-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Джон Фоулз
-
- Волхв
-
- Стр. 133/136
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
"
"
And
does
she
like
questions
?
About
the
past
?
"
"
That
depends
on
the
questions
.
"
"
The
things
Maurice
told
me
—
the
First
World
War
,
the
count
with
the
chateau
,
Norway
—
were
they
in
any
way
true
?
"
"
What
is
truth
?
"
"
Did
they
happen
?
"
"
Does
it
matter
if
they
did
not
?
"
"
Yes
.
To
me
"
"
Then
it
would
be
unkind
of
me
to
tell
you
.
"
She
looked
down
at
her
hands
,
aware
of
my
impatience
.
"
Maurice
once
said
to
me
—
when
I
had
just
asked
him
a
question
rather
like
yours
—
he
said
,
An
answer
is
always
a
form
of
death
.
"
There
was
something
in
her
face
.
It
was
not
implacable
;
but
in
some
way
impermeable
.
"
I
think
questions
are
a
form
of
life
.
"
"
You
’
ve
heard
of
John
Leverrier
?
"
I
said
cautiously
,
"
Yes
.
Of
course
.
"
"
I
think
he
must
know
far
more
about
Maurice
than
you
do
.
Do
you
know
why
?
"
I
shook
my
head
.
"
Because
he
never
tried
to
know
more
.
"
I
traced
patterns
with
the
cake
fork
on
the
tablecloth
;
determined
to
seem
guarded
,
unconvinced
.
"
What
happened
to
you
that
first
year
?
"
"
The
desire
to
help
him
through
following
years
.
"
She
was
smiling
again
,
but
she
went
on
.
"
I
will
tell
you
that
it
all
began
one
weekend
,
not
even
that
,
one
long
night
of
talking
…
perhaps
it
was
no
more
than
that
we
were
bored
.
I
think
historically
bored
—
as
one
was
in
the
entre
-
deux
-
guerres
.
Certain
leaps
were
taken
.
Certain
gaps
bridged
.
I
imagine
—
don
’
t
you
?
—
all
new
discoveries
happen
like
that
.
Very
suddenly
.
And
then
you
spend
years
trying
to
work
them
out
to
their
limits
.
"
For
a
time
we
sat
in
silence
.
Then
she
spoke
again
.
"
For
us
,
Nicholas
,
our
success
is
never
certain
.
You
have
entered
our
secret
.
And
now
you
are
a
radioactive
substance
.
We
hope
to
keep
you
stable
.
But
we
are
not
sure
.
"
She
smiled
.
"
Someone
…
rather
in
your
position
…
once
said
to
me
that
I
was
like
a
pool
.
He
wanted
to
throw
a
stone
into
me
.
But
I
am
not
so
calm
in
these
situations
as
I
may
look
.
"
"
I
think
you
handle
them
very
intelligently
.
"
"
Touché
.
"
She
bowed
her
head
.
Then
she
said
,
"
Next
week
I
’
m
going
away
—
as
I
do
every
autumn
when
the
children
are
off
my
hands
.
I
shan
’
t
be
hiding
,
but
just
doing
what
I
do
every
September
.
"
"
You
’
ll
be
with
Maurice
?
"
"
Yes
.
"
Something
curiously
like
an
apology
lingered
in
the
air
;
as
if
she
knew
the
strange
twinge
of
jealousy
I
felt
and
could
not
pretend
that
it
was
not
justified
;
that
whatever
richness
of
relationship
and
shared
experience
I
suspected
,
existed
.
She
looked
at
her
watch
.
"
Oh
dear
.
I
’
m
so
sorry
.
But
Gunnel
and
Benjie
will
be
waiting
for
me
at
King
’
s
Cross
.
Those
lovely
cakes
…
"
They
lay
in
their
repulsive
polychrome
splendor
,
untouched
.
"
I
think
one
pays
for
the
pleasure
of
not
eating
them
.
"
She
grimaced
agreement
,
and
I
beckoned
to
the
waitress
for
the
bill
.
