hi there, it’s been a while since the last time, you don’t remember me? I’m the translator who was translating Virginia Woolf’s last novel and posthemos work “Between the acts” to english… i was dumping my questions all over you and then some good people who are generous enough give me answers, so as the last time i have a bag of questions to throw at you… wait, only one? yeah, it’s only one question this time…
what does “continuing” and “stretching his thread of life so fine” and “so fine” mean here :
“Heralded by the impetuosity of the Afghan hound, the old man entered. He
had read his paper; he was drowsy; and so sank down into the chintzcovered chair with the dog at his feet–the Afghan hound. His nose on his paws, his haunches drawn up, he looked a stone dog, a crusader’s dog, guarding even in the realms of death the sleep of his master. But the master
was not dead; only dreaming; drowsily, seeing as in a glass, its lustre spotted, himself, a young man helmeted; and a cascade falling. But no water; and the hills, like grey stuff pleated; and in the sand a hoop of ribs; a bullock maggot-eaten in the sun; and in the shadow of the rock, savages; and in his hand a gun. The dream hand clenched; the real hand lay on the chair arm, the veins swollen but only with a brownish fluid now.The door opened.
“Am I,” Isa apologized, “interrupting?”
Of course she was–destroying youth and India. It was his fault, since she had persisted in stretching his thread of life **so fine**, so far. Indeed he was grateful to her, watching her as she strolled about the room, for **continuing**. Many old men had only their India–old men in clubs, old men in rooms off
Jermyn Street. She in her striped dress **continued** him,
by SaidNadir2021