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- Джозеф Конрад
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I
could
hate
you
,
Gian
'
Battista
!
"
He
laughed
loudly
.
Her
voice
enveloped
him
like
a
caress
.
She
bemoaned
her
fate
,
spreading
unconsciously
,
like
a
flower
its
perfume
in
the
coolness
of
the
evening
,
the
indefinable
seduction
of
her
person
.
Was
it
her
fault
that
nobody
ever
had
admired
Linda
?
Even
when
they
were
little
,
going
out
with
their
mother
to
Mass
,
she
remembered
that
people
took
no
notice
of
Linda
,
who
was
fearless
,
and
chose
instead
to
frighten
her
,
who
was
timid
,
with
their
attention
.
It
was
her
hair
like
gold
,
she
supposed
.
He
broke
out
--
"
Your
hair
like
gold
,
and
your
eyes
like
violets
,
and
your
lips
like
the
rose
;
your
round
arms
,
your
white
throat
.
"
...
Imperturbable
in
the
indolence
of
her
pose
,
she
blushed
deeply
all
over
to
the
roots
of
her
hair
.
She
was
not
conceited
.
She
was
no
more
self-conscious
than
a
flower
.
But
she
was
pleased
.
And
perhaps
even
a
flower
loves
to
hear
itself
praised
.
He
glanced
down
,
and
added
,
impetuously
--
"
Your
little
feet
!
"
Leaning
back
against
the
rough
stone
wall
of
the
cottage
,
she
seemed
to
bask
languidly
in
the
warmth
of
the
rosy
flush
.
Only
her
lowered
eyes
glanced
at
her
little
feet
.
"
And
so
you
are
going
at
last
to
marry
our
Linda
.
She
is
terrible
.
Ah
!
now
she
will
understand
better
since
you
have
told
her
you
love
her
.
She
will
not
be
so
fierce
.
"
"
Chica
!
"
said
Nostromo
,
"
I
have
not
told
her
anything
.
"
"
Then
make
haste
.
