The river had
widened again, and they were passing a little island set like a dark
wedge in the middle of the stream. Two great white birds with red lights
on them stood there on stilt-like legs, and the beach of the island was
unmarked, save by the skeleton print of birds' feet. The branches of
the trees on the bank looked more twisted and angular than ever, and the
green of the leaves was lurid and splashed with gold. Then Hirst began
to talk, leaning over the bow.
"It makes one awfully queer, don't you find?" he complained. "These
trees get on one's nerves--it's all so crazy. God's undoubtedly mad.
What sane person could have conceived a wilderness like this, and
peopled it with apes and alligators? I should go mad if I lived
here--raving mad."
Terence attempted to answer him, but Mrs. Ambrose replied instead. She
bade him look at the way things massed themselves--look at the amazing
colours, look at the shapes of the trees. She seemed to be protecting
Terence from the approach of the others.
"Yes," said Mr. Flushing. "And in my opinion," he continued, "the
absence of population to which Hirst objects is precisely the
significant touch. You must admit, Hirst, that a little Italian
town even would vulgarise the whole scene, would detract from the
vastness--the sense of elemental grandeur." He swept his hands towards
the forest, and paused for a moment, looking at the great green mass,
which was now falling silent.
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