Page 627 - sons-and-lovers

Everything seemed so different, so unreal. There seemed
no reason why people should go along the street, and hous-
es pile up in the daylight. There seemed no reason why these
things should occupy the space, instead of leaving it emp-
ty. His friends talked to him: he heard the sounds, and he
answered. But why there should be the noise of speech he
could not understand.
He was most himself when he was alone, or working
hard and mechanically at the factory. In the latter case there
was pure forgetfulness, when he lapsed from consciousness.
But it had to come to an end. It hurt him so, that things had
lost their reality. The first snowdrops came. He saw the tiny
drop-pearls among the grey. They would have given him
the liveliest emotion at one time. Now they were there, but
they did not seem to mean anything. In a few moments they
would cease to occupy that place, and just the space would
be, where they had been. Tall, brilliant tram-cars ran along
the street at night. It seemed almost a wonder they should
trouble to rustle backwards and forwards. ‘Why trouble to
go tilting down to Trent Bridges?’ he asked of the big trams.
It seemed they just as well might NOT be as be.
The realest thing was the thick darkness at night. That
seemed to him whole and comprehensible and restful. He
could leave himself to it. Suddenly a piece of paper started
near his feet and blew along down the pavement. He stood
still, rigid, with clenched fists, a flame of agony going over
him. And he saw again the sick-room, his mother, her eyes.
Unconsciously he had been with her, in her company. The
swift hop of the paper reminded him she was gone. But he

Sons and Lovers