-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Эдит Уортон
-
- Лето
-
- Стр. 34/109
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
“
I
ain
’
t
—
I
ain
’
t
ashamed
.
They
’
re
my
people
,
and
I
ain
’
t
ashamed
of
them
,
”
she
sobbed
.
“
My
dear
.
.
.
”
he
murmured
,
putting
his
arm
about
her
;
and
she
leaned
against
him
and
wept
out
her
pain
.
It
was
too
late
to
go
around
to
Hamblin
,
and
all
the
stars
were
out
in
a
clear
sky
when
they
reached
the
North
Dormer
valley
and
drove
up
to
the
red
house
.
SINCE
her
reinstatement
in
Miss
Hatchard
’
s
favour
Charity
had
not
dared
to
curtail
by
a
moment
her
hours
of
attendance
at
the
library
.
She
even
made
a
point
of
arriving
before
the
time
,
and
showed
a
laudable
indignation
when
the
youngest
Targatt
girl
,
who
had
been
engaged
to
help
in
the
cleaning
and
rearranging
of
the
books
,
came
trailing
in
late
and
neglected
her
task
to
peer
through
the
window
at
the
Sollas
boy
.
Nevertheless
,
“
library
days
”
seemed
more
than
ever
irksome
to
Charity
after
her
vivid
hours
of
liberty
;
and
she
would
have
found
it
hard
to
set
a
good
example
to
her
subordinate
if
Lucius
Harney
had
not
been
commissioned
,
before
Miss
Hatchard
’
s
departure
,
to
examine
with
the
local
carpenter
the
best
means
of
ventilating
the
“
Memorial
.
”
He
was
careful
to
prosecute
this
inquiry
on
the
days
when
the
library
was
open
to
the
public
;
and
Charity
was
therefore
sure
of
spending
part
of
the
afternoon
in
his
company
.
The
Targatt
girl
’
s
presence
,
and
the
risk
of
being
interrupted
by
some
passer
-
by
suddenly
smitten
with
a
thirst
for
letters
,
restricted
their
intercourse
to
the
exchange
of
commonplaces
;
but
there
was
a
fascination
to
Charity
in
the
contrast
between
these
public
civilities
and
their
secret
intimacy
.
The
day
after
their
drive
to
the
brown
house
was
“
library
day
,
”
and
she
sat
at
her
desk
working
at
the
revised
catalogue
,
while
the
Targatt
girl
,
one
eye
on
the
window
,
chanted
out
the
titles
of
a
pile
of
books
.
Charity
’
s
thoughts
were
far
away
,
in
the
dismal
house
by
the
swamp
,
and
under
the
twilight
sky
during
the
long
drive
home
,
when
Lucius
Harney
had
consoled
her
with
endearing
words
.
That
day
,
for
the
first
time
since
he
had
been
boarding
with
them
,
he
had
failed
to
appear
as
usual
at
the
midday
meal
.
No
message
had
come
to
explain
his
absence
,
and
Mr
.
Royall
,
who
was
more
than
usually
taciturn
,
had
betrayed
no
surprise
,
and
made
no
comment
.
In
itself
this
indifference
was
not
particularly
significant
,
for
Mr
.
Royall
,
in
common
with
most
of
his
fellow
-
citizens
,
had
a
way
of
accepting
events
passively
,
as
if
he
had
long
since
come
to
the
conclusion
that
no
one
who
lived
in
North
Dormer
could
hope
to
modify
them
.
But
to
Charity
,
in
the
reaction
from
her
mood
of
passionate
exaltation
,
there
was
something
disquieting
in
his
silence
.
It
was
almost
as
if
Lucius
Harney
had
never
had
a
part
in
their
lives
:
Mr
.
Royall
’
s
imperturbable
indifference
seemed
to
relegate
him
to
the
domain
of
unreality
.
As
she
sat
at
work
,
she
tried
to
shake
off
her
disappointment
at
Harney
’
s
non
-
appearing
.
Some
trifling
incident
had
probably
kept
him
from
joining
them
at
midday
;
but
she
was
sure
he
must
be
eager
to
see
her
again
,
and
that
he
would
not
want
to
wait
till
they
met
at
supper
,
between
Mr
.
Royall
and
Verena
.
She
was
wondering
what
his
first
words
would
be
,
and
trying
to
devise
a
way
of
getting
rid
of
the
Targatt
girl
before
he
came
,
when
she
heard
steps
outside
,
and
he
walked
up
the
path
with
Mr
.
Miles
.
The
clergyman
from
Hepburn
seldom
came
to
North
Dormer
except
when
he
drove
over
to
officiate
at
the
old
white
church
which
,
by
an
unusual
chance
,
happened
to
belong
to
the
Episcopal
communion
.
He
was
a
brisk
affable
man
,
eager
to
make
the
most
of
the
fact
that
a
little
nucleus
of
“
church
-
people
”
had
survived
in
the
sectarian
wilderness
,
and
resolved
to
undermine
the
influence
of
the
ginger
-
bread
-
coloured
Baptist
chapel
at
the
other
end
of
the
village
;
but
he
was
kept
busy
by
parochial
work
at
Hepburn
,
where
there
were
paper
-
mills
and
saloons
,
and
it
was
not
often
that
he
could
spare
time
for
North
Dormer
.
