'its dutiful confusions'

And so at last I came out of that distant night, divided between the murmurs of my little world, its dutiful confusions, and those so different (so different?) of all that between two suns abides and passes away. Never once a human voice. But the cows, when the peasants passed, crying in vain to be milked.

—Samuel Beckett, Molloy (1950, trans. Beckett w/ P. Bowles, 1955)