-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Джон Фоулз
-
- Волхв
-
- Стр. 114/136
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
She
had
started
the
cold
water
and
while
we
waited
for
the
bath
to
cool
,
I
held
her
as
I
had
held
her
down
outside
the
music
room
.
She
twisted
her
head
to
kiss
me
.
The
steam
,
the
smell
of
hot
salt
water
;
the
naked
back
of
her
body
,
its
curves
;
that
ecstasy
of
delicious
exasperation
,
every
nerve
stiff
and
erect
,
taut
to
burst
the
bud
,
to
break
into
flower
;
the
short
tremendous
flower
.
Eventually
we
got
into
the
bath
.
There
was
less
light
than
in
the
bedroom
.
But
touch
reigned
.
I
guessed
that
the
shared
bath
represented
a
wish
to
be
timidly
wicked
,
a
mode
of
giving
way
.
There
was
a
wrestling
with
legs
,
trying
to
fit
them
in
as
we
faced
each
other
.
Splashing
,
leaning
,
trying
to
kiss
—
but
it
was
a
strain
and
we
had
to
lie
back
.
I
thought
of
other
baths
shared
:
Alison
.
Of
how
all
naked
women
become
the
same
naked
woman
,
the
eternal
naked
woman
;
who
could
not
die
,
who
could
only
be
celebrated
as
I
was
going
,
in
an
obscure
way
,
to
celebrate
Alison
in
Julie
;
almost
to
mourn
her
as
I
remet
and
remade
her
.
We
began
to
touch
each
other
’
s
loins
with
our
feet
.
Her
toes
;
shy
then
inquisitive
;
the
soft
wet
pelt
,
dark
softness
between
the
silk
white
thighs
;
her
mysterious
lust
.
A
long
silence
.
I
made
her
turn
round
,
so
that
she
sat
against
me
.
There
was
a
pretence
of
washing
,
of
soaping
and
splashing
;
but
mostly
caressing
,
kissing
,
moulding
,
biting
.
Finally
she
stood
up
and
out
of
the
bath
and
we
dried
.
She
undid
the
scarf
round
her
hair
and
it
fell
again
.
Her
damp
,
warm
body
,
the
water
gurgling
away
,
the
sense
that
the
whole
village
was
asleep
—
not
only
in
that
night
,
but
in
time
,
ten
generations
unable
to
understand
the
divinity
,
the
paradise
of
sex
.
Not
a
man
in
the
world
I
would
have
changed
places
with
;
or
who
would
not
have
wanted
to
change
places
with
me
.
She
put
her
arms
round
me
and
kissed
me
,
as
if
the
bath
had
relieved
all
her
tenseness
;
then
whispered
,
"
I
haven
’
t
…
"
"
It
’
s
all
right
.
"
She
went
in
to
the
bedroom
and
I
got
my
coat
and
brought
it
into
the
bathroom
and
put
on
a
contraceptive
.
When
I
came
out
she
was
lying
on
her
side
.
I
stood
beside
the
bed
,
looking
at
her
eyes
,
the
eyes
of
her
breasts
,
that
body
.
I
knelt
to
kiss
it
,
but
she
twisted
off
the
bed
before
I
could
stop
her
,
with
a
little
breath
of
laughter
.
There
was
more
light
,
the
moon
must
have
come
through
a
rift
in
the
clouds
.
She
stood
over
by
the
far
window
,
as
if
waiting
for
me
to
catch
her
.
I
walked
slowly
towards
her
.
Just
before
I
got
within
reach
,
but
was
sure
she
was
not
going
to
move
,
she
slipped
sideways
and
pushed
my
arms
down
as
I
stretched
to
catch
her
.
She
stopped
against
the
wall
by
the
door
.
This
fey
game
of
tag
was
a
kind
of
last
acting
of
her
role
towards
me
:
the
uncatchable
,
the
virgin
temptress
.
It
was
too
charmingly
perverse
,
another
attempt
to
be
wicked
,
to
really
irritate
;
and
too
badly
timed
to
really
please
.
