‘King’ James Malley: Genesis

By | 1 December 2010

WHETHER we listen with aloof amusement to the dreamlike
mumbo jumbo of some red-eyed witch doctor of the Congo, or
read with cultivated rapture thin translations from the sonnets
of the mystic Lao-tse; now and again crack the hard nutshell of
an argument of Aquinas, or catch suddenly the shining meaning
of a bizarre Eskimo fairy tale: it will be always the one, shape-
shifting yet marvellously constant story that we find, together
with a challengingly persistent suggestion of more remaining
to be experienced than will ever be known or told.
This is a story of long ago.
The snow in the mountains was melting and Bunny
It was a queer, sultry summer, the summer

WILL you look at us by the river!
Here it is again, light hoisting its terrible bells.
He – for there could be no doubt of his sex,

OLD DUDLEY folded into the chair he was gradually molding
WHEN he was nearly thirteen, my brother Jem got his arm

You know how I always seem to be struggling, even when the situ-
ation doesn’t call for it?




[Morning-room of Lord Windermere’s house in Carlton House Terrace.

Doors C. and R. Bureau with books and papers R. Sofa with small tea-

table L. Window opening on to terrace L. Table R.]

[LADY WINDERMERE is at table R., arranging roses in a blue bowl.]

[Enter PARKER.]

PARKER: Is your ladyship at home this afternoon?
Modern thought has realized considerable progress
THERE WERE ninety-seven New York advertising
men in the hotel,

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