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- Джон Фоулз
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- Коллекционер
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- Стр. 212/299
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In
all
the
fuss
and
anxiety
and
the
shoddiness
and
the
business
of
London
,
making
a
career
,
getting
pashes
,
art
,
learning
,
grabbing
frantically
at
experience
,
suddenly
this
silent
silver
room
full
of
that
music
.
Like
lying
on
one
’
s
back
as
we
did
in
Spain
when
we
slept
out
looking
up
between
the
fig
-
branches
into
the
star
-
corridors
,
the
great
seas
and
oceans
of
stars
.
Knowing
what
it
was
to
be
in
a
universe
.
I
cried
.
In
silence
.
At
the
end
he
said
,
now
can
I
go
to
bed
?
Gently
,
making
fun
of
me
a
little
bit
,
bringing
me
back
to
earth
.
And
I
went
.
I
don
’
t
think
we
said
anything
.
I
can
’
t
remember
.
He
had
his
little
dry
smile
,
he
could
see
I
was
moved
.
His
perfect
tact
.
I
would
have
gone
to
bed
with
him
that
night
.
If
he
had
asked
.
If
he
had
come
and
kissed
me
.
Not
for
his
sake
,
but
for
being
alive
’
s
.
November
1st
A
new
month
,
and
new
luck
.
The
tunnel
idea
keeps
nagging
at
me
,
but
the
difficulty
till
now
has
been
something
to
dig
the
concrete
out
with
.
Then
yesterday
as
I
was
doing
my
prison
-
exercise
in
the
outer
cellar
I
saw
a
nail
.
A
big
old
one
,
down
against
the
wall
in
the
far
corner
.
I
dropped
my
handkerchief
so
that
I
could
get
a
closer
look
.
I
couldn
’
t
pick
it
up
,
he
watches
me
so
closely
.
And
it
’
s
awkward
with
bound
hands
.
Then
today
,
when
I
was
by
the
nail
(
he
always
sits
on
the
steps
up
)
,
I
said
(
I
did
it
on
purpose
)
run
and
get
me
a
cigarette
.
They
’
re
on
the
chair
by
the
door
.
Of
course
he
wouldn
’
t
.
He
said
,
what
’
s
the
game
?
I
’
ll
stay
here
,
I
won
’
t
move
.