Now
she
stood
,
back
to
the
wall
,
her
arms
out
,
hands
pressed
back
,
as
if
crucified
.
I
smiled
and
stole
closer
,
but
she
said
in
a
low
voice
,
"
Don
’
t
move
.
"
She
raised
both
her
anns
above
her
head
,
the
backs
of
the
wrists
together
,
as
if
they
were
bound
;
and
crossed
her
ankles
,
as
if
they
were
tied
as
well
.
Someone
must
have
switched
on
a
light
in
one
of
the
houses
behind
the
hotel
,
because
a
brighter
,
slatted
light
percolated
the
room
;
barred
her
body
.
She
had
a
smile
on
her
face
.
"
Who
am
I
?
"
It
was
a
pose
,
a
sexual
guessing
-
game
.
"
The
slave
?
"
"
Cophetua
.
"
She
covered
her
breasts
and
loins
.
"
Eve
?
"
"
Now
?
"
She
put
her
hands
behind
her
back
and
leant
against
the
wall
;
looking
at
me
shyly
from
under
her
eyebrows
.
I
began
to
be
tired
of
all
this
whimsy
;
I
put
my
hands
on
the
wall
beside
her
head
,
caging
her
in
.
She
looked
down
.
"
Her
first
love
affaire
.
"
"
Now
be
just
you
.
"
"
What
is
just
me
?
"
I
took
the
ends
of
her
hair
and
gently
pinned
her
head
back
,
went
closer
;
she
moved
her
hands
from
behind
her
back
and
rested
them
on
my
hips
.
I
inched
forward
until
I
was
pressing
her
against
the
wall
.
She
put
her
bare
feet
on
top
of
mine
.
I
slipped
my
hands
round
her
back
.
And
we
stood
like
that
,
touching
noses
,
staring
into
each
other
’
s
dark
eyes
,
too
close
to
focus
.
"
I
’
m
going
to
find
out
.
"
"
Are
you
?
"
A
little
smile
at
the
corner
of
her
mouth
;
the
Leonardo
smile
again
.
I
caught
her
to
me
and
kissed
her
;
she
gave
,
then
struggled
wildly
,
so
wildly
that
I
half
let
go
of
her
.
I
caught
her
back
,
but
still
she
struggled
;
though
it
became
a
sex
struggle
,
a
falling
across
the
end
of
the
bed
,
rolling
on
top
of
each
other
,
kisses
begun
and
bite
-
ended
,
grapplings
.
I
remembered
an
old
Urfe
law
:
that
girls
possess
sexual
tact
in
inverse
proportion
to
their
standard
of
education
.
She
seemed
to
want
me
to
rape
her
.
Her
legs
opened
,
but
only
for
tantalizing
moments
,
then
closed
as
she
twisted
away
.
In
the
end
I
threw
myself
back
.
"
Julie
.
Come
on
.
For
Christ
’
s
sake
.
"
It
must
have
sounded
more
like
despair
than
pleasure
,
because
she
suddenly
knelt
beside
me
,
her
hair
hanging
,
staring
down
.
She
caught
hold
of
my
wrists
and
pretended
to
hold
me
down
.
"
Do
you
want
me
?
"
"
I
’
m
dying
for
you
.
"
Then
very
quickly
she
slipped
off
the
bed
;
ran
to
the
door
.
I
sat
up
.
"
Julie
?
"
I
saw
her
pale
figure
against
the
faint
rectangle
;
watching
me
for
a
moment
.
Her
right
hand
reached
sideways
.
She
spoke
.
The
strangest
voice
;
as
hard
as
glass
.
"
There
is
no
Julie
.
"
There
was
the
sound
of
her
alien
voice
and
a
metallic
click
.
For
a
fraction
of
a
second
I
thought
it
was
a
joke
,
she
was
acting
again
,
had
accidentally
touched
the
key
.
Then
there
was
a
violent
cascade
of
events
.
