| 657 | 658 | 659 | 660 | 661 |
| 1 | 236 | 472 | 708 | 944 |
|
We do not gain our footing at once in unknown depths.
There are routs of ideas, as there are routs of armies. The rally is not
immediate.
We feel as it were scattered--as though some strange evaporation of self
were taking place.
God is the arm, chance is the sling, man is the pebble. How are you to
resist, once flung?
Gwynplaine, if we may coin the expression, ricocheted from one surprise
to another. After the love letter of the duchess came the revelation in
the Southwark dungeon.
In destiny, when wonders begin, prepare yourself for blow upon blow. The
gloomy portals once open, prodigies pour in. A breach once made in the
wall, and events rush upon us pell-mell. The marvellous never comes
singly.
The marvellous is an obscurity. The shadow of this obscurity was over
Gwynplaine. What was happening to him seemed unintelligible. He saw
everything through the mist which a deep commotion leaves in the mind,
like the dust caused by a falling ruin. The shock had been from top to
bottom. Nothing was clear to him. However, light always returns by
degrees. The dust settles. Moment by moment the density of astonishment
659
Page
Quick Jump
|