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- Джон Фоулз
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A
bikini
?
I
asked
.
I
can
’
t
allow
talk
like
that
,
so
I
stared
coldly
at
him
.
Is
that
what
you
mean
?
To
photograph
like
,
he
said
,
going
red
.
And
the
weird
thing
is
,
I
know
he
means
exactly
that
.
He
didn
’
t
mean
to
be
nasty
,
he
wasn
’
t
hinting
at
anything
,
he
was
just
being
clumsy
.
As
usual
.
He
meant
literally
what
he
said
.
I
would
be
interesting
to
photograph
in
a
bikini
.
I
used
to
think
,
it
must
be
there
.
It
’
s
very
deeply
suppressed
,
but
it
must
be
there
.
But
I
don
’
t
any
more
.
I
don
’
t
think
he
’
s
suppressing
anything
.
There
’
s
nothing
to
suppress
.
A
lovely
night
-
walk
.
There
were
great
reaches
of
clear
sky
,
no
moon
,
sprinkles
of
warm
white
stars
everywhere
,
like
’
milky
diamonds
,
and
a
beautiful
wind
.
From
the
west
.
I
made
him
take
me
round
and
round
,
ten
or
twelve
times
.
The
branches
rustling
,
an
owl
hooting
in
the
woods
.
And
the
sky
all
wild
,
all
free
,
all
wind
and
air
and
space
and
stars
.
Wind
full
of
smells
and
far
-
away
places
.
Hopes
.
The
sea
.
I
am
sure
I
could
smell
the
sea
.
I
said
(
later
,
of
course
I
was
gagged
outside
)
,
are
we
near
the
sea
?
And
he
said
,
ten
miles
.
I
said
,
near
Lewes
.
He
said
,
I
can
’
t
say
.
As
if
someone
else
had
strictly
forbidden
him
to
speak
.
(
I
often
feel
that
with
him
—
a
horrid
little
cringing
good
nature
dominated
by
a
mean
bad
one
.
)
Indoors
it
couldn
’
t
have
been
more
different
.
We
talked
about
his
family
again
.
I
’
d
been
drinking
scrumpy
.
I
do
it
(
a
little
)
to
see
if
I
can
get
him
drunk
and
careless
,
but
so
far
he
won
’
t
touch
it
.
He
’
s
not
a
teetotaller
,
he
says
.
So
it
’
s
all
part
of
his
warderishness
.
Won
’
t
be
corrupted
.
M
.
Tell
me
some
more
about
your
family
.
