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- Джон Фоулз
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- Коллекционер
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- Стр. 160/299
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It
’
s
evening
.
He
’
s
just
gone
away
.
He
brought
me
my
food
.
But
he
’
s
been
very
silent
.
Disapproving
.
I
laughed
out
loud
when
he
went
away
with
the
supper
-
things
.
He
behaves
exactly
as
if
I
ought
to
be
ashamed
.
He
won
’
t
be
caught
by
the
door
trick
again
.
There
aren
’
t
any
loose
stones
.
All
solidly
concreted
in
.
I
suppose
he
thought
of
that
as
well
as
of
everything
else
.
I
’
ve
spent
most
of
today
thinking
.
About
me
.
What
will
happen
to
me
?
I
’
ve
never
felt
the
mystery
of
the
future
so
much
as
here
.
What
will
happen
?
What
will
happen
?
It
’
s
not
only
now
,
in
this
situation
.
When
I
get
away
.
What
shall
I
do
?
I
want
to
marry
,
I
want
to
have
children
,
I
want
to
prove
to
myself
that
all
marriages
needn
’
t
be
like
D
and
M
’
s
.
I
know
exactly
the
sort
of
person
I
want
to
marry
,
someone
with
a
mind
like
G
.
P
.
’
s
,
only
much
nearer
my
own
age
,
and
with
the
looks
I
like
.
And
without
his
one
horrid
weakness
.
But
then
I
want
to
use
my
feelings
about
life
.
I
don
’
t
want
to
use
my
skill
vainly
,
for
its
own
sake
.
But
I
want
to
make
beauty
.
And
marriage
and
being
a
mother
terrifies
me
for
that
reason
.
Getting
sucked
down
into
the
house
and
the
house
things
and
the
baby
-
world
and
the
child
-
world
and
the
cooking
-
world
and
the
shopping
-
world
.
I
have
a
feeling
a
lazy
-
cow
me
would
welcome
it
,
would
forget
what
I
once
wanted
to
do
,
and
I
would
just
become
a
Great
Female
Cabbage
.
Or
I
would
have
to
do
miserable
work
like
illustrating
,
or
even
commercial
stuff
,
to
keep
the
home
going
.
Or
turn
into
a
bitchy
ginny
misery
like
M
(
no
,
I
couldn
’
t
be
like
her
)
.
Or
worst
of
all
be
like
Caroline
,
running
along
pathetically
after
modern
art
and
modern
ideas
and
never
catching
up
with
them
because
she
’
s
someone
quite
different
at
heart
and
yet
can
never
see
it
.
I
think
and
think
down
here
.
I
understand
things
I
haven
’
t
really
thought
about
before
.
Two
things
.
M
.
I
’
ve
never
really
thought
of
M
objectively
before
,
as
another
person
.
She
’
s
always
been
my
mother
I
’
ve
hated
or
been
ashamed
of
.
Yet
of
all
the
lame
ducks
I
’
ve
met
or
heard
of
,
she
’
s
the
lamest
.
I
’
ve
never
given
her
enough
sympathy
.
I
haven
’
t
given
her
this
last
year
(
since
I
left
home
)
one
half
of
the
consideration
I
’
ve
given
the
beastly
creature
upstairs
just
this
last
week
.
I
feel
that
I
could
overwhelm
her
with
love
now
.
Because
I
haven
’
t
felt
so
sorry
for
her
for
years
.
I
’
ve
always
excused
myself
—
I
’
ve
said
,
I
’
m
kind
and
tolerant
with
everyone
else
,
she
’
s
the
one
person
I
can
’
t
be
like
that
with
,
and
there
has
to
be
an
exception
to
the
general
rule
.
So
it
doesn
’
t
matter
.
But
of
course
that
’
s
wrong
.
She
’
s
the
last
person
that
should
be
an
exception
to
the
general
rule
.
Minny
and
I
have
so
often
despised
D
for
putting
up
with
her
.
We
ought
to
go
down
on
our
knees
to
him
.
The
other
thing
I
think
about
is
G
.
P
.
