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- Стр. 1359/1581
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He
was
looking
at
her
as
he
would
have
looked
if
a
strange
woman
had
approached
him
on
the
street
with
a
personal
confession
—
a
look
like
the
equivalent
of
the
words
:
Why
tell
it
to
me
?
Her
voice
trailed
off
.
He
had
not
known
what
the
destruction
of
a
person
would
be
like
;
but
he
knew
that
he
was
seeing
the
destruction
of
Lillian
.
He
saw
it
in
the
collapse
of
her
face
,
in
the
sudden
slackening
of
features
,
as
if
there
were
nothing
to
hold
them
together
,
in
the
eyes
,
blind
,
yet
staring
,
staring
inward
,
filled
with
that
terror
which
no
outer
threat
can
equal
.
It
was
not
the
look
of
a
person
losing
her
mind
,
but
the
look
of
a
mind
seeing
total
defeat
and
,
in
the
same
instant
,
seeing
her
own
nature
for
the
first
time
—
the
look
of
a
person
seeing
that
after
years
of
preaching
non
-
existence
,
she
had
achieved
it
.
He
turned
to
go
.
His
mother
stopped
him
at
the
door
,
seizing
his
arm
.
With
a
look
of
stubborn
bewilderment
,
with
the
last
of
her
effort
at
self
-
deceit
,
she
moaned
in
a
voice
of
tearfully
petulant
reproach
,
"
Are
you
really
incapable
of
forgiveness
?
"
"
No
,
Mother
,
"
he
answered
,
"
I
’
m
not
.
I
would
have
forgiven
the
past
—
if
,
today
,
you
had
urged
me
to
quit
and
disappear
.
"
There
was
a
cold
wind
outside
,
tightening
his
overcoat
about
him
like
an
embrace
,
there
was
the
great
,
fresh
sweep
of
country
stretching
at
the
foot
of
the
hill
,
and
the
clear
,
receding
sky
of
twilight
.
Like
two
sunsets
ending
the
day
,
the
red
glow
of
the
sun
was
a
straight
,
still
band
in
the
west
,
and
the
breathing
red
band
in
the
east
was
the
glow
of
his
mills
.
The
feel
of
the
steering
wheel
under
his
hands
and
of
the
smooth
highway
streaming
past
,
as
he
sped
to
New
York
,
had
an
oddly
bracing
quality
.
It
was
a
sense
of
extreme
precision
and
of
relaxation
,
together
,
a
sense
of
action
without
strain
,
which
seemed
inexplicably
youthful
—
until
he
realized
that
this
was
the
way
he
had
acted
and
had
expected
always
to
act
,
in
his
youth
—
and
what
he
now
felt
was
like
the
simple
,
astonished
question
:
Why
should
one
ever
have
to
act
in
any
other
manner
?
It
seemed
to
him
that
the
skyline
of
New
York
,
when
it
rose
before
him
,
had
a
strangely
luminous
clarity
,
though
its
shapes
were
veiled
by
distance
,
a
clarity
that
did
not
seem
to
rest
in
the
object
,
but
felt
as
if
the
illumination
came
from
him
.
He
looked
at
the
great
city
,
with
no
tie
to
any
view
or
usage
others
had
made
of
it
,
it
was
not
a
city
of
gangsters
or
panhandlers
or
derelicts
or
whores
,
it
was
the
greatest
industrial
achievement
in
the
history
of
man
,
its
only
meaning
was
that
which
it
meant
to
him
,
there
was
a
personal
quality
in
his
sight
of
it
,
a
quality
of
possessiveness
and
of
unhesitant
perception
,
as
if
he
were
seeing
it
for
the
first
time
—
or
the
last
.
He
paused
in
the
silent
corridor
of
the
Wayne
-
Falkland
,
at
the
door
of
the
suite
he
was
to
enter
;
it
took
him
a
long
moment
’
s
effort
to
lift
his
hand
and
knock
;
it
was
the
suite
that
had
belonged
to
Francisco
d
’
Anconia
.
