Lab
Library
Journal
Shop
Sign in
to keep
Share image
1
290
Zuleika Dobson; Or, An Oxford Love Story
·
Sir Max Beerbohm
79
It
troubled
him
that
he
could
swim.
Twice,
indeed,
from
his
yacht,
he
had
swum
the
Hellespont.
And
how
about
the
animal
instinct
of
self-preservation,
strong
even
in
despair?
No
matter!
His
soul’s
set
purpose
would
subdue
that.
The
law
of
gravitation
that
brings
one
to
the
surface?
There
his
very
skill
in
swimming
would
help
him.
He
would
swim
under
water,
along
the
river-bed,
swim
till
he
found
weeds
to
cling
to,
weird
strong
weeds
that
he
would
coil
round
him,
exulting
faintly...
As
they
turned
into
Radcliffe
Square,
the
Duke’s
ear
caught
the
sound
of
a
far-distant
gun.
He
started,
and
looked
up
at
the
clock
of
St.
Mary’s.
Half-past
four!
The
boats
had
started.
He
had
heard
that
whenever
a
woman
was
to
blame
for
a
disappointment,
the
best
way
to
avoid
a
scene
was
to
inculpate
oneself.
He
did
not
wish
Zuleika
to
store
up
yet
more
material
for
penitence.
And
so
“I
am
sorry,”
he
said.
“That
gun--did
you
hear
it?
It
was
the
signal
for
the
race.
I
shall
never
forgive
myself.”
“Then
we
shan’t
see
the
race
at
all?”
cried
Zuleika.
“It
will
be
over,
alas,
before
we
are
near
the
river.
All
the
people
will
be
coming
back
through
the
meadows.”
“Let
us
meet
them.”
“Meet
a
torrent?
Let
us
have
tea
in
my
rooms
and
go
down
quietly
for
the
other
Division.”
“Let
us
go
straight
on.”
Through
the
square,
across
the
High,
down
Grove
Street,
they
passed.
The
Duke
looked
up
at
the
tower
of
Merton,
“os
oupot
authis
alla
nyn
paunstaton.”
Strange
that
to-night
it
would
still
be
standing
here,
in
all
its
sober
and
solid
beauty--still
be
gazing,
over
the
roofs
and
chimneys,
at
the
tower
of
Magdalen,
its
rightful
bride.
Through
untold
centuries
of
the
future
it
would
stand
thus,
gaze
thus.
He
winced.
Oxford
walls
have
a
way
of
belittling
us;
and
the
Duke
was
loth
to
regard
his
doom
as
trivial.
Marker
Marker
Fine marker
White-out
Fine white-out
Circle
Paint
Unmarker
Hand
Scalpel
Dice
Sieve
Purify
Undo
Redo
Start over
