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- Колин Маккалоу
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- Поющие в терновнике
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- Стр. 237/535
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Meggie
's
face
lit
up
.
"
Oh
,
yes
!
"
"
Splendid
!
You
'll
be
too
content
to
miss
that
big
handsome
husband
of
yours
.
"
Meggie
did
n't
answer
.
Miss
Luke
?
Was
he
handsome
?
She
thought
that
if
she
never
saw
him
again
she
would
be
perfectly
happy
.
Except
that
he
was
her
husband
,
that
the
law
said
she
had
to
make
her
life
with
him
.
She
had
gone
into
it
with
her
eyes
open
;
she
had
no
one
to
blame
save
herself
.
And
perhaps
as
the
money
came
in
and
the
station
in
Western
Queensland
became
a
reality
,
there
would
be
time
for
Luke
and
her
to
live
together
,
settle
down
,
know
each
other
,
get
along
.
He
was
n't
a
bad
man
,
or
unlikable
;
it
was
just
that
he
had
been
alone
so
long
he
did
n't
know
how
to
share
himself
with
someone
else
.
And
he
was
a
simple
man
,
ruthlessly
single
of
purpose
,
untormented
.
What
he
desired
was
a
concrete
thing
,
even
if
a
dream
;
it
was
a
positive
reward
which
would
surely
come
as
the
result
of
unremitting
work
,
grinding
sacrifice
.
For
that
one
had
to
respect
him
.
Not
for
a
moment
did
she
think
he
would
use
the
money
to
give
himself
luxuries
;
he
had
meant
what
he
said
.
It
would
stay
in
the
bank
.
The
trouble
was
he
did
n't
have
the
time
or
the
inclination
to
understand
a
woman
,
he
did
n't
seem
to
know
a
woman
was
different
,
needed
things
he
did
n't
need
,
as
he
needed
things
she
did
n't
.
Well
,
it
could
be
worse
.
He
might
have
put
her
to
work
for
someone
far
colder
and
less
considerate
than
Anne
Mueller
.
On
top
of
this
hill
she
would
n't
come
to
any
harm
.
But
oh
,
it
was
so
far
from
Drogheda
!
That
last
thought
came
again
after
they
finished
touring
the
house
,
and
stood
together
on
the
living
room
veranda
looking
out
across
Himmelhoch
.
The
great
fields
of
cane
(
one
could
n't
call
them
paddocks
,
since
they
were
small
enough
to
encompass
with
the
eyes
)
plumed
lushly
in
the
wind
,
a
restlessly
sparkling
and
polished-by-rain
green
,
falling
away
in
a
long
slope
to
the
jungle-clad
banks
of
a
great
river
,
wider
by
far
than
the
Barwon
.
Beyond
the
river
the
cane
lands
rose
again
,
squares
of
poisonous
green
interspersed
with
bloody
fallow
fields
,
until
at
the
foot
of
a
vast
mountain
the
cultivation
stopped
,
and
the
jungle
took
over
.
Behind
the
cone
of
mountain
,
farther
away
,
other
peaks
reared
and
died
purple
into
the
distance
.
The
sky
was
a
richer
,
denser
blue
than
Gilly
skies
,
puffed
with
white
billows
of
thick
cloud
,
and
the
color
of
the
whole
was
vivid
,
intense
.
"
That
's
Mount
Bartle
Frere
,
"
said
Anne
,
pointing
to
the
isolated
peak
.
"
Six
thousand
feet
straight
up
out
of
a
sea-level
plain
.
They
say
it
's
solid
tin
,
but
there
's
no
hope
of
mining
it
for
the
jungle
.
"
On
the
heavy
,
idle
wind
came
a
strong
,
sickening
stench
Meggie
had
n't
stopped
trying
to
get
out
of
her
nostrils
since
stepping
off
the
train
.
Like
decay
,
only
not
like
decay
;
unbearably
sweet
,
all-pervasive
,
a
tangible
presence
which
never
seemed
to
diminish
no
matter
how
hard
the
breeze
blew
.
"
What
you
can
smell
is
molasses
,
"
said
Anne
as
she
noticed
Meggie
's
flaring
nose
;
she
lit
a
tailor-made
Ardath
cigarette
.
"
It
's
disgusting
.
"
