Wisdom Is In It

What's this? asks the other hihi.

Wisdom, says the one who ripped out the page.

It's short, says the other hihi. 

There's more on the back, says the ripper hihi.

Let's see, says the other hihi. O this looks like wisdom indeed.

They both regard the part of the text which starts half way down the page, travels left to right in a conventional manner, then drops vertically to the bottom of the page before rising and falling five times right to left ending in the left margin before making one final curve and a straight dash to the right margin after which of course there is nothing, but most tantalisingly, no full stop which suggests that the sentence continues.

If only we could read it, says the other hihi. 

If only they could, they might be disappointed.

Proust's longest sentence begins: A sofa that had risen up from dreamland between a pair of new and thoroughly substantial armchairs....

They decide to crumple the paper to furnish their nest.

The book lies under the tree, where Katherine left it.

A slight wind ruffles the pages.

Katherine, who has now visited the quarantine station toilet, remembers her book.

I must go back and retrieve it, thinks Katherine. I'll just tell them I'm going.

She opens the door of the bunkhouse.

Gaius and David are there, eating baked beans from two tins.

Two tins? says Katherine. 

I'm finishing Arthur's says Gaius. So as not to waste it.

Where is Arthur? asks Katherine.

Outside, making a phone call, says David.

I left my book behind, says Katherine. I'm going to get it. Anyone want to come with me?

Arthur has just come back in.

I'll come with you, says Arthur.

Katherine is pleased that Arthur wants to come with her.

And Arthur of course has his reasons.