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- Джон Фоулз
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He
said
,
an
ash
tree
a
foot
high
is
still
an
ash
tree
.
But
I
did
say
perhaps
.
And
you
’
re
not
old
.
It
’
s
nothing
to
do
with
our
ages
.
He
gave
me
a
faintly
hurt
look
then
,
smiled
and
said
,
you
must
leave
me
some
loophole
.
We
went
to
make
coffee
,
the
wretched
little
kitchen
,
and
I
thought
,
anyhow
I
couldn
’
t
face
up
to
living
here
with
him
—
just
the
domestic
effort
.
A
vile
irrelevant
wave
of
bourgeois
cowardice
.
He
said
,
with
his
back
to
me
,
until
you
went
away
I
thought
it
was
just
the
usual
thing
.
At
least
I
tried
to
think
it
was
.
That
’
s
why
I
misbehaved
myself
with
your
Swedish
friend
.
To
exorcise
you
.
But
you
came
back
.
In
my
mind
.
Again
and
again
,
up
north
.
I
used
to
go
out
of
the
farmhouse
at
night
,
into
the
garden
.
Look
south
.
You
do
understand
?
Yes
,
I
said
.
It
was
you
,
you
see
.
Not
just
the
other
thing
.
Then
he
said
,
it
’
s
a
sudden
look
you
have
.
When
you
’
re
not
a
kid
any
more
.
What
sort
of
look
?
The
woman
you
will
be
,
he
said
.