The
door
was
flung
wide
open
,
the
light
came
on
,
there
were
two
black
figures
,
two
tall
men
in
black
trousers
and
shirts
.
One
was
the
Negro
and
the
other
was
"
Anton
.
"
Joe
came
first
,
so
fast
at
me
that
I
had
no
time
to
do
anything
but
convulsively
grip
the
bedspread
over
my
loins
.
I
tried
to
see
Julie
,
her
face
,
because
I
still
could
not
accept
what
I
knew
:
that
she
had
turned
the
key
and
opened
the
door
.
Anton
flung
her
something
she
caught
and
quickly
put
on
—
a
deep
-
red
towel
bathrobe
.
Joe
flung
himself
at
me
just
as
I
was
about
to
shout
.
His
hand
clapped
violently
across
my
mouth
and
I
felt
the
weight
of
him
;
a
whiff
of
shaving
lotion
,
or
hair
oil
.
I
was
in
no
fit
state
to
struggle
.
What
fighting
I
did
was
mainly
to
try
to
keep
the
bedspread
over
me
.
Anton
gripped
my
legs
.
They
must
have
had
loops
of
rope
ready
prepared
,
because
in
fifteen
seconds
I
was
tied
up
.
Then
I
was
gagged
.
I
got
out
one
stifled
beginning
of
what
I
felt
at
Julie
.
"
You
—
"
But
then
I
was
silenced
.
The
two
men
forced
my
arms
back
,
so
I
was
lying
fiat
,
straining
my
neck
up
to
see
Julie
.
She
turned
,
tying
the
ends
of
the
belt
.
Another
figure
appeared
in
the
door
:
Conchis
.
He
was
dressed
like
the
others
,
in
black
shirt
and
trousers
.
He
looked
at
Julie
,
and
gave
a
little
nod
of
approval
;
touched
her
shoulder
.
She
was
combing
her
hair
briefly
,
not
looking
at
me
.
Like
a
woman
athlete
who
had
just
won
a
race
.
Conchis
came
and
stood
over
me
.
He
looked
down
at
me
absolutely
without
expression
.
I
threw
all
the
hate
I
had
in
me
at
him
,
tried
to
make
obscene
sounds
that
he
could
understand
.
A
flash
of
awareness
:
this
was
an
echo
of
the
torture
room
in
the
war
;
a
corner
room
at
the
end
of
a
corridor
;
a
man
lying
on
his
back
on
the
table
;
symbolically
castrated
.
Now
Julie
came
to
the
other
side
of
the
bed
.
My
eyes
began
to
fill
with
tears
of
frustrated
rage
and
humiliation
.
I
was
just
able
to
realize
that
her
look
was
not
completely
detached
from
me
;
there
was
no
contempt
in
it
,
no
mockery
;
but
a
strange
reversion
to
her
old
self
,
the
Lily
self
,
the
cool
,
aloof
self
that
I
had
first
known
.
Not
as
if
she
was
an
athlete
now
,
but
a
woman
surgeon
who
had
just
performed
a
difficult
operation
successfully
.
Peeling
off
the
rubber
gloves
;
surveying
the
suture
.
They
were
all
the
same
;
not
gloating
,
not
taunting
,
even
a
little
anxious
—
relieved
,
efficient
,
yet
anxious
.
A
team
,
less
interested
in
each
other
,
than
in
their
difficult
common
purpose
.
Julie
’
s
cool
,
controlled
eyes
looked
down
into
my
wet
,
angry
ones
,
and
I
couldn
’
t
stand
it
.
I
had
to
shut
them
.
I
felt
the
lightest
touch
on
my
bare
arm
,
and
I
knew
it
was
her
hand
.
A
moment
later
,
when
I
looked
again
,
she
was
halfway
to
the
door
.
She
went
out
.
Conchis
came
forward
from
doing
something
by
the
table
.
He
leant
over
me
.
"
Nicholas
,
we
shall
not
frighten
you
any
more
.
But
we
want
you
to
go
to
sleep
.
It
will
be
convenient
for
us
and
less
painful
for
you
.
