Daniel Martin [antikvár]

The Harvest But what's wrong with that man? All afternoon (yesterday the day before yesterday and today) he's been sitting there staring at aflame he humped into me at evening as he went downstairs he said to me: 'The body dies the water clouds the soul hesitates and the wind forgets always forgets but the flame doesn't change.' He also said to me: 'You know Hove a woman who's gone away perhaps to the nether world; that's not why I seem so deserted I try to keep myself going with aflame because it doesn't change.' Then he told me the story of his life. GEORGE SEFERIS: 'Mr Stxatis Thalassinos Describes a Man' Whole sight; or all the rest is desolation. The last of a hanger ran under the eastern ridge of the combe, where it had always been too steep and stony for die plough. It was now little more dian a long spimiey, mainly of beech. The field sloped from the wall of trees, westward, a gentle bosom, down to the open gate on to Fishacre Lane. The dark coats lay there in against the hedge, covering the cider-jar and the dinner-bundle, beside the two scythes that had been used to clear the still-dewed hedge swathe much earlier that morning. Now the wheat was half cut. Lewis sat perched behind the faded carmine reaper, craning into the sea of blond stems for stones, his hand on the mower-lever, always ready to lift the blades. Captain hardly needed the reins; so many years of plodding, just so, down the new stubble next to the still-standing ears. Only at the comers did Lewis cry, softly, coaxing the old horse round. Sally, the youi^er horse, who had helped on the steeper ground, stood tethered beneath a thorn not far from the