While
we
were
waiting
she
said
,
"
One
thing
I
wanted
to
tell
you
is
that
in
the
last
three
years
Maurice
has
had
two
serious
heart
attacks
.
So
there
may
not
even
be
…
a
next
year
.
"
"
Yes
.
He
told
me
.
"
"
And
you
did
not
believe
him
?
"
"
No
.
"
"
Do
you
believe
me
?
"
I
answered
obliquely
.
"
Nothing
you
said
could
make
me
believe
that
if
he
died
there
would
not
be
another
year
.
"
She
took
her
gloves
.
"
Why
do
you
say
that
?
"
I
smiled
at
her
;
her
own
smile
.
No
other
answer
.
She
nearly
spoke
,
then
chose
silence
.
I
remembered
that
phrase
I
had
had
to
use
of
Lily
:
out
of
role
.
Her
mother
’
s
eyes
,
and
Lily
’
s
through
them
;
the
labyrinth
;
privileges
bestowed
and
privileges
rejected
;
a
truce
.
A
minute
later
we
were
going
down
the
corridor
towards
the
entrance
.
Two
men
came
down
it
towards
us
.
They
were
about
to
pass
when
the
one
on
the
left
gave
a
kind
of
gasp
.
Lily
de
Seitas
stopped
and
threw
her
arms
back
;
she
too
was
caught
completely
by
surprise
.
He
was
in
a
dark
blue
suit
with
a
bow
tie
,
a
mane
of
prematurely
white
hair
,
a
voluble
,
fleshy
mouth
in
a
florid
face
.
She
turned
quickly
.
"
Nicholas
—
would
you
excuse
me
—
and
get
me
that
taxi
?
"
He
had
the
face
of
a
man
,
a
distinguished
man
,
suddenly
become
a
boy
again
,
rather
comically
melted
by
this
evidently
unexpected
meeting
into
a
green
remembering
.
I
made
a
convenient
show
of
excessive
politeness
to
some
other
people
heading
for
the
tearoom
,
which
allowed
me
to
hang
back
a
moment
to
hear
what
the
two
might
say
.
Lily
de
Seitas
said
nothing
,
but
he
spoke
.
"
My
dear
Lily
…
my
dearest
girl
…
"
and
he
couldn
’
t
say
any
more
.
He
was
holding
both
her
hands
,
drawing
her
aside
,
and
she
was
smiling
,
that
strange
smile
of
hers
,
like
Ceres
returned
to
the
barren
land
.
I
had
to
go
on
,
but
I
turned
again
at
the
end
of
the
corridor
.
The
man
he
was
with
,
a
department
curator
or
something
,
had
walked
on
and
was
waiting
by
the
tearoom
door
.
The
two
of
them
stood
there
.
I
could
see
the
tender
creases
round
his
eyes
;
and
still
she
smiled
,
accepting
homage
.
There
were
no
taxis
about
and
I
waited
by
the
curb
.
I
wondered
if
it
had
been
the
"
someone
quite
famous
"
in
the
sedan
;
but
I
did
not
recognize
him
.
Or
some
last
trick
,
a
professional
adoration
.
His
eyes
had
been
for
her
only
,
as
if
the
business
he
had
been
on
shriveled
into
nothingness
at
the
sight
of
that
face
.
She
came
out
hurriedly
a
minute
or
two
later
.
"
Can
I
give
you
a
lift
?
"
She
was
not
going
to
make
any
comment
.
Either
it
was
arranged
,
or
it
had
been
by
chance
but
was
now
being
used
by
her
,
as
her
daughters
used
clouds
that
crossed
the
sun
and
casual
strollers
down
a
road
;
and
something
about
her
hermetic
expression
made
it
,
yet
once
again
,
infuriatingly
,
seem
vulgar
to
be
curious
.
She
was
not
goodmannered
,
but
expert
with
good
manners
;
used
them
like
an
engineer
,
to
shift
the
coarse
bulk
of
me
where
she
wanted
.
