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- Джон Фоулз
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- Коллекционер
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The
ordinary
man
is
the
curse
of
civilization
.
But
he
’
s
so
ordinary
that
he
’
s
extraordinary
.
He
takes
photographs
.
He
wants
to
take
a
"
portrait
"
of
me
.
Then
there
were
his
butterflies
,
which
I
suppose
were
rather
beautiful
.
Yes
,
rather
beautifully
arranged
,
with
their
poor
little
wings
stretched
out
all
at
the
same
angle
.
And
I
felt
for
them
,
poor
dead
butterflies
,
my
fellow
-
victims
.
The
ones
he
was
proudest
of
were
what
he
called
aberrations
!
Downstairs
he
let
me
watch
him
make
tea
(
in
the
outer
cellar
)
,
and
something
ridiculous
he
said
made
me
laugh
—
or
want
to
laugh
.
Terrible
.
I
suddenly
realized
that
I
was
going
mad
too
,
that
he
was
wickedly
wickedly
cunning
.
Of
course
he
doesn
’
t
mind
what
I
say
about
him
.
That
I
break
his
miserable
china
duck
.
Because
suddenly
he
has
me
(
it
’
s
mad
,
he
kidnapped
me
)
laughing
at
him
and
pouring
out
his
tea
,
as
if
I
’
m
his
best
girlfriend
.
I
swore
at
him
.
I
was
my
mother
’
s
daughter
.
A
bitch
.
There
it
is
,
Minny
.
I
wish
you
were
here
and
we
could
talk
in
the
dark
.
If
I
could
just
talk
to
someone
for
a
few
minutes
.
Someone
I
love
.
I
make
it
sound
brighter
so
much
brighter
than
it
is
.
I
’
m
going
to
cry
again
.
