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- Джон Стейнбек
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- Зима тревоги нашей
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- Стр. 385/385
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It
’
s
so
much
darker
when
a
light
goes
out
than
it
would
have
been
if
it
had
never
shone
.
The
world
is
full
of
dark
derelicts
.
The
better
way
—
the
Marulli
of
that
old
Rome
would
have
known
it
—
there
comes
a
time
for
decent
,
honorable
retirement
,
not
dramatic
,
not
punishment
of
self
or
family
—
just
good
-
by
,
a
warm
bath
and
an
opened
vein
,
a
warm
sea
and
a
razor
blade
.
The
ground
swell
on
the
rising
tide
whished
into
the
Place
and
raised
my
legs
and
hips
and
swung
them
to
the
side
and
carried
my
wet
folded
raincoat
out
with
it
.
I
rolled
on
one
hip
and
reached
in
my
side
pocket
for
my
razor
blades
and
I
felt
the
lump
.
Then
in
wonder
I
remembered
the
caressing
,
stroking
hands
of
the
light
-
bearer
.
For
a
moment
it
resisted
coming
out
of
my
wet
pocket
.
Then
in
my
hand
it
gathered
every
bit
of
light
there
was
and
seemed
red
—
dark
red
.
A
surge
of
wave
pushed
me
against
the
very
back
of
the
Place
.
And
the
tempo
of
the
sea
speeded
up
.
I
had
to
fight
the
water
to
get
out
,
and
I
had
to
get
out
.
I
rolled
and
scrambled
and
splashed
chest
deep
in
the
surf
and
the
brisking
waves
pushed
me
against
the
old
sea
wall
.
I
had
to
get
back
—
had
to
return
the
talisman
to
its
new
owner
.
Else
another
light
might
go
out
.