She
rapped at the door; there came no other sound.
She rapped
again; as if the wood thinned before her, she heard a quick breathing
from within. She did not knock again;
she laid a hand on
the door and gently pressed.
It
swung. She peered in. It was dark inside and very long and narrow
and deep. Its floor slid away, hundreds
of yards downward. There
was no end to that floor. A little
distance within the shed the
woman was sitting on the earth, where the floor began to slope. She was not alone; the occupiers of the
broken- up graves were
with her. They were massed, mostly,
about the doorway; in the
narrow space there was room for infinities.
They were standing
there, looking at their nurse, and they were hungry. The faces -- those
that were still faces -- were bleak with a dreadful starvation. The hunger of years was in them, and also a bewildered
surprise, as if they had not known they were starved till
now. The nourishment of the food of all
their lives had disappeared
at once, and a great void was in their minds and a great sickness.
They knew the void and the sickness.
Charles Williams
Descent into Hell (Ch. 11)
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