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- Джон Фоулз
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- Волхв
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- Стр. 25/136
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Alison
was
always
female
;
she
never
,
like
so
many
English
girls
,
betrayed
her
gender
.
She
wasn
’
t
beautiful
,
she
very
often
wasn
’
t
even
pretty
.
But
she
had
a
fashionably
thin
boyish
figure
,
she
had
a
contemporary
dress
sense
,
she
had
a
conscious
way
of
walking
,
and
her
sum
was
extraordinarily
more
than
her
parts
.
I
would
sit
in
the
car
and
watch
her
walking
down
the
street
towards
me
,
pause
,
cross
the
road
;
and
she
looked
wonderful
.
But
then
when
she
was
close
,
beside
me
,
there
so
often
seemed
to
be
something
rather
shallow
,
something
spoilt
-
child
,
in
her
prettiness
.
Even
close
to
her
,
I
was
always
being
wrong
-
footed
.
She
would
be
ugly
one
moment
,
and
then
some
movement
,
look
,
angle
of
her
face
,
made
ugliness
impossible
.
When
she
went
out
she
used
to
wear
a
lot
of
eye
shadow
,
which
married
with
the
sulky
way
’
she
sometimes
held
her
mouth
to
give
her
a
characteristic
bruised
look
;
a
look
that
subtly
made
one
want
to
bruise
her
more
.
Men
were
always
aware
of
her
,
in
the
street
,
in
restaurants
,
in
pubs
;
and
she
knew
it
.
I
used
to
watch
them
sliding
their
eyes
at
her
as
she
passed
.
She
was
one
of
those
rare
,
even
among
already
pretty
,
women
that
are
born
with
a
natural
aura
of
sexuality
:
always
in
their
lives
it
will
be
the
relationships
with
men
,
it
will
be
how
men
react
,
that
matters
.
And
even
the
tamest
sense
it
.
There
was
a
simpler
Alison
,
when
the
mascara
was
off
;
she
had
not
been
typical
of
herself
,
that
first
evening
;
but
still
always
a
little
unpredictable
,
ambiguous
.
One
never
knew
when
the
more
sophisticated
,
bruised
-
hard
persona
would
reappear
.
She
would
give
herself
violently
;
then
yawn
at
the
wrongest
moment
.
She
would
spend
all
one
day
clearing
up
the
fiat
,
cooking
,
ironing
,
then
pass
the
next
three
or
four
bohemianly
on
the
floor
in
front
of
the
fire
,
reading
Lear
,
women
’
s
magazines
,
a
detective
story
,
Hemingway
—
not
all
at
the
same
time
,
but
bits
of
all
in
the
same
afternoon
.
She
liked
doing
things
,
and
only
then
finding
a
reason
for
doing
them
.
One
day
she
came
back
with
an
expensive
fountain
pen
.
"
For
monsieur
.
"
"
But
you
shouldn
’
t
.
"
"
It
’
s
okay
.
I
stole
it
.
"
"
Stole
it
!
"
"
I
steal
everything
.
