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- Стр. 166/229
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She
was
one
of
the
elemental
creatures
whose
emotion
is
all
in
their
pulses
,
and
who
become
inexpressive
or
sentimental
when
they
try
to
turn
sensation
into
speech
.
His
caress
had
restored
her
to
her
natural
place
in
the
scheme
of
things
,
and
Darrow
felt
as
if
he
had
clasped
a
tree
and
a
nymph
had
bloomed
from
it
.
.
.
The
mere
fact
of
not
having
to
listen
to
her
any
longer
added
immensely
to
her
charm
.
She
continued
,
of
course
,
to
talk
to
him
,
but
it
didn
’
t
matter
,
because
he
no
longer
made
any
effort
to
follow
her
words
,
but
let
her
voice
run
on
as
a
musical
undercurrent
to
his
thoughts
.
She
hadn
’
t
a
drop
of
poetry
in
her
,
but
she
had
some
of
the
qualities
that
create
it
in
others
;
and
in
moments
of
heat
the
imagination
does
not
always
feel
the
difference
.
.
.
Lying
beside
her
in
the
shade
,
Darrow
felt
her
presence
as
a
part
of
the
charmed
stillness
of
the
summer
woods
,
as
the
element
of
vague
well
-
being
that
suffused
his
senses
and
lulled
to
sleep
the
ache
of
wounded
pride
.
All
he
asked
of
her
,
as
yet
,
was
a
touch
on
the
hand
or
on
the
lips
—
and
that
she
should
let
him
go
on
lying
there
through
the
long
warm
hours
,
while
a
black
-
bird
’
s
song
throbbed
like
a
fountain
,
and
the
summer
wind
stirred
in
the
trees
,
and
close
by
,
between
the
nearest
branches
and
the
brim
of
his
tilted
hat
,
a
slight
white
figure
gathered
up
all
the
floating
threads
of
joy
.
.
.
He
recalled
,
too
,
having
noticed
,
as
he
lay
staring
at
a
break
in
the
tree
-
tops
,
a
stream
of
mares
’
-
tails
coming
up
the
sky
.
He
had
said
to
himself
:
“
It
will
rain
to
-
morrow
,
”
and
the
thought
had
made
the
air
seem
warmer
and
the
sun
more
vivid
on
her
hair
.
.
.
.
Perhaps
if
the
mares
’
-
tails
had
not
come
up
the
sky
their
adventure
might
have
had
no
sequel
.
But
the
cloud
brought
rain
,
and
next
morning
he
looked
out
of
his
window
into
a
cold
grey
blur
.
They
had
planned
an
all
-
day
excursion
down
the
Seine
,
to
the
two
Andelys
and
Rouen
,
and
now
,
with
the
long
hours
on
their
hands
,
they
were
both
a
little
at
a
loss
.
.
.
.
There
was
the
Louvre
,
of
course
,
and
the
Luxembourg
;
but
he
had
tried
looking
at
pictures
with
her
,
she
had
first
so
persistently
admired
the
worst
things
,
and
then
so
frankly
lapsed
into
indifference
,
that
he
had
no
wish
to
repeat
the
experiment
.
So
they
went
out
,
aimlessly
,
and
took
a
cold
wet
walk
,
turning
at
length
into
the
deserted
arcades
of
the
Palais
Royal
,
and
finally
drifting
into
one
of
its
equally
deserted
restaurants
,
where
they
lunched
alone
and
somewhat
dolefully
,
served
by
a
wan
old
waiter
with
the
look
of
a
castaway
who
has
given
up
watching
for
a
sail
.
.
.
.
It
was
odd
how
the
waiter
’
s
face
came
back
to
him
.
.
.
Perhaps
but
for
the
rain
it
might
never
have
happened
;
but
what
was
the
use
of
thinking
of
that
now
?
He
tried
to
turn
his
thoughts
to
more
urgent
issues
;
but
,
by
a
strange
perversity
of
association
,
every
detail
of
the
day
was
forcing
itself
on
his
mind
with
an
insistence
from
which
there
was
no
escape
.
Reluctantly
he
relived
the
long
wet
walk
back
to
the
hotel
,
after
a
tedious
hour
at
a
cinematograph
show
on
the
Boulevard
It
was
still
raining
when
they
withdrew
from
this
stale
spectacle
,
but
she
had
obstinately
refused
to
take
a
cab
,
had
even
,
on
the
way
,
insisted
on
loitering
under
the
dripping
awnings
of
shop
-
windows
and
poking
into
draughty
passages
,
and
finally
,
when
they
had
nearly
reached
their
destination
,
had
gone
so
far
as
to
suggest
that
they
should
turn
back
to
hunt
up
some
show
she
had
heard
of
in
a
theatre
at
the
Batignolles
.
But
at
that
he
had
somewhat
irritably
protested
:
he
remembered
that
,
for
the
first
time
,
they
were
both
rather
irritable
,
and
vaguely
disposed
to
resist
one
another
’
s
suggestions
.
His
feet
were
wet
,
and
he
was
tired
of
walking
,
and
sick
of
the
smell
of
stuffy
unaired
theatres
,
and
he
had
said
he
must
really
get
back
to
write
some
letters
—
and
so
they
had
kept
on
to
the
hotel
.
.
.
Darrow
had
no
idea
how
long
he
had
sat
there
when
he
heard
Anna
’
s
hand
on
the
door
.
The
effort
of
rising
,
and
of
composing
his
face
to
meet
her
,
gave
him
a
factitious
sense
of
self
-
control
.
He
said
to
himself
:
“
I
must
decide
on
something
—
—
”
and
that
lifted
him
a
hair
’
s
breadth
above
the
whirling
waters
.
She
came
in
with
a
lighter
step
,
and
he
instantly
perceived
that
something
unforeseen
and
reassuring
had
happened
.
