-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Эдит Уортон
-
- Риф, или Там, где разбивается счастье
-
- Стр. 126/229
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
A
carriage
drove
out
of
the
court
as
he
entered
it
,
and
in
the
hall
his
vision
was
dispelled
by
the
exceedingly
substantial
presence
of
a
lady
in
a
waterproof
and
a
tweed
hat
,
who
stood
firmly
planted
in
the
centre
of
a
pile
of
luggage
,
as
to
which
she
was
giving
involved
but
lucid
directions
to
the
footman
who
had
just
admitted
her
.
She
went
on
with
these
directions
regardless
of
Darrow
’
s
entrance
,
merely
fixing
her
small
pale
eyes
on
him
while
she
proceeded
,
in
a
deep
contralto
voice
,
and
a
fluent
French
pronounced
with
the
purest
Boston
accent
,
to
specify
the
destination
of
her
bags
;
and
this
enabled
Darrow
to
give
her
back
a
gaze
protracted
enough
to
take
in
all
the
details
of
her
plain
thick
-
set
person
,
from
the
square
sallow
face
beneath
bands
of
grey
hair
to
the
blunt
boot
-
toes
protruding
under
her
wide
walking
skirt
.
She
submitted
to
this
scrutiny
with
no
more
evidence
of
surprise
than
a
monument
examined
by
a
tourist
;
but
when
the
fate
of
her
luggage
had
been
settled
she
turned
suddenly
to
Darrow
and
,
dropping
her
eyes
from
his
face
to
his
feet
,
asked
in
trenchant
accents
:
“
What
sort
of
boots
have
you
got
on
?
”
Before
he
could
summon
his
wits
to
the
consideration
of
this
question
she
continued
in
a
tone
of
suppressed
indignation
:
“
Until
Americans
get
used
to
the
fact
that
France
is
under
water
for
half
the
year
they
’
re
perpetually
risking
their
lives
by
not
being
properly
protected
.
I
suppose
you
’
ve
been
tramping
through
all
this
nasty
clammy
mud
as
if
you
’
d
been
taking
a
stroll
on
Boston
Common
.
”
Darrow
,
with
a
laugh
,
affirmed
his
previous
experience
of
French
dampness
,
and
the
degree
to
which
he
was
on
his
guard
against
it
;
but
the
lady
,
with
a
contemptuous
snort
,
rejoined
:
“
You
young
men
are
all
alike
—
—
“
;
to
which
she
appended
,
after
another
hard
look
at
him
:
“
I
suppose
you
’
re
George
Darrow
?
I
used
to
know
one
of
your
mother
’
s
cousins
,
who
married
a
Tunstall
of
Mount
Vernon
Street
.
My
name
is
Adelaide
Painter
.
Have
you
been
in
Boston
lately
?
No
?
I
’
m
sorry
for
that
.
I
hear
there
have
been
several
new
houses
built
at
the
lower
end
of
Commonwealth
Avenue
and
I
hoped
you
could
tell
me
about
them
.
I
haven
’
t
been
there
for
thirty
years
myself
.
”
Miss
Painter
’
s
arrival
at
Givre
produced
the
same
effect
as
the
wind
’
s
hauling
around
to
the
north
after
days
of
languid
weather
.
When
Darrow
joined
the
group
about
the
tea
-
table
she
had
already
given
a
tingle
to
the
air
.
Madame
de
Chantelle
still
remained
invisible
above
stairs
;
but
Darrow
had
the
impression
that
even
through
her
drawn
curtains
and
bolted
doors
a
stimulating
whiff
must
have
entered
.
Anna
was
in
her
usual
seat
behind
the
tea
-
tray
,
and
Sophy
Viner
presently
led
in
her
pupil
.
Owen
was
also
there
,
seated
,
as
usual
,
a
little
apart
from
the
others
,
and
following
Miss
Painter
’
s
massive
movements
and
equally
substantial
utterances
with
a
smile
of
secret
intelligence
which
gave
Darrow
the
idea
of
his
having
been
in
clandestine
parley
with
the
enemy
.
Darrow
further
took
note
that
the
girl
and
her
suitor
perceptibly
avoided
each
other
;
but
this
might
be
a
natural
result
of
the
tension
Miss
Painter
had
been
summoned
to
relieve
.
Sophy
Viner
would
evidently
permit
no
recognition
of
the
situation
save
that
which
it
lay
with
Madame
de
Chantelle
to
accord
;
but
meanwhile
Miss
Painter
had
proclaimed
her
tacit
sense
of
it
by
summoning
the
girl
to
a
seat
at
her
side
.
Darrow
,
as
he
continued
to
observe
the
newcomer
,
who
was
perched
on
her
arm
-
chair
like
a
granite
image
on
the
edge
of
a
cliff
,
was
aware
that
,
in
a
more
detached
frame
of
mind
,
he
would
have
found
an
extreme
interest
in
studying
and
classifying
Miss
Painter
.
It
was
not
that
she
said
anything
remarkable
,
or
betrayed
any
of
those
unspoken
perceptions
which
give
significance
to
the
most
commonplace
utterances
.
She
talked
of
the
lateness
of
her
train
,
of
an
impending
crisis
in
international
politics
,
of
the
difficulty
of
buying
English
tea
in
Paris
and
of
the
enormities
of
which
French
servants
were
capable
;
and
her
views
on
these
subjects
were
enunciated
with
a
uniformity
of
emphasis
implying
complete
unconsciousness
of
any
difference
in
their
interest
and
importance
.
She
always
applied
to
the
French
race
the
distant
epithet
of
“
those
people
”
,
but
she
betrayed
an
intimate
acquaintance
with
many
of
its
members
,
and
an
encyclopaedic
knowledge
of
the
domestic
habits
,
financial
difficulties
and
private
complications
of
various
persons
of
social
importance
.
Yet
,
as
she
evidently
felt
no
incongruity
in
her
attitude
,
so
she
revealed
no
desire
to
parade
her
familiarity
with
the
fashionable
,
or
indeed
any
sense
of
it
as
a
fact
to
be
paraded
.
It
was
evident
that
the
titled
ladies
whom
she
spoke
of
as
Mimi
or
Simone
or
Odette
were
as
much
“
those
people
”
to
her
as
the
bonne
who
tampered
with
her
tea
and
steamed
the
stamps
off
her
letters
(
“
when
,
by
a
miracle
,
I
don
’
t
put
them
in
the
box
myself
.
”
)
Her
whole
attitude
was
of
a
vast
grim
tolerance
of
things
-
as
-
they
-
came
,
as
though
she
had
been
some
wonderful
automatic
machine
which
recorded
facts
but
had
not
yet
been
perfected
to
the
point
of
sorting
or
labelling
them
.
