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A visit to Weymouth with John Cowper Powys [ ⇒ continue... ]
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Here, with its "I am I" detached and aloof from all other
identities, with its central being separated from all traditions
except the simple power of consciousness, this detached and lonely soul,
sinking down into itself, contemplates the huge, dim, obscure mass of the
external world.
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A WINTER
SEA AND NOT A SUMMER SEA
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The girl stood by the ship's rail watching the gradual approach of the blurred shapes of houses, wharves and darkened office-buildings, as the vessel steamed to her moorings beside the entrance of the pier. Staring sadly at the water, which rose and fell amid the flickering lights, she noted with a cold, unhappy meticulousness how each
separate wave that touched the ship's side differed from all the others.
"Would anyone know," she pondered idly, as she watched new circles and oblongs and pentagons of sea-scum carried up and down on the waves, "that this is a winter sea
and not a summer sea?"
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