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- Джон Фоулз
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I
hate
beyond
hate
.
He
came
down
just
now
.
I
was
asleep
on
top
of
the
bed
.
Fever
.
The
air
so
stuffy
.
It
must
be
flu
.
I
felt
so
rotten
I
said
nothing
.
No
energy
to
say
my
hate
.
The
bed
’
s
damp
.
My
chest
hurts
.
I
didn
’
t
say
a
word
to
him
.
It
’
s
gone
beyond
words
.
I
wish
I
was
a
Goya
.
Could
draw
the
absolute
hate
I
have
in
me
for
him
.
I
’
m
so
frightened
.
I
don
’
t
know
what
will
happen
if
I
’
m
really
ill
.
I
can
’
t
understand
why
my
chest
hurts
.
As
if
I
’
ve
had
bronchitis
for
days
.
But
he
’
d
have
to
get
a
doctor
.
He
might
kill
me
,
but
he
couldn
’
t
just
let
me
die
.
Oh
,
God
,
this
is
horrible
.
(
Evening
.
)
He
brought
a
thermometer
.
It
was
a
100
at
lunch
,
and
now
it
’
s
a
101
.
I
feel
terrible
.
