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- Джон Фоулз
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- Коллекционер
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- Стр. 246/299
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I
ate
chocolates
all
the
afternoon
.
He
didn
’
t
reappear
until
supper
-
time
.
There
was
caviare
and
smoked
salmon
and
cold
chicken
(
he
buys
them
ready
-
cooked
somewhere
)
—
all
things
he
knows
I
like
—
and
a
dozen
other
things
he
knows
I
like
,
the
cunning
brute
.
It
’
s
not
the
buying
them
that
’
s
cunning
,
it
’
s
just
that
I
can
’
t
help
being
grateful
(
I
didn
’
t
actually
say
I
was
grateful
,
but
I
wasn
’
t
sharp
)
,
it
’
s
that
he
presents
them
so
humbly
,
with
such
an
air
of
please
-
don
’
t
-
thank
-
me
and
I
-
deserve
-
it
-
all
.
When
he
was
arranging
my
supper
-
things
on
the
table
,
I
had
an
irresistible
desire
to
giggle
.
Awful
.
I
wanted
to
collapse
on
the
bed
and
scream
.
He
was
so
perfectly
himself
.
And
I
am
so
cooped
up
.
Down
here
my
moods
change
so
rapidly
.
All
determination
to
do
one
thing
one
hour
;
all
for
another
the
next
.
It
’
s
no
use
.
I
’
m
not
a
hater
by
nature
.
It
’
s
as
if
somewhere
in
me
a
certain
amount
of
good
-
will
and
kindness
is
manufactured
every
day
;
and
it
must
come
out
.
If
I
bottle
it
up
,
then
it
bursts
out
.
I
wasn
’
t
nice
to
him
,
I
don
’
t
want
to
be
nice
to
him
,
I
shan
’
t
be
nice
to
him
.
But
it
was
a
struggle
not
to
be
ordinary
to
him
.
(
I
mean
little
things
like
"
that
was
a
nice
meal
.
"
)
As
it
was
I
said
nothing
.
When
he
said
,
"
Will
that
be
all
"
(
like
a
butler
)
,
I
said
,
"
Yes
,
you
can
go
now
,
"
and
turned
my
back
.
He
would
have
got
a
shock
if
he
could
have
seen
my
face
.
It
was
smiling
,
and
when
he
shut
the
door
,
I
was
laughing
.
I
couldn
’
t
help
it
again
.
Hysteria
.
Something
I
have
been
doing
a
lot
these
last
days
.
Staring
at
myself
in
the
mirror
.
Sometimes
I
don
’
t
seem
real
to
myself
,
it
suddenly
seems
that
it
isn
’
t
my
reflection
only
a
foot
or
two
away
.
I
have
to
look
aside
.
I
look
all
over
my
face
,
at
my
eyes
,
I
try
to
see
what
my
eyes
say
.
What
I
am
.
Why
I
’
m
here
.
It
’
s
because
I
’
m
so
lonely
.
I
have
to
look
at
an
intelligent
face
.
Anyone
who
has
been
locked
away
like
this
would
understand
.
You
become
very
real
to
yourself
in
a
strange
way
.
As
you
never
were
before
.
So
much
of
you
is
given
to
ordinary
people
,
suppressed
,
in
ordinary
life
.
I
watch
my
face
and
I
watch
it
move
as
if
it
is
someone
else
’
s
.
I
stare
myself
out
.
I
sit
with
myself
.
Sometimes
it
’
s
like
a
sort
of
spell
,
and
I
have
to
put
my
tongue
out
and
wrinkle
my
nose
to
break
it
.
I
sit
down
here
in
the
absolute
silence
with
my
reflection
,
in
a
sort
of
state
of
mystery
.
