Philip Van Doren Stern (ed) (261 page)

"One
afternoon
I
was
in
a
very
miserable
and
distracted
state. I
could
not
attend
to
my
work.
I
went
out
into
the
garden,
and walked
up
and
down
trying
to
calm
myself.
I
opened
the
garden door
and
looked
into
the
narrow
passage
which
runs
at
the
end
of all
the
gardens
on
this
side
of
the
square.
There
was
nobody
there— except
three
children
playing
some
game
or
other.
They
were
queer, stunted
little
creatures,
and
I
turned
back
into
the
garden
and
walked into
the
study.
I
had
just
sat
down,
and
had
turned
to
my
work hoping
to
find
relief
in
it,
when
Mrs.
Sedger,
my
servant,
came
into the
room
and
cried
out,
in
an
excited
sort
of
way,
that
she
was glad
to
see
me
back
again.

"I
made
up
some
story.
I
don't
know
whether
she
believes
it.
I
suppose
she
thinks
I
have
been
mixed
up
in
something
disreputable."

"And
what
had
happened?"

"I
haven't
the
remotest
notion."

We
sat
looking
at
each
other
for
some
time.

"I
suppose
what
happened
was
just
this,"
I
said
at
last.
"Your nervous
system
had
been
in
a
very
bad
way
for
some
time.
It
broke down
utterly;
you
lost
your
memory,
your
sense
of
identity—everything.
You
may
have
spent
the
six
weeks
in
addressing
envelopes in
the
City
Road."

He
turned
to
one
of
the
books
on
the
table
and
opened
it.
Between the
leaves
there
were
the
dimmed
red
and
white
petals
of
some flower
that
looked
like
an
anemone.

"I
picked
this
flower,"
he
said,
"as
I
was
walking
down
the
path that
afternoon.
It
was
the
first
of
its
kind
to
be
in
bloom—very early.
It
was
still
in
my
hand
when
I
walked
back
into
this
room, six
weeks
later,
as
everybody
declares.
But
it
was
quite
fresh."

There
was
nothing
to
be
said.
I
kept
silent
for
five
minutes,
I suppose,
before
I
asked
him
whether
his
mind
was
an
utter
blank as
to
the
six
weeks
during
which
no
known
person
had
set
eyes
on him;
whether
he
had
no
sort
of
recollection,
however
vague.

"At
first,
nothing
at
all.
I
could
not
believe
that
more
than
a
few seconds
came
between
my
opening
the
garden
door
and
shutting
it. Then
in
a
day
or
two
there
was
a
vague
impression
that
I
had
been somewhere
where
everything
was
absolutely
right.
I
can't
say
more than
that.
No
fairyland
joys,
or
bowers
of
bliss,
or
anything
of
that kind;
no
sense
of
anything
strange
or
unaccustomed.
But
there
was
no care
there
at
all.
Est
enim
magnum
chaos."

But
that
means
"For
there
is
a
great
void,"
or
"A
great
gulf."