第一期。 奥兰多

He - for there could be no doubt of his sex, though the fashion of the time did something to disguise it - was in the act of slicing at the head of a Moor which swung from the rafters. Orlando's father, or perhaps his grandfather, had struck it from the shoulders of a vast Pagan in the barbarian fields of Africa; and now it swung, gently, perpetually, in the breeze which never ceased blowing through the attic rooms of the gigantic house of the lord who had slain him.

Orlando threw the window open, sat down at the table, took out a writing book labelled 'Aethelbert: A Tragedy in Five Acts,' and dipped an old stained goose quill in the ink.

Orlando was careful to avoid meeting anyone. There was Stubbs, the gardener, coming along the path. He hid behind a tree till he had passed. He let himself out at a little gate in the garden wall and gained the ferny path leading uphill through the park unseen. Orlando naturally loved solitary places, vast views, and to feel himself for ever and ever and ever alone.

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