Here my last love died. There was nothing remarkable in the manner of
its death. One day, not long before this last day in camp, as I lay awake
before reveille, in the Nissen hut, gazing into the complete blackness, amid
the deep breathing and muttering of the four other occupants, turning over
in my mind what I had to do that day -- had I put in the names of two
corporals for the weapon-training course? Should I again have the largest
number of men overstaying their leave in the batch due back that day? Could
I trust Hooper to take the candidates class out map-reading? -- as I lay in
that dark hour, I was aghast to realize that something within me, long
sickening, had quietly died, and felt as a husband might feel, who, in the
fourth year of his marriage, suddenly knew that he had no longer any desire, or
tenderness, or esteem, for a once-beloved wife; no pleasure in her company,
no wish to please, no curiosity about anything she might ever do or say or
think; no hope of setting things right, no self-reproach for the disaster. I
knew it all, the whole drab compass of marital disillusion; we had been
through it together, the army and I, from the first importunate courtship
until now, when nothing remained to us except the chill bonds of law and
duty and custom. I had played every scene in the domestic tragedy, had found
the early tiffs become more frequent, the tears less affecting, the
reconciliations less sweet, till they engendered a mood of aloofness and
cool criticism, and the growing conviction that it was not myself but the
loved one who was at fault. I caught the false notes in her voice and
learned to listen for them apprehensively; I recognized the blank, resentful
stare of incomprehension in her eyes, and the selfish, hard set of the
corners of her mouth. I learned her, as one must learn a woman one has kept
house with, day in, day out, for three and a half years; I learned her
slatternly ways, the routine and mechanism of her charm, her jealousy and
self-seeking, and her nervous trick with the fingers when she was lying. She
was stripped of all enchantment now and I knew her for an uncongenial
stranger to whom I had bound myself indissolubly in a moment of folly.

she's hot4me.

Hee hee, quonsar. Hey, I met a pug puppy the other day and thought of you... (You are the one with the big ole fawn pug, right?)

yup!

What book is this from?

I think it's Brideshead Revisited. (IIRC)

Yes, an unfortunate moment in Mr. Waugh's otherwise beautiful career. Well, that and Hollywood, but at least out of Hollywood we got The Loved One. Out of Catholicism all we got was Brideshead.

Yeah, Brideshead.

You don't like Brideshead, Omie? Admittedly not as fun as the comic novels, and I'm not too fond of the Catholicism, but I've enjoyed its depiction of certain English class each time I've read it.

(Though it didn't really make sense until re-reading it after I was in college.)

*hands out application forms to anyone interested in becoming scody's new crush*

Scoop is my personal favorite.
and by the way, how many highschoolers do you think are under the impression that Waugh was a woman?

I'm too much of a shit to be scodys crush, so I'll just slap the forms out of your hand and watch them blow away.

Scoop is a riot.

Thanks. I read Brideshead, but obviously it's time to read it again. I don't remember it at all. (One of the many pleasures of a poor memory.)

Thank you all for your interest in the affections of Ms. Scody. We will consider each of your applications carefully, with special attention paid to intellect, sense of humor, taste in whiskey, and the ability to wear porkpie hats and/or vintage glasses with panache. Please note that applications for financial aid and parking permits must be submitted separately.

Aw scody... you can't mean it.... after all we've been through together!

But hey, we've never even exchanged words and the whimper with which our world ended has recalled such fantabulous passages of prose to the minds of others, that it must have been worth it.

I'll never forget you ;)

I guess I liked Bridehead ok, but it seems like the work of a different (and less good) author. Scoop is fantastic.