-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Эдит Уортон
-
- Лето
-
- Стр. 52/109
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
“
Oh
,
well
,
we
can
’
t
stay
sweltering
here
,
”
he
decided
;
“
let
’
s
try
somewhere
else
—
”
and
with
a
sense
of
relief
Charity
followed
him
from
that
scene
of
inhospitable
splendour
.
That
“
somewhere
else
”
turned
out
—
after
more
hot
tramping
,
and
several
failures
—
to
be
,
of
all
things
,
a
little
open
-
air
place
in
a
back
street
that
called
itself
a
French
restaurant
,
and
consisted
in
two
or
three
rickety
tables
under
a
scarlet
-
runner
,
between
a
patch
of
zinnias
and
petunias
and
a
big
elm
bending
over
from
the
next
yard
.
Here
they
lunched
on
queerly
flavoured
things
,
while
Harney
,
leaning
back
in
a
crippled
rocking
-
chair
,
smoked
cigarettes
between
the
courses
and
poured
into
Charity
’
s
glass
a
pale
yellow
wine
which
he
said
was
the
very
same
one
drank
in
just
such
jolly
places
in
France
.
Charity
did
not
think
the
wine
as
good
as
sarsaparilla
,
but
she
sipped
a
mouthful
for
the
pleasure
of
doing
what
he
did
,
and
of
fancying
herself
alone
with
him
in
foreign
countries
.
The
illusion
was
increased
by
their
being
served
by
a
deep
-
bosomed
woman
with
smooth
hair
and
a
pleasant
laugh
,
who
talked
to
Harney
in
unintelligible
words
,
and
seemed
amazed
and
overjoyed
at
his
answering
her
in
kind
.
At
the
other
tables
other
people
sat
,
mill
-
hands
probably
,
homely
but
pleasant
looking
,
who
spoke
the
same
shrill
jargon
,
and
looked
at
Harney
and
Charity
with
friendly
eyes
;
and
between
the
table
-
legs
a
poodle
with
bald
patches
and
pink
eyes
nosed
about
for
scraps
,
and
sat
up
on
his
hind
legs
absurdly
.
Harney
showed
no
inclination
to
move
,
for
hot
as
their
corner
was
,
it
was
at
least
shaded
and
quiet
;
and
,
from
the
main
thoroughfares
came
the
clanging
of
trolleys
,
the
incessant
popping
of
torpedoes
,
the
jingle
of
street
-
organs
,
the
bawling
of
megaphone
men
and
the
loud
murmur
of
increasing
crowds
.
He
leaned
back
,
smoking
his
cigar
,
patting
the
dog
,
and
stirring
the
coffee
that
steamed
in
their
chipped
cups
.
“
It
’
s
the
real
thing
,
you
know
,
”
he
explained
;
and
Charity
hastily
revised
her
previous
conception
of
the
beverage
.
They
had
made
no
plans
for
the
rest
of
the
day
,
and
when
Harney
asked
her
what
she
wanted
to
do
next
she
was
too
bewildered
by
rich
possibilities
to
find
an
answer
.
Finally
she
confessed
that
she
longed
to
go
to
the
Lake
,
where
she
had
not
been
taken
on
her
former
visit
,
and
when
he
answered
,
“
Oh
,
there
’
s
time
for
that
—
it
will
be
pleasanter
later
,
”
she
suggested
seeing
some
pictures
like
the
ones
Mr
.
Miles
had
taken
her
to
.
She
thought
Harney
looked
a
little
disconcerted
;
but
he
passed
his
fine
handkerchief
over
his
warm
brow
,
said
gaily
,
“
Come
along
,
then
,
”
and
rose
with
a
last
pat
for
the
pink
-
eyed
dog
.
Mr
.
Miles
’
s
pictures
had
been
shown
in
an
austere
Y
.
M
.
C
.
A
.
hall
,
with
white
walls
and
an
organ
;
but
Harney
led
Charity
to
a
glittering
place
—
everything
she
saw
seemed
to
glitter
—
where
they
passed
,
between
immense
pictures
of
yellow
-
haired
beauties
stabbing
villains
in
evening
dress
,
into
a
velvet
-
curtained
auditorium
packed
with
spectators
to
the
last
limit
of
compression
.
