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- Джон Фоулз
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- Стр. 281/299
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The
older
the
world
becomes
,
the
more
obvious
it
is
.
The
bomb
and
the
tortures
in
Algeria
and
the
starving
babies
in
the
Congo
.
It
gets
bigger
and
darker
.
More
and
more
suffering
for
more
and
more
.
And
more
and
more
in
vain
.
It
’
s
as
if
the
lights
have
fused
.
I
’
m
here
in
the
black
truth
.
God
is
impotent
.
He
can
’
t
love
us
.
He
hates
us
because
he
can
’
t
love
us
.
All
the
meanness
and
the
selfishness
and
the
lies
.
People
won
’
t
admit
it
,
they
’
re
too
busy
grabbing
to
see
that
the
lights
have
fused
.
They
can
’
t
see
the
darkness
and
the
spider
-
face
beyond
and
the
great
web
of
it
all
.
That
there
’
s
always
this
if
you
scratch
at
the
surface
of
happiness
and
goodness
.
The
black
and
the
black
and
the
black
.
I
’
ve
not
only
never
felt
like
this
before
,
I
never
imagined
it
possible
.
More
than
hatred
,
more
than
despair
.
You
can
’
t
hate
what
you
cannot
touch
,
I
can
’
t
even
feel
what
most
people
think
of
as
despair
.
It
’
s
beyond
despair
.
It
’
s
as
if
I
can
’
t
feel
any
more
.
I
see
,
but
I
can
’
t
feel
.
Oh
God
if
there
is
a
God
.
