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- Джон Фоулз
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- Коллекционер
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- Стр. 209/299
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I
picked
up
my
knitting
and
put
it
away
.
When
I
looked
round
he
was
standing
there
with
his
mouth
open
,
trying
to
say
something
.
And
I
knew
I
’
d
hurt
him
,
I
know
he
deserves
to
be
hurt
,
but
there
it
is
.
I
’
ve
hurt
him
.
He
looked
so
glum
.
And
I
remembered
he
’
d
let
me
go
out
in
the
garden
.
I
felt
mean
.
I
went
to
him
and
said
I
was
sorry
and
held
out
my
hand
,
but
he
wouldn
’
t
take
it
.
It
was
queer
,
he
really
had
a
sort
of
dignity
,
he
was
really
hurt
(
perhaps
that
was
it
)
and
showing
it
.
So
I
took
his
arm
and
made
him
sit
down
again
,
and
I
said
,
I
’
m
going
to
tell
you
a
fairy
story
.
Once
upon
a
time
(
I
said
,
and
he
stared
bitterly
bitterly
at
the
floor
)
there
was
a
very
ugly
monster
who
captured
a
princess
and
put
her
in
a
dungeon
in
his
castle
.
Every
evening
he
made
her
sit
with
him
and
ordered
her
to
say
to
him
,
"
You
are
very
handsome
,
my
lord
,
"
And
every
evening
she
said
,
"
You
are
very
ugly
,
you
monster
.
"
And
then
the
monster
looked
very
hurt
and
sad
and
stared
at
the
floor
.
So
one
evening
the
princess
said
,
"
If
you
do
this
thing
and
that
thing
you
might
be
handsome
,
"
but
the
monster
said
,
"
I
can
’
t
,
I
can
’
t
.
"
The
princess
said
,
"
Try
,
try
.
"
But
the
monster
said
,
"
I
can
’
t
,
I
can
’
t
.
"
Every
evening
it
was
the
same
.
He
asked
her
to
lie
,
and
she
wouldn
’
t
.
So
the
princess
began
to
think
that
he
really
enjoyed
being
a
monster
and
very
ugly
.
Then
one
day
she
saw
he
was
crying
when
she
’
d
told
him
,
for
the
fiftieth
time
,
that
he
was
ugly
.
So
she
said
,
"
You
can
become
very
handsome
if
you
do
just
one
thing
.
Will
you
do
it
?
"
Yes
,
he
said
,
at
last
,
he
would
try
to
do
it
.
So
she
said
,
then
set
me
free
.
And
he
set
her
free
.
And
suddenly
,
he
wasn
’
t
ugly
any
more
,
he
was
a
prince
who
had
been
bewitched
.
And
he
followed
the
princess
out
of
the
castle
.
And
they
both
lived
happily
ever
afterwards
.
I
knew
it
was
silly
as
I
was
saying
it
.
Fey
.
He
didn
’
t
speak
,
he
kept
staring
down
.
I
said
,
now
it
’
s
your
turn
to
tell
a
fairy
story
.
He
just
said
,
I
love
you
.
And
yes
,
he
had
more
dignity
than
I
did
then
and
I
felt
small
,
mean
.
Always
sneering
at
him
,
jabbing
him
,
hating
him
and
showing
it
.
It
was
funny
,
we
sat
in
silence
facing
each
other
and
I
had
a
feeling
I
’
ve
had
once
or
twice
before
,
of
the
most
peculiar
closeness
to
him
—
not
love
or
attraction
or
sympathy
in
any
way
.
But
linked
destiny
.
Like
being
shipwrecked
on
an
island
—
a
raft
—
together
.
In
every
way
not
wanting
to
be
together
.
But
together
.
I
feel
the
sadness
of
his
life
,
too
,
terribly
.
And
of
those
of
his
miserable
aunt
and
his
cousin
and
their
relatives
in
Australia
.
The
great
dull
hopeless
weight
of
it
.
Like
those
Henry
Moore
drawings
of
the
people
in
the
Tubes
during
the
blitz
.
People
who
would
never
see
,
feel
,
dance
,
draw
,
cry
at
music
,
feel
the
world
,
the
west
wind
.
Never
be
in
any
real
sense
.
Just
those
three
words
,
said
and
meant
.
I
love
you
.
