-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Эдит Уортон
-
- Лето
-
- Стр. 71/109
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
And
to
do
that
,
you
must
keep
on
loving
them
while
you
’
re
away
from
them
;
and
even
if
you
come
back
against
your
will
—
and
thinking
it
’
s
all
a
bitter
mistake
of
Fate
or
Providence
—
you
must
try
to
make
the
best
of
it
,
and
to
make
the
best
of
your
old
town
;
and
after
a
while
—
well
,
ladies
and
gentlemen
,
I
give
you
my
recipe
for
what
it
’
s
worth
;
after
a
while
,
I
believe
you
’
ll
be
able
to
say
,
as
I
can
say
today
:
’
I
’
m
glad
I
’
m
here
.
’
Believe
me
,
all
of
you
,
the
best
way
to
help
the
places
we
live
in
is
to
be
glad
we
live
there
.
”
He
stopped
,
and
a
murmur
of
emotion
and
surprise
ran
through
the
audience
.
It
was
not
in
the
least
what
they
had
expected
,
but
it
moved
them
more
than
what
they
had
expected
would
have
moved
them
.
“
Hear
,
hear
!
”
a
voice
cried
out
in
the
middle
of
the
hall
.
An
outburst
of
cheers
caught
up
the
cry
,
and
as
they
subsided
Charity
heard
Mr
.
Miles
saying
to
someone
near
him
:
“
That
was
a
MAN
talking
—
—
”
He
wiped
his
spectacles
.
Mr
.
Royall
had
stepped
back
from
the
desk
,
and
taken
his
seat
in
the
row
of
chairs
in
front
of
the
harmonium
.
A
dapper
white
-
haired
gentleman
—
a
distant
Hatchard
—
succeeded
him
behind
the
goldenrod
,
and
began
to
say
beautiful
things
about
the
old
oaken
bucket
,
patient
white
-
haired
mothers
,
and
where
the
boys
used
to
go
nutting
.
.
.
and
Charity
began
again
to
search
for
Harney
.
.
.
.
Suddenly
Mr
.
Royall
pushed
back
his
seat
,
and
one
of
the
maple
branches
in
front
of
the
harmonium
collapsed
with
a
crash
.
It
uncovered
the
end
of
the
first
row
and
in
one
of
the
seats
Charity
saw
Harney
,
and
in
the
next
a
lady
whose
face
was
turned
toward
him
,
and
almost
hidden
by
the
brim
of
her
drooping
hat
.
Charity
did
not
need
to
see
the
face
.
She
knew
at
a
glance
the
slim
figure
,
the
fair
hair
heaped
up
under
the
hat
-
brim
,
the
long
pale
wrinkled
gloves
with
bracelets
slipping
over
them
.
At
the
fall
of
the
branch
Miss
Balch
turned
her
head
toward
the
stage
,
and
in
her
pretty
thin
-
lipped
smile
there
lingered
the
reflection
of
something
her
neighbour
had
been
whispering
to
her
.
.
.
.
Someone
came
forward
to
replace
the
fallen
branch
,
and
Miss
Balch
and
Harney
were
once
more
hidden
.
But
to
Charity
the
vision
of
their
two
faces
had
blotted
out
everything
.
In
a
flash
they
had
shown
her
the
bare
reality
of
her
situation
.
Behind
the
frail
screen
of
her
lover
’
s
caresses
was
the
whole
inscrutable
mystery
of
his
life
:
his
relations
with
other
people
—
with
other
women
—
his
opinions
,
his
prejudices
,
his
principles
,
the
net
of
influences
and
interests
and
ambitions
in
which
every
man
’
s
life
is
entangled
.
Of
all
these
she
knew
nothing
,
except
what
he
had
told
her
of
his
architectural
aspirations
.
She
had
always
dimly
guessed
him
to
be
in
touch
with
important
people
,
involved
in
complicated
relations
—
but
she
felt
it
all
to
be
so
far
beyond
her
understanding
that
the
whole
subject
hung
like
a
luminous
mist
on
the
farthest
verge
of
her
thoughts
.
In
the
foreground
,
hiding
all
else
,
there
was
the
glow
of
his
presence
,
the
light
and
shadow
of
his
face
,
the
way
his
short
-
sighted
eyes
,
at
her
approach
,
widened
and
deepened
as
if
to
draw
her
down
into
them
;
and
,
above
all
,
the
flush
of
youth
and
tenderness
in
which
his
words
enclosed
her
.
Now
she
saw
him
detached
from
her
,
drawn
back
into
the
unknown
,
and
whispering
to
another
girl
things
that
provoked
the
same
smile
of
mischievous
complicity
he
had
so
often
called
to
her
own
lips
.
The
feeling
possessing
her
was
not
one
of
jealousy
:
she
was
too
sure
of
his
love
.
It
was
rather
a
terror
of
the
unknown
,
of
all
the
mysterious
attractions
that
must
even
now
be
dragging
him
away
from
her
,
and
of
her
own
powerlessness
to
contend
with
them
.
She
had
given
him
all
she
had
—
but
what
was
it
compared
to
the
other
gifts
life
held
for
him
?
She
understood
now
the
case
of
girls
like
herself
to
whom
this
kind
of
thing
happened
.
They
gave
all
they
had
,
but
their
all
was
not
enough
:
it
could
not
buy
more
than
a
few
moments
.
.
.
.
The
heat
had
grown
suffocating
—
she
felt
it
descend
on
her
in
smothering
waves
,
and
the
faces
in
the
crowded
hall
began
to
dance
like
the
pictures
flashed
on
the
screen
at
Nettleton
.
For
an
instant
Mr
.
Royall
’
s
countenance
detached
itself
from
the
general
blur
.
He
had
resumed
his
place
in
front
of
the
harmonium
,
and
sat
close
to
her
,
his
eyes
on
her
face
;
and
his
look
seemed
to
pierce
to
the
very
centre
of
her
confused
sensations
.
.
.
.
A
feeling
of
physical
sickness
rushed
over
her
—
and
then
deadly
apprehension
.
The
light
of
the
fiery
hours
in
the
little
house
swept
back
on
her
in
a
glare
of
fear
.
.
.