"
No
thanks
,
I
’
m
going
to
Chelsea
.
"
I
wasn
’
t
;
but
I
wanted
to
be
free
of
her
.
I
watched
her
covertly
for
a
moment
,
then
I
said
,
"
I
used
to
think
of
a
story
with
your
daughter
,
and
I
think
of
it
even
more
with
you
.
"
She
smiled
,
a
little
uncertainly
.
"
It
’
s
probably
not
true
,
but
it
’
s
about
Marie
Antoinette
and
a
butcher
.
The
butcher
led
a
mob
into
the
palace
at
Versailles
.
He
had
a
cleaver
in
his
hand
and
he
was
shouting
that
he
was
going
to
cut
Marie
Antoinette
’
s
throat
.
The
mob
killed
the
guards
and
the
butcher
forced
the
door
of
the
royal
apartments
.
At
last
he
rushed
into
her
bedroom
.
She
was
alone
.
Standing
by
a
window
.
There
was
no
one
else
there
.
The
butcher
with
a
cleaver
in
his
hand
and
the
queen
.
"
"
What
happened
?
"
I
caught
sight
of
a
taxi
going
in
the
wrong
direction
and
waved
to
the
driver
to
turn
.
"
He
fell
on
his
knees
and
burst
into
tears
.
"
She
was
silent
a
moment
.
"
Poor
butcher
.
"
"
I
believe
that
’
s
exactly
what
Marie
Antoinette
said
.
"
She
watched
the
taxi
turn
.
"
Doesn
’
t
everything
depend
on
the
tone
of
voice
?
And
who
was
the
butcher
crying
for
?
"
I
looked
away
from
her
intelligent
eyes
.
"
No
.
I
don
’
t
think
so
.
"
The
taxi
drew
up
beside
the
curb
.
She
hesitated
as
I
opened
the
door
.
"
Are
you
sure
?
"
"
I
was
born
on
the
butcher
’
s
side
.
"
She
watched
me
for
a
moment
,
then
gave
up
,
or
remembered
.
"
Your
plate
.
"
She
handed
it
to
me
from
her
basket
.
"
I
’
ll
try
not
to
break
it
.
"
"
It
carries
my
good
wishes
.
"
"
Thank
you
for
both
.
"
We
sounded
formal
;
she
had
set
herself
on
the
queen
’
s
side
;
or
perhaps
,
truer
to
her
role
,
and
sunt
lacrimae
rerum
,
on
no
side
.
"
And
remember
.
Alison
is
not
a
present
.
She
has
to
be
paid
for
.
And
convinced
that
you
have
the
money
to
pay
.
"
I
acquiesced
,
to
make
her
go
.
She
took
my
hand
,
but
kept
it
and
made
me
lean
forward
,
first
to
my
surprise
to
kiss
me
on
the
cheek
,
then
to
whisper
something
in
my
ear
.
I
saw
a
passing
workman
look
disapprovingly
at
us
:
the
bloody
enemy
,
striking
our
effete
poses
inside
the
Petit
Trianon
of
the
English
class
system
.
She
stood
back
a
moment
,
pressed
my
arm
as
if
to
drive
home
what
she
had
whispered
,
then
stepped
quickly
inside
the
taxi
.
She
gave
me
one
look
through
the
window
,
still
the
look
of
the
whispered
words
.
Our
eyes
met
through
the
glass
.
The
taxi
moved
,
the
head
receded
I
gazed
after
it
until
it
disappeared
out
of
sight
past
Brompton
Oratory
;
without
tears
,
but
just
,
I
imagined
,
as
that
poor
devil
of
a
butcher
must
have
stared
down
at
the
Aubusson
carpet
.
And
so
I
waited
.
It
seemed
sadistic
,
this
last
wasteland
of
days
.
It
was
as
if
Conchis
,
with
Alison
’
s
connivance
,
proceeded
by
some
outmoded
Victorian
dietetic
morality
—
one
couldn
’
t
have
more
jam
,
the
sweetness
of
events
,
until
one
ate
a
lot
more
bread
,
the
dry
stodge
of
time
.
