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- Джон Фоулз
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- Стр. 280/299
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I
’
ve
got
a
temperature
,
I
feel
sick
.
Everything
’
s
against
me
,
but
I
won
’
t
give
in
.
I
’
ve
been
lying
on
the
bed
with
G
.
P
.
’
s
picture
beside
me
.
Holding
the
frame
in
one
hand
.
Like
a
crucifix
.
I
will
survive
.
I
will
escape
.
I
will
not
give
in
.
I
will
not
give
in
.
I
hate
God
.
I
hate
whatever
made
this
world
,
I
hate
whatever
made
the
human
race
,
made
men
like
Caliban
possible
and
situations
like
this
possible
.
If
there
is
a
God
he
’
s
a
great
loathsome
spider
in
the
darkness
.
He
cannot
be
good
.
This
pain
,
this
terrible
seeing
-
through
that
is
in
me
now
.
It
wasn
’
t
necessary
.
It
is
all
pain
,
and
it
buys
nothing
.
Gives
birth
to
nothing
.
All
in
vain
.
All
wasted
.