After
that
,
for
a
while
,
everything
was
merged
in
her
brain
in
swimming
circles
of
heat
and
blinding
alternations
of
light
and
darkness
.
All
the
world
has
to
show
seemed
to
pass
before
her
in
a
chaos
of
palms
and
minarets
,
charging
cavalry
regiments
,
roaring
lions
,
comic
policemen
and
scowling
murderers
;
and
the
crowd
around
her
,
the
hundreds
of
hot
sallow
candy
-
munching
faces
,
young
,
old
,
middle
-
aged
,
but
all
kindled
with
the
same
contagious
excitement
,
became
part
of
the
spectacle
,
and
danced
on
the
screen
with
the
rest
Presently
the
thought
of
the
cool
trolley
-
run
to
the
Lake
grew
irresistible
,
and
they
struggled
out
of
the
theatre
.
As
they
stood
on
the
pavement
,
Harney
pale
with
the
heat
,
and
even
Charity
a
little
confused
by
it
,
a
young
man
drove
by
in
an
electric
run
-
about
with
a
calico
band
bearing
the
words
:
“
Ten
dollars
to
take
you
round
the
Lake
.
”
Before
Charity
knew
what
was
happening
,
Harney
had
waved
a
hand
,
and
they
were
climbing
in
.
“
Say
,
for
twenny
-
five
I
’
ll
run
you
out
to
see
the
ball
-
game
and
back
,
”
the
driver
proposed
with
an
insinuating
grin
;
but
Charity
said
quickly
:
“
Oh
,
I
’
d
rather
go
rowing
on
the
Lake
.
”
The
street
was
so
thronged
that
progress
was
slow
;
but
the
glory
of
sitting
in
the
little
carriage
while
it
wriggled
its
way
between
laden
omnibuses
and
trolleys
made
the
moments
seem
too
short
.
“
Next
turn
is
Lake
Avenue
,
”
the
young
man
called
out
over
his
shoulder
;
and
as
they
paused
in
the
wake
of
a
big
omnibus
groaning
with
Knights
of
Pythias
in
cocked
hats
and
swords
,
Charity
looked
up
and
saw
on
the
corner
a
brick
house
with
a
conspicuous
black
and
gold
sign
across
its
front
.
“
Dr
.
Merkle
;
Private
Consultations
at
all
hours
.
Lady
Attendants
,
”
she
read
;
and
suddenly
she
remembered
Ally
Hawes
’
s
words
:
“
The
house
was
at
the
corner
of
Wing
Street
and
Lake
Avenue
.
.
.
there
’
s
a
big
black
sign
across
the
front
.
.
.
.
”
Through
all
the
heat
and
the
rapture
a
shiver
of
cold
ran
over
her
.
THE
Lake
at
last
—
a
sheet
of
shining
metal
brooded
over
by
drooping
trees
.
Charity
and
Harney
had
secured
a
boat
and
,
getting
away
from
the
wharves
and
the
refreshment
-
booths
,
they
drifted
idly
along
,
hugging
the
shadow
of
the
shore
.
Where
the
sun
struck
the
water
its
shafts
flamed
back
blindingly
at
the
heat
-
veiled
sky
;
and
the
least
shade
was
black
by
contrast
.
The
Lake
was
so
smooth
that
the
reflection
of
the
trees
on
its
edge
seemed
enamelled
on
a
solid
surface
;
but
gradually
,
as
the
sun
declined
,
the
water
grew
transparent
,
and
Charity
,
leaning
over
,
plunged
her
fascinated
gaze
into
depths
so
clear
that
she
saw
the
inverted
tree
-
tops
interwoven
with
the
green
growths
of
the
bottom
.
They
rounded
a
point
at
the
farther
end
of
the
Lake
,
and
entering
an
inlet
pushed
their
bow
against
a
protruding
tree
-
trunk
.
A
green
veil
of
willows
overhung
them
.
Beyond
the
trees
,
wheat
-
fields
sparkled
in
the
sun
;
and
all
along
the
horizon
the
clear
hills
throbbed
with
light
.
Charity
leaned
back
in
the
stern
,
and
Harney
unshipped
the
oars
and
lay
in
the
bottom
of
the
boat
without
speaking
.