sep 21, 2011
“. . . A
poor soul gone to heaven: and on a heath beneath winking stars a fox, red reek of rapine
in his fur, with merciless bright eyes scraped in the earth, listened, scraped up the earth,
listened, scraped and scraped.
Sitting at his side Stephen solved out the problem. He proves by algebra that
Shakespeare’s ghost is Hamlet’s grandfather. Sargent peered askance through his
slanted glasses. Hockeysticks rattled in the lumberroom: the hollow knock of a ball and
calls from the field.”
Moors, math, foxes, and the dead.