But
I
was
long
past
philosophizing
.
The
next
weeks
consisted
of
a
long
struggle
between
my
growing
—
not
diminishing
—
impatience
and
the
manner
of
life
I
took
up
to
dull
it
.
Almost
every
night
I
contrived
to
pass
through
Russell
Square
,
rather
in
the
way
,
I
suppose
,
that
the
sailors
’
wives
and
black
-
eyed
Susans
would
,
more
out
of
boredom
than
hope
,
haunt
the
quays
in
sailing
days
.
But
my
ship
never
showed
a
light
.
Two
or
three
times
I
went
out
to
Much
Hadham
,
at
night
,
but
the
darkness
of
Dinsford
House
was
as
complete
as
the
darkness
in
Russell
Square
.
For
the
rest
,
I
spent
hours
in
cinemas
,
hours
reading
books
,
mainly
rubbish
,
because
all
I
required
of
a
book
during
that
period
was
that
it
kept
my
mind
drugged
.
I
used
to
drive
all
through
the
night
to
places
I
did
not
want
to
go
to
—
to
Oxford
,
to
Brighton
,
to
Bath
.
These
long
drives
calmed
me
,
as
if
I
was
doing
something
constructive
by
racing
hard
through
the
night
;
scorching
through
sleeping
towns
,
always
turning
back
in
the
small
hours
and
driving
exhausted
into
London
in
the
dawn
;
then
sleeping
till
four
or
five
in
the
afternoon
.
It
was
not
only
my
boredom
that
needed
calming
;
well
before
my
meetings
with
Lily
de
Seitas
I
had
had
another
problem
.
I
spent
many
of
my
waking
hours
in
Soho
or
Chelsea
;
and
they
are
not
the
areas
where
the
chaste
fiancé
goes
—
unless
he
is
burning
to
test
his
chastity
.
There
were
dragons
enough
in
the
forest
,
from
the
farded
old
bags
in
the
doorways
of
Creek
Street
to
the
equally
pickupable
but
more
appetizing
"
models
"
and
demidebs
of
the
King
’
s
Road
.
Every
so
often
I
would
see
a
girl
who
would
excite
me
sexually
.
I
began
by
repressing
the
very
idea
;
then
frankly
admitted
it
.
If
I
resolutely
backed
out
of
,
or
looked
away
from
,
promising
situations
,
it
was
for
a
variety
of
reasons
;
and
reasons
generally
more
selfish
than
noble
.
I
wanted
to
show
them
—
if
they
had
eyes
present
to
be
shown
,
and
I
could
never
be
sure
that
they
hadn
’
t
—
that
I
could
live
without
affaires
;
and
less
consciously
I
wanted
to
show
myself
the
same
thing
.
I
also
wanted
to
be
able
to
face
Alison
with
the
knowledge
that
I
had
been
faithful
to
her
,
though
I
partly
wanted
this
knowledge
as
a
weapon
,
an
added
lash
to
the
cat
—
if
the
cat
had
to
be
used
.
The
truth
was
that
the
recurrent
new
feeling
I
had
for
Alison
had
nothing
to
do
with
sex
.
Perhaps
it
had
something
to
do
with
my
alienation
from
England
and
the
English
,
my
specieslessness
,
my
sense
of
exile
;
but
it
seemed
to
me
that
I
could
have
slept
with
a
different
girl
every
night
,
and
still
have
gone
on
wanting
to
see
Alison
just
as
much
.
I
wanted
something
else
from
her
now
—
and
what
it
was
only
she
could
give
me
.
That
was
the
distinction
.
Anyone
could
give
me
sex
.
But
only
she
could
give
me
this
other
situation
.
