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- Джозеф Конрад
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"
Does
she
not
want
to
?
"
"
She
is
timid
,
"
said
Linda
,
with
a
little
burst
of
laughter
.
"
People
notice
her
fair
hair
as
she
goes
along
with
us
.
They
call
out
after
her
,
'
Look
at
the
Rubia
!
Look
at
the
Rubiacita
!
'
They
call
out
in
the
streets
.
She
is
timid
.
"
"
And
you
?
You
are
not
timid
--
eh
?
"
the
father
pronounced
,
slowly
.
She
tossed
back
all
her
dark
hair
.
"
Nobody
calls
out
after
me
.
"
Old
Giorgio
contemplated
his
children
thoughtfully
.
There
was
two
years
difference
between
them
.
They
had
been
born
to
him
late
,
years
after
the
boy
had
died
.
Had
he
lived
he
would
have
been
nearly
as
old
as
Gian
'
Battista
--
he
whom
the
English
called
Nostromo
;
but
as
to
his
daughters
,
the
severity
of
his
temper
,
his
advancing
age
,
his
absorption
in
his
memories
,
had
prevented
his
taking
much
notice
of
them
.
He
loved
his
children
,
but
girls
belong
more
to
the
mother
,
and
much
of
his
affection
had
been
expended
in
the
worship
and
service
of
liberty
.
When
quite
a
youth
he
had
deserted
from
a
ship
trading
to
La
Plata
,
to
enlist
in
the
navy
of
Montevideo
,
then
under
the
command
of
Garibaldi
.
Afterwards
,
in
the
Italian
legion
of
the
Republic
struggling
against
the
encroaching
tyranny
of
Rosas
,
he
had
taken
part
,
on
great
plains
,
on
the
banks
of
immense
rivers
,
in
the
fiercest
fighting
perhaps
the
world
had
ever
known
.
He
had
lived
amongst
men
who
had
declaimed
about
liberty
,
suffered
for
liberty
,
died
for
liberty
,
with
a
desperate
exaltation
,
and
with
their
eyes
turned
towards
an
oppressed
Italy
.
His
own
enthusiasm
had
been
fed
on
scenes
of
carnage
,
on
the
examples
of
lofty
devotion
,
on
the
din
of
armed
struggle
,
on
the
inflamed
language
of
proclamations
.
He
had
never
parted
from
the
chief
of
his
choice
--
the
fiery
apostle
of
independence
--
keeping
by
his
side
in
America
and
in
Italy
till
after
the
fatal
day
of
Aspromonte
,
when
the
treachery
of
kings
,
emperors
,
and
ministers
had
been
revealed
to
the
world
in
the
wounding
and
imprisonment
of
his
hero
--
a
catastrophe
that
had
instilled
into
him
a
gloomy
doubt
of
ever
being
able
to
understand
the
ways
of
Divine
justice
.
He
did
not
deny
it
,
however
.
It
required
patience
,
he
would
say
.
Though
he
disliked
priests
,
and
would
not
put
his
foot
inside
a
church
for
anything
,
he
believed
in
God
.
Were
not
the
proclamations
against
tyrants
addressed
to
the
peoples
in
the
name
of
God
and
liberty
?
"
God
for
men
--
religions
for
women
,
"
he
muttered
sometimes
.
In
Sicily
,
an
Englishman
who
had
turned
up
in
Palermo
after
its
evacuation
by
the
army
of
the
king
,
had
given
him
a
Bible
in
Italian
--
the
publication
of
the
British
and
Foreign
Bible
Society
,
bound
in
a
dark
leather
cover
.
In
periods
of
political
adversity
,
in
the
pauses
of
silence
when
the
revolutionists
issued
no
proclamations
,
Giorgio
earned
his
living
with
the
first
work
that
came
to
hand
--
as
sailor
,
as
dock
labourer
on
the
quays
of
Genoa
,
once
as
a
hand
on
a
farm
in
the
hills
above
Spezzia
--
and
in
his
spare
time
he
studied
the
thick
volume
.
He
carried
it
with
him
into
battles
.
Now
it
was
his
only
reading
,
and
in
order
not
to
be
deprived
of
it
(
the
print
was
small
)
he
had
consented
to
accept
the
present
of
a
pair
of
silver-mounted
spectacles
from
Senora
Emilia
Gould
,
the
wife
of
the
Englishman
who
managed
the
silver
mine
in
the
mountains
three
leagues
from
the
town
.
She
was
the
only
Englishwoman
in
Sulaco
.
