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- Джон Фоулз
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- Коллекционер
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- Стр. 211/299
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I
was
just
going
to
bed
,
he
said
.
I
wanted
to
hear
some
music
,
I
said
.
I
’
ll
go
away
.
But
I
didn
’
t
.
He
said
,
it
’
s
late
.
I
said
I
was
depressed
.
It
had
been
a
beastly
day
and
Caroline
had
been
so
silly
at
supper
.
He
let
me
go
up
and
made
me
sit
on
the
divan
and
he
put
on
some
music
and
turned
out
the
lights
and
the
moon
came
through
the
window
.
It
fell
on
my
legs
and
lap
through
the
skylight
,
a
lovely
slow
silver
moon
.
Sailing
.
And
he
sat
in
the
armchair
on
the
other
side
of
the
room
,
in
the
shadows
.
It
was
the
music
.
The
Goldberg
Variations
.
There
was
one
towards
the
end
that
was
very
slow
,
very
simple
,
very
sad
,
but
so
beautiful
beyond
words
or
drawing
or
anything
but
music
,
beautiful
there
in
the
moonlight
.
Moon
-
music
,
so
silvery
,
so
far
,
so
noble
.
The
two
of
us
in
that
room
.
No
past
,
no
future
.
All
intense
deep
that
-
time
-
only
.
A
feeling
that
everything
must
end
,
the
music
,
ourselves
,
the
moon
,
everything
.
That
if
you
get
to
the
heart
of
things
you
find
sadness
for
ever
and
ever
,
everywhere
;
but
a
beautiful
silver
sadness
,
like
a
Christ
face
.
Accepting
the
sadness
.
Knowing
that
to
pretend
it
was
all
gay
was
treachery
.
Treachery
to
everyone
sad
at
that
moment
,
everyone
ever
sad
,
treachery
to
such
music
,
such
truth
.
