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Zuleika Dobson; Or, An Oxford Love Story
·
Sir Max Beerbohm
34
Therein,
near
to
his
heart,
they
were
lying
now,
as
he
looked
out
at
the
changed
world--the
world
that
had
become
Zuleika.
“Zuleika!”
his
recurrent
murmur,
was
really
an
apostrophe
to
the
whole
world.
Piled
against
the
wall
were
certain
boxes
of
black
japanned
tin,
which
had
just
been
sent
to
him
from
London.
At
any
other
time
he
would
certainly
not
have
left
them
unopened.
For
they
contained
his
robes
of
the
Garter.
Thursday,
the
day
after
to-morrow,
was
the
date
fixed
for
the
investiture
of
a
foreign
king
who
was
now
visiting
England:
and
the
full
chapter
of
Knights
had
been
commanded
to
Windsor
for
the
ceremony.
Yesterday
the
Duke
had
looked
keenly
forward
to
his
excursion.
It
was
only
in
those
too
rarely
required
robes
that
he
had
the
sense
of
being
fully
dressed.
But
to-day
not
a
thought
had
he
of
them.
Some
clock
clove
with
silver
the
stillness
of
the
morning.
Ere
came
the
second
stroke,
another
and
nearer
clock
was
striking.
And
now
there
were
others
chiming
in.
The
air
was
confused
with
the
sweet
babel
of
its
many
spires,
some
of
them
booming
deep,
measured
sequences,
some
tinkling
impatiently
and
outwitting
others
which
had
begun
before
them.
And
when
this
anthem
of
jealous
antiphonies
and
uneven
rhythms
had
dwindled
quite
away
and
fainted
in
one
last
solitary
note
of
silver,
there
started
somewhere
another
sequence;
and
this,
almost
at
its
last
stroke,
was
interrupted
by
yet
another,
which
went
on
to
tell
the
hour
of
noon
in
its
own
way,
quite
slowly
and
significantly,
as
though
none
knew
it.
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