-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Мари Корелли
-
- Скорбь сатаны
-
- Стр. 47/279
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
I
laughed
in
spite
of
my
depression
.
"
You
are
incorrigible
,
Lucio
!
"
I
said
--
"
But
your
cheerfulness
is
very
inspiriting
.
All
I
wanted
to
explain
to
you
is
this
--
that
my
book
expresses
a
certain
tone
of
thought
which
purporting
to
be
mine
,
is
not
me
--
in
short
,
I
,
in
my
present
self
have
no
sympathy
with
it
.
I
must
have
changed
very
much
since
I
wrote
it
.
"
"
Changed
?
Why
yes
,
I
should
think
so
!
"
and
Lucio
laughed
heartily
--
"
The
possession
of
five
millions
is
bound
to
change
a
man
considerably
for
the
better
--
or
worse
!
But
you
seem
to
be
worrying
yourself
most
absurdly
about
nothing
.
Not
one
author
in
many
centuries
writes
from
his
own
heart
or
as
he
truly
feels
--
when
he
does
,
he
becomes
well-nigh
immortal
.
This
planet
is
too
limited
to
hold
more
than
one
Homer
,
one
Plato
,
one
Shakespeare
.
Do
n't
distress
yourself
--
you
are
neither
of
these
three
!
You
belong
to
the
age
,
Tempest
--
it
is
a
decadent
ephemeral
age
,
and
most
things
connected
with
it
are
decadent
and
ephemeral
.
Any
era
that
is
dominated
by
the
love
of
money
only
,
has
a
rotten
core
within
it
and
must
perish
.
All
history
tells
us
so
,
but
no
one
accepts
the
lesson
of
history
.
Observe
the
signs
of
the
time
--
Art
is
made
subservient
to
the
love
of
money
--
literature
,
politics
and
religion
the
same
--
you
can
not
escape
from
the
general
disease
.
The
only
thing
to
do
is
to
make
the
best
of
it
--
no
one
can
reform
it
--
least
of
all
you
,
who
have
so
much
of
the
lucre
given
to
your
share
.
"
He
paused
--
I
was
silent
,
watching
the
bright
fire-glow
and
the
dropping
red
cinders
.
"
What
I
am
going
to
say
now
,
"
he
proceeded
in
soft
,
almost
melancholy
accents
--
"
will
sound
ridiculously
trite
--
still
it
has
the
perverse
prosiness
of
truth
about
it
.
It
is
this
--
in
order
to
write
with
intense
feeling
,
you
must
first
feel
.
Very
likely
when
you
wrote
this
book
of
yours
,
you
were
almost
a
human
hedge-hog
in
the
way
of
feeling
.
Every
prickly
point
of
you
was
erect
and
responsive
to
the
touch
of
all
influences
,
pleasant
or
the
reverse
,
imaginative
or
realistic
.
This
is
a
condition
which
some
people
envy
and
others
would
rather
dispense
with
.
Now
that
you
,
as
a
hedge-hog
,
have
no
further
need
for
either
alarm
,
indignation
or
self-defence
,
your
prickles
are
soothed
into
an
agreeable
passiveness
,
and
you
partially
cease
to
feel
.
That
is
all
.
The
'
change
'
you
complain
of
is
thus
accounted
for
;
--
you
have
nothing
to
feel
about
--
hence
you
can
not
comprehend
how
it
was
that
you
ever
felt
.
"
I
was
conscious
of
irritation
at
the
calm
conviction
of
his
tone
.
"
Do
you
take
me
for
such
a
callous
creature
as
all
that
?
"
I
exclaimed
--
"
You
are
mistaken
in
me
,
Lucio
.
I
feel
most
keenly
--
--
"
"
What
do
you
feel
?
"
he
inquired
,
fixing
his
eyes
steadily
upon
me
--
"
There
are
hundreds
of
starving
wretches
in
this
metropolis
--
men
and
women
on
the
brink
of
suicide
because
they
have
no
hope
of
anything
in
this
world
or
the
next
,
and
no
sympathy
from
their
kind
--
do
you
feel
for
them
?
Do
their
griefs
affect
you
?
You
know
they
do
not
--
you
know
you
never
think
of
them
--
why
should
you
?
One
of
the
chief
advantages
of
wealth
is
the
ability
it
gives
us
to
shut
out
other
people
's
miseries
from
our
personal
consideration
.
"
I
said
nothing
--
for
the
first
time
my
spirit
chafed
at
the
truth
of
his
words
,
principally
because
they
were
true
.
Alas
,
Lucio
!
--
if
I
had
only
known
then
what
I
know
now
!
