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- Мари Корелли
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- Стр. 251/279
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Mavis
gave
a
little
cry
as
of
pain
,
and
sat
down
white
and
trembling
.
"
You
can
read
quickly
,
I
am
sure
,
"
--
I
went
on
.
"
Part
of
the
profession
of
literature
is
the
ability
to
skim
books
and
manuscripts
rapidly
,
and
grasp
the
whole
gist
of
them
in
a
few
minutes
;
--
read
this
--
"
and
I
handed
her
the
rolled-up
pages
of
Sibyl
's
dying
declaration
--
"
Let
me
stay
here
,
while
you
learn
from
that
what
sort
of
a
woman
she
was
,
and
judge
whether
,
despite
her
beauty
,
she
is
worth
a
regret
!
"
"
Pardon
me
--
"
said
Mavis
gently
--
"
I
would
rather
not
read
what
was
not
meant
for
my
eyes
.
"
"
But
it
is
meant
for
your
eyes
,
"
--
I
retorted
impatiently
--
"
It
is
meant
for
everybody
's
eyes
apparently
--
it
is
addressed
to
nobody
in
particular
.
There
is
a
mention
of
you
in
it
.
I
beg
--
nay
I
command
you
to
read
it
!
--
I
want
your
opinion
on
it
--
your
advice
;
you
may
possibly
suggest
,
after
perusal
,
the
proper
sort
of
epitaph
I
ought
to
inscribe
on
the
monument
I
am
going
to
build
to
her
sacred
and
dear
memory
!
"
I
covered
my
face
with
one
hand
to
hide
the
bitter
smile
which
I
knew
betrayed
my
thoughts
,
and
pushed
the
manuscript
towards
her
.
Very
reluctantly
she
took
it
--
and
slowly
unrolling
it
,
began
to
read
.
For
several
minutes
there
was
a
silence
,
broken
only
by
the
crackling
of
the
logs
on
the
fire
,
and
the
regular
breathing
of
the
dogs
who
now
both
lay
stretched
comfortably
in
front
of
the
wood
blaze
.
I
looked
covertly
at
the
woman
whose
fame
I
had
envied
--
at
the
slight
figure
,
the
coronal
of
soft
hair
--
the
delicate
,
drooping
sensitive
face
--
the
small
white
classic
hand
that
held
the
written
sheets
of
paper
so
firmly
,
yet
so
tenderly
--
the
very
hand
of
the
Greek
marble
Psyche
;
--
and
I
thought
what
short-sighted
asses
some
literary
men
are
who
suppose
they
can
succeed
in
shutting
out
women
like
Mavis
Clare
from
winning
everything
that
fame
or
fortune
can
offer
.
Such
a
head
as
hers
,
albeit
covered
with
locks
fair
and
caressable
,
was
not
meant
,
in
its
fine
shape
and
compactness
,
for
submission
to
inferior
intelligences
whether
masculine
or
feminine
--
that
determined
little
chin
which
the
firelight
delicately
outlined
,
was
a
visible
declaration
of
the
strength
of
will
and
the
indomitably
high
ambition
of
its
owner
--
and
yet
,
...
the
soft
eyes
--
the
tender
mouth
--
did
not
these
suggest
the
sweetest
love
,
the
purest
passion
that
ever
found
place
in
a
woman
's
heart
?
I
lost
myself
in
dreamy
musing
--
I
thought
of
many
things
that
had
little
to
do
with
either
my
own
past
or
present
.
I
realized
that
now
and
then
at
rare
intervals
God
makes
a
woman
of
genius
with
a
thinker
's
brain
and
an
angel
's
soul
--
and
that
such
an
one
is
bound
to
be
a
destiny
to
all
mortals
less
divinely
endowed
,
and
a
glory
to
the
world
in
which
she
dwells
.
So
considering
,
I
studied
Mavis
Clare
's
face
and
form
--
I
saw
her
eyes
fill
with
tears
as
she
read
on
;
--
why
should
she
weep
,
I
wondered
,
over
that
'
last
document
'
which
had
left
me
unmoved
and
callous
?
I
was
startled
almost
as
if
from
sleep
when
her
voice
,
thrilling
with
pain
,
disturbed
the
stillness
--
she
sprang
up
,
gazing
at
me
as
if
she
saw
some
horrible
vision
.
"
Oh
,
are
you
so
blind
,
"
she
cried
,
"
as
not
to
see
what
this
means
?
Can
you
not
understand
?
Do
you
not
know
your
worst
enemy
?
"
"
My
worst
enemy
?
"
I
echoed
amazed
--
"
You
surprise
me
,
Mavis
--
what
have
I
,
or
my
enemies
or
friends
to
do
with
my
wife
's
last
confession
?
She
raved
--
between
poison
and
passion
,
she
could
not
tell
,
as
you
see
by
her
final
words
,
whether
she
was
dead
or
alive
--
and
her
writing
at
all
under
such
stress
of
circumstances
was
a
phenomenal
effort
--
but
it
has
nothing
to
do
with
me
personally
.
"
