knew that only the cipher of him was there； nothing was filled
in。 He went to the theatre； what he heard and saw fell upon a
cold surface of consciousness； which was now all that he was；
there was nothing behind it； he could have no experience of any
sort。 Mechanical registering took place in him； no more。 He had
no being； no contents。 Neither had the people he came into
contact with。 They were mere permutations of known quantities。
There was no roundness or fullness in this world he now
inhabited； everything was a dead shape mental arrangement；
without life or being。
Much of the time； he was with friends and rades。 Then he
forgot everything。 Their activities made up for his own
negation； they engaged his negative horror。
He only became happy when he drank； and he drank a good deal。
Then he was just the opposite to what he had been。 He became a
warm； diffuse； glowing cloud； in a warm； diffuse formless
fashion。 Everything melted down into a rosy glow； and he was the
glow； and everything was the glow； everybody else was the glow；
and it was very nice； very nice。 He would sing songs； it was so
nice。
Ursula went back to Beldover shut and firm。 She loved
Skrebensky； of that she was resolved。 She would allow nothing
else。
She read his long； obsessed letter about getting married and
going to India； without any par