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- Герберт Уеллс
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- Стр. 19/23
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She
shook
her
head
.
"
My
world
is
sight
.
"
Her
head
drooped
lower
.
"
There
are
the
beautiful
things
,
the
beautiful
little
things
--
the
flowers
,
the
lichens
among
the
rocks
,
the
lightness
and
softness
on
a
piece
of
fur
,
the
far
sky
with
its
drifting
down
of
clouds
,
the
sunsets
and
the
stars
.
And
there
is
you
.
For
you
alone
it
is
good
to
have
sight
,
to
see
your
sweet
,
serene
face
,
your
kindly
lips
,
your
dear
,
beautiful
hands
folded
together
...
It
is
these
eyes
of
mine
you
won
,
these
eyes
that
hold
me
to
you
,
that
these
idiots
seek
.
Instead
,
I
must
touch
you
,
hear
you
,
and
never
see
you
again
.
I
must
come
under
that
roof
of
rock
and
stone
and
darkness
,
that
horrible
roof
under
which
your
imagination
stoops
...
No
;
you
would
not
have
me
do
that
?
"
A
disagreeable
doubt
had
arisen
in
him
.
He
stopped
,
and
left
the
thing
a
question
.
"
I
wish
,
"
she
said
,
"
sometimes
--
--
"
She
paused
.
"
Yes
,
"
said
he
,
a
little
apprehensively
.
"
I
wish
sometimes
--
you
would
not
talk
like
that
.
"
"
Like
what
?
"
