Chapter 23 third chapter

But what exactly is a night?But only for a short period of time.What's more, the darkness faded away so quickly, and soon the birds and roosters crowed, or in the trough, like the leaves gradually changing colors, a layer of light green was soon covered.However, the coming of the night is repeated and endless.Winter has stored up a great deal of night, and with its indefatigable fingers, distributes them equally and evenly.They stretch longer, they get darker.On some nights, the planets are clearly visible, high in the sky like shiny disks of gold.The autumn trees, though withered, shone like tattered banners in the dark, cold church crypts, where gold letters carved on marble pages described how men died in war, and how their bones lay in the sands of India. Whitened and burned.The autumn trees shone slightly under the yellow moonlight, and the moonlight of the harvest season made the labor vigorous and vigorous, made the field ridges where the wheat was cut smooth and flat, and brought the waves to the coast, dyeing it a piece of blue. .

The holy God, now as if moved by the penitence and industry of man, drew back the curtain to reveal something unique and distinct behind it: the erect hare, the ebbing waves, the tossing boat; if we deserve our reward, they Should be ours forever.But, alas, the divine truth drew the curtain and closed the curtain; it did not please him; he covered his treasures with a hailstorm, smashed and disturbed them as if they would never recover, and we Nor can their fragments ever be put together into a perfect whole, nor can the words of truth be seen clearly in those scattered fragments.For our penitence has but a fleeting glance; our industry deserves but a moment's respite.

Now, these nights are full of wind and destruction: tree trunks shake and bend; leaves fly here and there until they smear lawns, fill gullies, clog water pipes, and fill wet paths.The waves in the sea piled up, and the waves splashed in all directions.If any insomniac fancied that he might find on the beach the answer to his doubts, someone to share his solitude with, he would throw off the covers and wander alone on the sand, but he could not find that very alert, Always ready to serve his shadow, come to make the night orderly, make the world reflect the course of the heart.The slender hand shrank and disappeared in his palm; the voice rang in his ears.what happened?for what?where?The solitary sleeper is drawn to these questions, and lies in bed seeking an answer, and it seems that in the midst of all this chaos, it is almost useless to ask them to the dark night.

[Mr Ramsay staggers along the corridor one gloomy morning, with his arms stretched out, but Mrs Ramsay, who had died suddenly the night before, stretches out his arms, but no one joins them his arms. 〕