It was so ridiculous.
He stood staring at the water. Then he stooped and picked up a stone,
which he threw sharply at the pond. Ursula was aware of the bright moon
leaping and swaying, all distorted, in her eyes. It seemed to shoot out
arms of fire like a cuttle-fish, like a luminous polyp, palpitating
strongly before her.
And his shadow on the border of the pond, was watching for a few
moments, then he stooped and groped on the ground. Then again there was
a burst of sound, and a burst of brilliant light, the moon had exploded
on the water, and was flying asunder in flakes of white and dangerous
fire. Rapidly, like white birds, the fires all broken rose across the
pond, fleeing in clamorous confusion, battling with the flock of dark
waves that were forcing their way in. The furthest waves of light,
fleeing out, seemed to be clamouring against the shore for escape, the
waves of darkness came in heavily, running under towards the centre.
But at the centre, the heart of all, was still a vivid, incandescent
quivering of a white moon not quite destroyed, a white body of fire
writhing and striving and not even now broken open, not yet violated.
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