I
couldn
’
t
call
it
love
,
because
I
saw
it
as
something
experimental
,
depending
,
even
before
the
experiment
proper
began
,
on
factors
like
the
degree
of
her
contrition
,
the
fullness
of
her
confession
,
the
extent
to
which
she
could
convince
me
that
she
still
loved
me
;
that
her
love
had
caused
her
betrayal
.
And
then
I
felt
towards
the
experiment
proper
some
of
the
mixed
fascination
and
repulsion
one
feels
for
an
intelligent
religion
;
I
knew
there
"
must
be
something
"
in
it
,
but
I
as
surely
knew
that
I
was
not
the
religious
type
.
Besides
,
the
logical
conclusion
of
this
more
clearly
seen
distinction
between
love
and
sex
was
certainly
not
an
invitation
to
enter
a
world
of
fidelity
;
and
in
one
sense
Mrs
.
de
Seitas
had
been
preaching
to
the
converted
in
all
that
she
had
said
—
about
a
clean
surgical
abscission
of
what
went
on
in
the
loins
from
what
went
on
in
the
heart
.
Yet
something
very
deep
in
me
revolted
.
I
could
swallow
her
theory
,
but
it
lay
queasily
on
my
stomach
.
It
flouted
something
deeper
than
convention
and
received
ideas
.
It
flouted
an
innate
sense
that
I
ought
to
find
all
I
needed
in
Alison
and
that
if
I
failed
to
do
so
,
then
something
more
than
morality
or
sensuality
was
involved
;
something
I
couldn
’
t
define
,
but
which
was
both
biological
and
metaphysical
;
to
do
with
evolution
and
with
death
.
Perhaps
Lily
de
Seitas
looked
forward
to
a
sexual
morality
for
the
twenty
-
first
century
;
but
something
was
missing
,
some
vital
safeguard
;
and
I
suspected
I
saw
to
the
twenty
-
second
.
Easy
to
think
such
things
;
but
harder
to
live
them
,
in
the
meanwhile
still
twentieth
century
.
Our
instincts
emerge
so
much
more
nakedly
,
our
emotions
and
wills
veer
so
much
more
quickly
,
than
ever
before
.
A
young
Victorian
of
my
age
would
have
thought
nothing
of
waiting
fifty
months
,
let
alone
fifty
days
,
for
his
beloved
;
and
of
never
permitting
a
single
unchaste
thought
to
sully
his
mind
,
let
alone
an
act
his
body
.
I
could
get
up
in
a
young
Victorian
mood
;
but
by
midday
,
with
a
pretty
girl
standing
beside
me
in
a
bookshop
,
I
might
easily
find
myself
praying
to
the
God
I
did
not
believe
in
that
she
wouldn
’
t
turn
and
smile
at
me
.
Then
one
evening
in
Bayswater
a
girl
did
smile
;
she
didn
’
t
have
to
turn
.
It
was
in
an
espresso
bar
,
and
I
had
spent
most
of
my
meal
watching
her
talking
opposite
with
a
friend
;
her
bare
arms
,
her
promising
breasts
.
She
looked
Italian
;
black
-
haired
,
doe
-
eyed
.
Her
friend
went
off
,
and
the
girl
sat
back
and
gave
me
a
very
direct
,
though
perfectly
nice
,
smile
.
She
wasn
’
t
a
tart
;
she
was
just
saying
,
If
you
want
to
start
talking
,
come
on
.
I
got
clumsily
to
my
feet
,
and
spent
an
embarrassing
minute
waiting
at
the
entrance
for
the
waitress
to
come
and
take
my
money
.
My
shameful
retreat
was
partly
inspired
by
paranoia
.
The
girl
and
her
friend
had
come
in
after
me
,
and
had
sat
at
a
table
where
I
couldn
’
t
help
watching
them
.
It
was
absurd
.
I
began
to
feel
that
every
girl
who
crossed
my
path
was
hired
to
torment
and
test
me
;
I
started
checking
through
the
window
before
I
went
in
to
coffee
bars
and
restaurants
,
to
see
if
I
could
get
a
corner
free
of
sight
and
sound
of
the
dreadful
creatures
.
