[ To hear Aberdeen speak at length is a rarity and Ian can't help but listen with the most rapt attention as she does, taking note of her own pauses and her accent (similar and yet different from his own). He may be intelligent, but in comparison to her, he is light years behind. He can tell you about life and all there is about language, but there's gaps in fully understanding things. Even his knowledge of Hallah Tawse lacks certain elements.
(If he's her light, than perhaps she's his darkness, a black hole that sucks every bit of a light away, making him as blind as she is when he burns through her vision.)
He doesn't let the silence stretch like he originally did and instead let's F. Scott Fitzgerald's words speak for him. (After all, he knows who that quote was about.) ]
They seemed nearer, not only mentally, but physically when they read ... Their chance was to make everything fine and finished and rich and imaginative; they must bend tiny golden tentacles from his imagination to hers, that would take the place of the great, deep love that was never so near, yet never so much of a dream.
[ He takes a quick pause before speaking again. ]
Before I go on with this short history, let me make a general observation– the test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposed ideas in the mind at the same time, and still retain the ability to function. One should, for example, be able to see that things are hopeless and yet be determined to make them otherwise. This philosophy fitted on to my early adult life, when I saw the improbable, the implausible, often the "impossible," come true.
[ He exhales and frowns before he says anything else. If she looks in love with him, he looks just as in love with her. It doesn't help that he's worried as well, but alas, he knows better than to let that show. ]
I know you don't. No one would, Hallah. I can't tell you that I can fix it, because I don't know why it's done it.
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(If he's her light, than perhaps she's his darkness, a black hole that sucks every bit of a light away, making him as blind as she is when he burns through her vision.)
He doesn't let the silence stretch like he originally did and instead let's F. Scott Fitzgerald's words speak for him. (After all, he knows who that quote was about.) ]
They seemed nearer, not only mentally, but physically when they read ... Their chance was to make everything fine and finished and rich and imaginative; they must bend tiny golden tentacles from his imagination to hers, that would take the place of the great, deep love that was never so near, yet never so much of a dream.
[ He takes a quick pause before speaking again. ]
Before I go on with this short history, let me make a general observation– the test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposed ideas in the mind at the same time, and still retain the ability to function. One should, for example, be able to see that things are hopeless and yet be determined to make them otherwise. This philosophy fitted on to my early adult life, when I saw the improbable, the implausible, often the "impossible," come true.
[ He exhales and frowns before he says anything else. If she looks in love with him, he looks just as in love with her. It doesn't help that he's worried as well, but alas, he knows better than to let that show. ]
I know you don't. No one would, Hallah. I can't tell you that I can fix it, because I don't know why it's done it.