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- Эдит Уортон
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- Стр. 69/70
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He
avoided
her
challenging
glance
.
“
What
’
s
done
is
done
,
”
he
muttered
.
“
Is
it
ever
,
quite
,
I
wonder
?
”
she
mused
.
He
made
no
answer
and
they
lapsed
into
one
of
the
pauses
that
are
a
subterranean
channel
of
communication
.
It
was
she
who
,
after
awhile
,
began
to
speak
with
a
new
suffusing
diffidence
that
made
him
turn
a
roused
eye
on
her
.
“
Don
’
t
they
say
,
”
she
asked
,
feeling
her
way
as
in
a
kind
of
tender
apprehensiveness
,
“
that
the
early
Christians
,
instead
of
pulling
down
the
heathen
temples
—
the
temples
of
the
unclean
gods
—
purified
them
by
turning
them
to
their
own
uses
?
I
’
ve
always
thought
one
might
do
that
with
one
’
s
actions
—
the
actions
one
loathes
but
can
’
t
undo
.
One
can
make
,
I
mean
,
a
wrong
the
door
to
other
wrongs
or
an
impassable
wall
against
them
.
.
.
.
”
Her
voice
wavered
on
the
word
.
“
We
can
’
t
always
tear
down
the
temples
we
’
ve
built
to
the
unclean
gods
,
but
we
can
put
good
spirits
in
the
house
of
evil
—
the
spirits
of
mercy
and
shame
and
understanding
,
that
might
never
have
come
to
us
if
we
hadn
’
t
been
in
such
great
need
.
.
.
.
”
She
moved
over
to
him
and
laid
a
hesitating
hand
on
his
.
His
head
was
bent
and
he
did
not
change
his
attitude
.
She
sat
down
beside
him
without
speaking
;
but
their
silences
now
were
fertile
as
rain
-
clouds
—
they
quickened
the
seeds
of
understanding
.
At
length
he
looked
up
.
“
I
don
’
t
know
,
”
he
said
,
“
what
spirits
have
come
to
live
in
the
house
of
evil
that
I
built
—
but
you
’
re
there
and
that
’
s
enough
for
me
.
It
’
s
strange
,
”
he
went
on
after
another
pause
,
“
she
wished
the
best
for
me
so
often
,
and
now
,
at
last
,
it
’
s
through
her
that
it
’
s
come
to
me
.
But
for
her
I
shouldn
’
t
have
known
you
—
it
’
s
through
her
that
I
’
ve
found
you
.
Sometimes
,
do
you
know
?
—
that
makes
it
hardest
—
makes
me
most
intolerable
to
myself
.
Can
’
t
you
see
that
it
’
s
the
worst
thing
I
’
ve
got
to
face
?
I
sometimes
think
I
could
have
borne
it
better
if
you
hadn
’
t
understood
!
I
took
everything
from
her
—
everything
—
even
to
the
poor
shelter
of
loyalty
she
’
d
trusted
in
—
the
only
thing
I
could
have
left
her
!
—
I
took
everything
from
her
,
I
deceived
her
,
I
despoiled
her
,
I
destroyed
her
—
and
she
’
s
given
me
you
in
return
!
”
His
wife
’
s
cry
caught
him
up
.
“
It
isn
’
t
that
she
’
s
given
me
to
you
—
it
is
that
she
’
s
given
you
to
yourself
.
”
She
leaned
to
him
as
though
swept
forward
on
a
wave
of
pity
“
Don
’
t
you
see
,
”
she
went
on
,
as
his
eyes
hung
on
her
,
“
that
that
’
s
the
gift
you
can
’
t
escape
from
,
the
debt
you
’
re
pledged
to
acquit
?
Don
’
t
you
see
that
you
’
ve
never
before
been
what
she
thought
you
,
and
that
now
,
so
wonderfully
,
she
’
s
made
you
into
the
man
she
loved
?
That
’
s
worth
suffering
for
,
worth
dying
for
,
to
a
woman
—
that
’
s
the
gift
she
would
have
wished
to
give
!
”
“
Ah
,
”
he
cried
,
“
but
woe
to
him
by
whom
it
cometh
.
What
did
I
ever
give
her
?
”
