It was stiff and had to be jiggled and persuaded a little because the frame was slightly rotten and the hinges had at some time in its life been rather sensibly painted over, but eventually it was open. A strut was found to prop it and a figure struggled out into the narrow gully between the opposing pitches of the roof. It stood and watched the sky in silence. The figure was completely unrecognizable as the wild-looking creature who had burst crazily into the cottage a little over an hour ago. Gone was the ragged threadbare dressing gown, smeared with the mud of a hundred worlds, stained with junk food condiment from a hundred grimy spaceports, gone was the tangled mane of hair, gone the long and knotted beard, flourishing ecosystem and all. Instead, there was Arthur Dent the smooth and casual, in corduroys and a chunky sweater. His hair was cropped and washed, his chin clean shaven. Only the eyes still said that whatever it was the Universe thought it was doing to him, he would still like it please to stop. They were not the same eyes with which he had last looked out at this particular scene, and the brain which interpreted the images the eyes resolved was not the same brain. There had been no surgery involved, just the continual wrenching of experience. The night seemed like an alive thing to him at this moment, the dark earth around him a being in which he was rooted. He could feel like a tingle on distant nerve ends the flood of a far river, the roll of invisible hills, the knot of heavy rainclouds parked somewhere away to the south. He could sense, too, the thrill of being a tree, which was something he hadn’t expected. He knew that it felt good to curl your toes in the earth, but he’d never realized it could feel quite as good as that. He could sense an almost unseemly wave of pleasure reaching out to him all the way from the New Forest. He must try this summer, he thought, and see what having leaves felt like. From another direction he felt the sensation of being a sheep startled by a flying saucer, but it was virtually indistinguishable from the feeling of being a sheep startled by anything else it ever encountered, for they were creatures who learned very little on their journey through life, and would be startled to see the sun rising in the morning, and astonished by all the green stuff in the fields. He was surprised to find he could feel the sheep being startled by the sun that morning, and the morning before, and being startled by a clump of trees the day before that. He could go further and further back, but it got dull because all it consisted of was sheep being startled by things they’d been startled by the day before. He left the sheep and let his mind drift outwards sleepily in developing ripples. It felt the presence of other minds, hundreds of them, thousands in a web, some sleepy, some sleeping, some terribly excited, one fractured. One fractured. 窗子很紧，必须得摇一摇劝一劝才能打开，因为窗框已经有些腐烂，而且铰链的日子也不多了。但是最终窗子还是开了。 有一根柱子撑着天窗，一个身影挣扎着爬出来，走到两个屋顶斜面中间狭窄的檐槽上。 身影站着，静静地望着天空。 我们完全认不出来那个身影了，尽管它就是一个多小时前疯狂冲进小房子的那个有着狂野外表的生物。粗糙破旧的睡衣不见了，来自一百个世界的泥污不见了，来自一百个肮脏空港的垃圾食品调味料污渍不见了，纠结的头发不见了，又长又乱的胡子不见了，身上复杂的生态系统不见了，一切的一切全都不见了。 取而代之的，是干净整洁轻松安详的阿瑟.邓特。他穿着灯芯绒裤子和肥大的毛线衫。他的头发被清理了，下巴被刮干净了。只有眼神似乎在说：无论宇宙怎么看待它对他所做的事，他仍然很希望宇宙能歇一歇。 还是同样的场景，但眼睛已然不是当年的眼睛，处理眼睛捕捉到的图像的大脑也已然不是当年的大脑了。这并不是外科手术造成的，而是生活不断磨炼的结果。 此时此刻，天空对他来说好像是个活物，他似乎扎根在周围黑暗的大地中。 他可以像感受神经末梢的刺激一样感受一切。他可以感受到远处河流的洪水，感受到看不见的群山在摇动，感受到一大团厚重的雨云在南边的某处停留。 他也可以感知，感知到一棵树的兴奋，他以前可没料到过这种兴奋。他知道把脚趾头伸进土里感觉很爽，但他从未意识到会有这么爽。他可以感知到一波快感一路从新森林（注一）传来。他今年夏天一定得试试，他想，了解一下长叶子是什么滋味。 他从另一个方向感知到了一只棉羊碰到飞碟时的震惊，但其实这跟绵羊碰到其它任何东西的震惊没有什么差别，因为它们这种生物对自己的生命旅程了解的相当少，而且会被每天早上的日出所震惊，被田间所有的绿色东西给吓到。 他很惊讶自己能够感受到这个早上绵羊被太阳惊吓的感觉，以及前一个早上绵羊被太阳惊吓的感觉，以及再前面一天绵羊被一片树林惊吓的感觉。他可以回溯得更远更远，但这变得很无聊，因为永远都是绵羊被前一天惊吓过东西再惊吓一次的感觉。 他不再理会绵羊，而让心灵波动飘向更远的地方。它感受到了其它心灵，成百上千的心灵处在一个网络中，一些心灵想睡觉，一些心灵已经睡了，一些心灵相当亢奋，一个心灵断裂了。 一个心灵断裂了。