Please
do
not
struggle
.
"
The
absurd
memory
of
the
pile
of
exam
papers
I
had
still
to
mark
flicked
through
my
mind
.
Joe
and
Anton
held
my
left
arm
like
a
vice
.
I
resisted
for
a
moment
,
then
gave
in
.
A
dab
of
wet
.
The
needle
pricked
into
my
forearm
.
I
felt
the
morphine
,
or
whatever
it
was
,
enter
.
The
needle
was
withdrawn
,
another
dab
of
something
wet
.
Conchis
went
back
to
his
table
.
I
lay
for
half
a
minute
or
so
,
then
looked
to
see
what
he
was
doing
.
He
was
sitting
by
the
table
,
his
legs
crossed
.
A
black
medical
case
lay
on
the
table
in
front
of
him
.
Everyone
was
silent
.
I
tried
to
realize
what
I
had
got
into
:
a
world
without
limits
.
A
man
with
an
arrow
in
his
heart
.
Mirabelle
.
La
Maitresse
-
Machine
.
Perhaps
five
minutes
passed
,
then
both
sisters
reappeared
They
were
dressed
exactly
like
the
others
,
in
black
trousers
and
black
shirts
.
Julie
’
s
—
Lily
’
s
?
—
hair
was
up
,
tied
by
a
black
chiffon
bandana
.
She
went
and
sat
by
Conchis
without
looking
at
me
.
June
emptied
the
things
in
the
wardrobe
into
a
suitcase
.
My
head
began
to
swim
,
faces
and
objects
,
the
ceiling
,
to
recede
from
present
reality
;
down
and
down
a
deep
black
mine
of
shock
,
rage
,
incomprehension
and
flailing
depths
of
impossible
revenge
.
I
was
to
have
no
sense
of
time
for
the
next
five
days
.
When
I
first
woke
up
I
did
not
know
how
many
hours
had
passed
since
I
was
in
the
hotel
bed
.
I
was
very
thirsty
,
and
that
must
have
been
what
woke
me
.
I
remember
one
or
two
things
indistinctly
.
A
sense
of
surprise
that
I
was
in
my
own
pajamas
but
not
in
my
room
at
school
;
then
realizing
I
was
in
a
bunk
,
at
sea
,
but
not
in
a
caIque
.
It
was
the
narrowing
forecabin
of
a
yacht
.
I
was
reluctant
to
leave
my
sleep
,
to
think
,
to
do
anything
but
sink
back
into
it
.
I
was
handed
a
glass
of
water
by
a
young
man
with
crewcut
blond
hair
,
who
had
evidently
been
waiting
for
me
to
wake
.
Dimly
I
recognized
him
as
the
one
who
had
closed
the
"
lid
"
of
the
Earth
on
me
.
I
was
so
thirsty
that
I
had
to
drink
the
water
,
even
though
I
could
see
it
was
suspiciously
cloudy
.
Then
I
must
have
blurred
into
sleep
again
.
The
same
man
made
me
go
to
the
head
in
the
bow
of
the
yacht
at
some
later
point
,
and
I
remember
he
had
to
hold
me
upright
,
as
if
I
was
drunk
;
and
I
sat
on
the
pan
and
just
went
to
sleep
again
.
There
were
portholes
,
but
the
metal
shields
were
screwed
down
.
I
asked
one
or
two
questions
,
but
he
didn
’
t
answer
;
and
it
didn
’
t
seem
to
matter
.
The
same
procedure
happened
again
,
once
,
twice
,
I
don
’
t
know
,
in
different
circumstances
.
This
time
I
was
in
a
room
in
a
proper
bed
.
It
was
always
night
,
always
if
light
an
electric
light
;
figures
and
voices
;
then
darkness
.
But
one
morning
—
it
seemed
like
morning
,
though
it
might
have
been
midnight
for
all
I
knew
,
because
my
watch
had
stopped
—
I
was
woken
up
by
the
blondhead
,
made
to
sit
on
my
bed
,
to
dress
,
to
walk
up
and
down
the
room
twenty
or
thirty
times
.
