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- Джон Фоулз
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There
were
two
pages
scrawled
in
her
big
handwriting
.
"
When
did
you
write
this
?
"
"
Read
it
.
"
I
don
’
t
want
to
live
any
more
,
it
said
.
I
spend
most
of
my
life
not
wanting
to
live
.
The
only
place
I
am
happy
is
here
where
we
’
re
being
taught
,
and
I
have
to
think
of
something
else
,
or
reading
books
,
or
in
the
cinema
.
Or
in
bed
.
I
’
m
only
happy
when
I
forget
I
exist
.
When
just
my
eyes
or
my
ears
or
my
skin
exist
.
I
can
’
t
remember
having
been
happy
for
two
or
three
years
.
Since
the
abortion
.
All
I
can
remember
is
forcing
myself
sometimes
to
look
happy
so
if
I
catch
sight
of
my
face
in
the
mirror
I
might
kid
myself
for
a
moment
I
really
am
happy
.
There
were
two
more
sentences
heavily
crossed
out
.
I
looked
up
into
her
gray
eyes
,
still
watching
me
.
"
You
can
’
t
mean
this
.
"
"
I
wrote
it
today
in
coffee
-
time
.
If
I
’
d
known
how
to
quietly
kill
myself
in
the
canteen
I
’
d
have
done
it
.
"
"
It
’
s
…
well
,
hysterical
.
"
"
I
feel
hysterical
.
"
It
was
almost
a
shout
.
