The Midget was Nurse Ingham, and she was in sober fact a very nice five- feet two, with everything in just proportion. It's a horrible thought.' 'You sound constipated,' said The Midget. Millions and millions of them pouring from the presses every minute. 'There are far too many people born into the world, and far too many words written. Why didn't he go on reading some of those expensive brand-new novels that his friends kept on bringing him. Anything out of the parallel was hospital profanity. But it seemed that that would spoil the symmetry of the room, and in hospitals symmetry ranked just a short head behind cleanliness and a whole length in front of Godliness. He had suggested to The Midget that she might turn his bed round a little so that he could have a new patch of ceiling to explore. There was practically nothing else he could do but look at it. He had made mathematical calculations of it and re-discovered his childhood theorems, angles, triangles. He had made guessing games of it and discovered hidden objects faces, birds, and fishes. He had made maps of the ceiling and gone exploring on them rivers, islands, and continents. He knew by heart every last minute crack on its nice clean surface. Grant lay on his high white cot and stared at the ceiling.
0 kommentar(er)