Another
man
stood
by
the
door
.
I
became
conscious
of
something
I
had
hazily
noticed
before
,
an
extraordinary
mural
that
dominated
the
whitewashed
wall
opposite
the
bed
.
It
was
a
huge
black
figure
,
larger
than
lifesize
,
a
kind
of
living
skeleton
,
a
Buchenwald
figure
,
lying
on
its
side
on
what
might
have
been
grass
,
or
flames
.
A
gaunt
hand
pointed
down
to
a
little
mirror
hanging
on
the
wall
;
exhorting
me
,
I
supposed
,
to
look
at
myself
,
to
consider
I
must
die
.
The
skull
face
had
a
startled
and
startling
intensity
that
made
it
uncomfortable
to
look
at
;
and
uncomfortable
to
think
of
the
mind
that
had
put
it
there
for
me
.
I
could
see
it
was
newly
painted
.
There
was
a
knock
on
the
door
.
A
third
man
appeared
.
He
carried
a
tray
with
a
jug
of
coffee
on
it
.
It
had
the
most
beautiful
smell
;
of
real
coffee
,
something
like
Blue
Mountain
,
not
the
monotonous
"
Turkish
"
powder
they
use
in
Greece
.
And
there
were
rolls
,
butter
,
and
quince
marmalade
;
a
plate
of
ham
and
eggs
.
I
was
left
alone
.
In
spite
of
the
circumstances
it
was
one
of
the
best
breakfasts
of
my
life
.
Every
flavor
had
a
Proustian
,
mescalin
intensity
.
I
seemed
to
be
starving
,
and
I
ate
everything
on
the
tray
,
I
drank
every
drop
of
coffee
and
I
could
have
done
it
all
over
again
.
There
was
even
a
pack
of
American
cigarettes
and
a
box
of
matches
.
I
took
stock
.
I
was
wearing
one
of
my
own
pullovers
and
whipcord
trousers
I
hadn
’
t
put
on
since
the
winter
.
The
high
curved
ceiling
was
that
of
a
cistern
under
a
house
;
the
windowless
walls
were
dry
,
but
subterranean
.
There
was
electric
light
.
A
suitcase
,
my
own
,
full
of
my
things
,
stood
in
a
corner
.
The
wall
against
which
the
table
stood
was
new
-
built
of
brick
.
It
had
a
heavy
wooden
door
in
it
.
No
handle
,
no
spyhole
,
no
keyhole
,
not
even
a
hinge
.
I
gave
it
a
push
,
but
it
was
bolted
or
barred
outside
.
There
was
another
triangular
table
in
the
corner
—
an
oldfashioned
washbowl
,
with
a
sanitary
bucket
underneath
.
I
rummaged
in
my
suitcase
;
a
clean
shirt
,
a
change
of
underclothes
,
a
pair
of
summer
trousers
.
I
saw
my
razor
and
shaving
brush
,
and
that
reminded
me
that
I
had
a
clock
of
Sorts
on
my
chin
.
I
went
and
looked
in
the
memento
mori
mirror
.
At
least
two
days
’
stubble
.
My
face
was
strange
to
me
;
degraded
and
yet
peculiarly
indifferent
.
I
sat
on
the
bed
,
and
stared
at
the
death
figure
.
Death
figure
,
death
cell
.
A
sinister
reason
for
the
wonderful
breakfast
struck
me
.
A
mock
execution
was
about
the
only
indignity
left
to
undergo
.
I
began
to
walk
up
and
down
and
to
try
to
take
command
of
the
situation
.
Behind
and
beneath
everything
there
was
the
vile
and
unforgivable
,
the
ultimate
betrayal
,
of
me
,
of
all
finer
instincts
,
by
Lily
.
I
started
to
think
of
her
as
Lily
again
,
perhaps
because
her
first
mask
—
the
Lily
mask
—
now
seemed
truer
than
the
second
one
.
I
tried
to
imagine
what
she
really
was
.
