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- Джон Фоулз
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- Волхв
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- Стр. 7/136
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So
I
went
down
when
I
could
tell
a
lot
of
people
had
already
arrived
,
when
the
ugly
girls
—
they
always
arrive
first
—
would
,
I
hoped
,
be
disposed
of
.
The
door
was
open
.
I
went
in
through
a
little
hall
and
stood
in
the
doorway
of
the
living
room
,
holding
my
bottle
of
Algerian
burgundy
ready
to
present
.
I
tried
to
discover
in
the
crowded
room
one
of
the
two
girls
I
had
seen
before
.
Loud
male
Australian
voices
;
a
man
in
a
kilt
,
and
several
West
Indians
.
It
didn
’
t
look
my
sort
of
party
,
and
I
was
within
five
seconds
of
slipping
back
out
.
Then
someone
arrived
and
stood
in
the
hall
behind
me
.
It
was
a
girl
of
about
my
own
age
,
carrying
a
heavy
suitcase
,
with
a
small
rucksack
on
her
shoulders
.
She
was
wearing
a
whitish
old
creased
mackintosh
,
and
she
had
the
sort
of
tan
that
only
weeks
in
hot
sun
can
give
.
Her
long
hair
was
not
quite
blonde
,
but
bleached
almost
to
that
color
.
It
looked
odd
,
because
the
urchin
cut
was
the
fashion
;
girls
like
boys
,
not
girls
like
girls
;
and
there
was
something
German
,
Danish
,
about
her
—
waif
-
like
,
yet
perversely
or
immorally
so
.
She
kept
back
from
the
open
doorway
,
beckoned
me
.
Her
smile
was
very
thin
,
very
insincere
,
and
very
curt
.
"
Could
you
find
Maggie
and
ask
her
to
come
out
?
"
"
Margaret
?
"
She
nodded
.
I
forced
my
way
through
the
packed
room
and
eventually
caught
sight
of
Margaret
in
the
kitchen
.
"
Hi
there
!
You
made
it
.
"
"
Someone
wants
to
see
you
outside
.
A
girl
with
a
suitcase
.
"
"
Oh
no
!
"
She
turned
to
a
woman
behind
her
.
I
sensed
trouble
.
She
hesitated
,
then
put
down
the
quart
beer
bottle
she
was
opening
.
I
followed
her
plump
shoulders
back
through
the
crowd
.
"
Alison
!
You
said
next
week
.
"
