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- Стр. 62/109
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They
looked
at
each
other
a
moment
in
silence
;
then
he
answered
gently
:
“
Very
well
:
let
’
s
go
the
other
way
,
then
.
”
She
remained
motionless
,
gazing
silently
at
the
ground
,
and
he
went
on
:
“
Isn
’
t
there
a
house
up
here
somewhere
—
a
little
abandoned
house
—
you
meant
to
show
me
some
day
?
”
Still
she
made
no
answer
,
and
he
continued
,
in
the
same
tone
of
tender
reassurance
:
“
Let
us
go
there
now
and
sit
down
and
talk
quietly
.
”
He
took
one
of
the
hands
that
hung
by
her
side
and
pressed
his
lips
to
the
palm
.
“
Do
you
suppose
I
’
m
going
to
let
you
send
me
away
?
Do
you
suppose
I
don
’
t
understand
?
”
The
little
old
house
—
its
wooden
walls
sun
-
bleached
to
a
ghostly
gray
—
stood
in
an
orchard
above
the
road
.
The
garden
palings
had
fallen
,
but
the
broken
gate
dangled
between
its
posts
,
and
the
path
to
the
house
was
marked
by
rose
-
bushes
run
wild
and
hanging
their
small
pale
blossoms
above
the
crowding
grasses
.
Slender
pilasters
and
an
intricate
fan
-
light
framed
the
opening
where
the
door
had
hung
;
and
the
door
itself
lay
rotting
in
the
grass
,
with
an
old
apple
-
tree
fallen
across
it
.
Inside
,
also
,
wind
and
weather
had
blanched
everything
to
the
same
wan
silvery
tint
;
the
house
was
as
dry
and
pure
as
the
interior
of
a
long
-
empty
shell
.
But
it
must
have
been
exceptionally
well
built
,
for
the
little
rooms
had
kept
something
of
their
human
aspect
:
the
wooden
mantels
with
their
neat
classic
ornaments
were
in
place
,
and
the
corners
of
one
ceiling
retained
a
light
film
of
plaster
tracery
.
Harney
had
found
an
old
bench
at
the
back
door
and
dragged
it
into
the
house
.
Charity
sat
on
it
,
leaning
her
head
against
the
wall
in
a
state
of
drowsy
lassitude
.
He
had
guessed
that
she
was
hungry
and
thirsty
,
and
had
brought
her
some
tablets
of
chocolate
from
his
bicycle
-
bag
,
and
filled
his
drinking
-
cup
from
a
spring
in
the
orchard
;
and
now
he
sat
at
her
feet
,
smoking
a
cigarette
,
and
looking
up
at
her
without
speaking
.
Outside
,
the
afternoon
shadows
were
lengthening
across
the
grass
,
and
through
the
empty
window
-
frame
that
faced
her
she
saw
the
Mountain
thrusting
its
dark
mass
against
a
sultry
sunset
.
It
was
time
to
go
.
She
stood
up
,
and
he
sprang
to
his
feet
also
,
and
passed
his
arm
through
hers
with
an
air
of
authority
.
“
Now
,
Charity
,
you
’
re
coming
back
with
me
.
”
She
looked
at
him
and
shook
her
head
.
“
I
ain
’
t
ever
going
back
.
You
don
’
t
know
.
”
“
What
don
’
t
I
know
?
”
She
was
silent
,
and
he
continued
:
“
What
happened
on
the
wharf
was
horrible
—
it
’
s
natural
you
should
feel
as
you
do
.
But
it
doesn
’
t
make
any
real
difference
:
you
can
’
t
be
hurt
by
such
things
.
You
must
try
to
forget
.
And
you
must
try
to
understand
that
men
.
.
.
men
sometimes
.
.
.
”
“
I
know
about
men
.
That
’
s
why
.
”
