-day, lived in
Athens, lived in Florence, lives on, I know, for ever....
'And you, old Sun, with your sword of flame searing these poor eyes
of Marcus for the last time of all, beware of me! You think I die--and
indeed I am only taking off one more coat to get at you. I have
threatened you for ten thousand years, and soon I warn you I shall be
coming. When I am altogether stripped and my disguises thrown away. Very
soon now, old Sun, I shall launch myself at you, and I shall reach you
and I shall put my foot on your spotted face and tug you about by your
fiery locks. One step I shall take to the moon, and then I shall leap
at you. I've talked to you before, old Sun, I've talked to you a million
times, and now I am beginning to remember. Yes--long ago, long ago,
before I had stripped off a few thousand generations, dust now
and forgotten, I was a hairy savage and I pointed my hand at you
and--clearly I remember it!--I saw you in a net.
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