survey of things, with the occasional prolonged observation of this or that; with sitting still. fi shing, would be like taking up years later one of those books which, as he read it, became the signal event of that time in his life. And such a book, once read, had then become (while his mind went on to other books and other concerns) an occupant, vivid and quiet in him. If one day years later he took down the book and read into it a little way, he'd fi nd it was still alive there in him. There were only a few such books. The physical book, the one that got dusty, he would dust, and put back on its shelf. a long narrow elegant isosceles triangle of blazing sunlight had been lengthening across the carpet from the lower pane in the door behind him, and had just arrived at the far edge. The room had fi lled with an early dusk of its own. The afternoon had gone by, and he eased himself out of his chair, dropping the catalogs onto the catalogs sprawling in their basket. |