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- Джон Фоулз
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He
doesn
’
t
realize
it
fully
yet
,
because
he
’
s
trying
to
be
nice
to
me
at
the
moment
.
But
he
’
s
much
nearer
than
he
was
.
One
day
soon
he
’
s
going
to
wake
up
and
say
to
himself
—
I
hate
her
.
Something
nasty
.
When
I
came
round
from
the
chloroform
I
was
in
bed
.
I
had
my
last
underclothes
on
,
but
he
must
have
taken
everything
else
off
.
I
was
furious
,
that
first
night
.
Mad
with
disgust
.
His
beastly
gloating
hands
touching
me
.
Peeling
my
stockings
off
.
Loathsome
.
Then
I
thought
of
what
he
might
have
done
.
And
hadn
’
t
.
I
decided
not
to
fly
at
him
.
But
silence
.
To
shout
at
someone
suggests
that
there
’
s
still
contact
.
Since
then
I
’
ve
thought
two
things
.
First
:
he
’
s
weird
enough
to
have
undressed
me
without
thinking
,
according
to
some
mad
notion
of
the
"
proper
"
thing
to
do
.
Perhaps
he
thought
I
couldn
’
t
lie
in
bed
with
my
clothes
on
.
And
then
that
perhaps
it
was
a
sort
of
reminder
.
Of
all
the
things
he
might
have
done
,
but
hadn
’
t
.
His
chivalry
.
And
I
accept
that
.
I
have
been
lucky
.
