-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Натаниэль Хоторн
-
- Мхи старой усадьбы
-
- Стр. 2/106
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
Had
she
been
less
beautiful
,
—
if
Envy
’
s
self
could
have
found
aught
else
to
sneer
at
,
—
he
might
have
felt
his
affection
heightened
by
the
prettiness
of
this
mimic
hand
,
now
vaguely
portrayed
,
now
lost
,
now
stealing
forth
again
and
glimmering
to
and
fro
with
every
pulse
of
emotion
that
throbbed
within
her
heart
;
but
seeing
her
otherwise
so
perfect
,
he
found
this
one
defect
grow
more
and
more
intolerable
with
every
moment
of
their
united
lives
.
It
was
the
fatal
flaw
of
humanity
which
Nature
,
in
one
shape
or
another
,
stamps
ineffaceably
on
all
her
productions
,
either
to
imply
that
they
are
temporary
and
finite
,
or
that
their
perfection
must
be
wrought
by
toil
and
pain
.
The
crimson
hand
expressed
the
ineludible
gripe
in
which
mortality
clutches
the
highest
and
purest
of
earthly
mould
,
degrading
them
into
kindred
with
the
lowest
,
and
even
with
the
very
brutes
,
like
whom
their
visible
frames
return
to
dust
.
In
this
manner
,
selecting
it
as
the
symbol
of
his
wife
’
s
liability
to
sin
,
sorrow
,
decay
,
and
death
,
Aylmer
’
s
sombre
imagination
was
not
long
in
rendering
the
birthmark
a
frightful
object
,
causing
him
more
trouble
and
horror
than
ever
Georgiana
’
s
beauty
,
whether
of
soul
or
sense
,
had
given
him
delight
.
At
all
the
seasons
which
should
have
been
their
happiest
,
he
invariably
and
without
intending
it
,
nay
,
in
spite
of
a
purpose
to
the
contrary
,
reverted
to
this
one
disastrous
topic
.
Trifling
as
it
at
first
appeared
,
it
so
connected
itself
with
innumerable
trains
of
thought
and
modes
of
feeling
that
it
became
the
central
point
of
all
.
With
the
morning
twilight
Aylmer
opened
his
eyes
upon
his
wife
’
s
face
and
recognized
the
symbol
of
imperfection
;
and
when
they
sat
together
at
the
evening
hearth
his
eyes
wandered
stealthily
to
her
cheek
,
and
beheld
,
flickering
with
the
blaze
of
the
wood
fire
,
the
spectral
hand
that
wrote
mortality
where
he
would
fain
have
worshipped
.
Georgiana
soon
learned
to
shudder
at
his
gaze
.
It
needed
but
a
glance
with
the
peculiar
expression
that
his
face
often
wore
to
change
the
roses
of
her
cheek
into
a
deathlike
paleness
,
amid
which
the
crimson
hand
was
brought
strongly
out
,
like
a
bass
-
relief
of
ruby
on
the
whitest
marble
.
Late
one
night
when
the
lights
were
growing
dim
,
so
as
hardly
to
betray
the
stain
on
the
poor
wife
’
s
cheek
,
she
herself
,
for
the
first
time
,
voluntarily
took
up
the
subject
.
"
Do
you
remember
,
my
dear
Aylmer
,
"
said
she
,
with
a
feeble
attempt
at
a
smile
,
"
have
you
any
recollection
of
a
dream
last
night
about
this
odious
hand
?
"
"
None
!
none
whatever
!
"
replied
Aylmer
,
starting
;
but
then
he
added
,
in
a
dry
,
cold
tone
,
affected
for
the
sake
of
concealing
the
real
depth
of
his
emotion
,
"
I
might
well
dream
of
it
;
for
before
I
fell
asleep
it
had
taken
a
pretty
firm
hold
of
my
fancy
.
"
"
And
you
did
dream
of
it
?
"
continued
Georgiana
,
hastily
;
for
she
dreaded
lest
a
gush
of
tears
should
interrupt
what
she
had
to
say
.
"
A
terrible
dream
!
I
wonder
that
you
can
forget
it
.
Is
it
possible
to
forget
this
one
expression
?
—
’
It
is
in
her
heart
now
;
we
must
have
it
out
!
’
Reflect
,
my
husband
;
for
by
all
means
I
would
have
you
recall
that
dream
.
"
The
mind
is
in
a
sad
state
when
Sleep
,
the
all
-
involving
,
cannot
confine
her
spectres
within
the
dim
region
of
her
sway
,
but
suffers
them
to
break
forth
,
affrighting
this
actual
life
with
secrets
that
perchance
belong
to
a
deeper
one
.
Aylmer
now
remembered
his
dream
.
He
had
fancied
himself
with
his
servant
Aminadab
,
attempting
an
operation
for
the
removal
of
the
birthmark
;
but
the
deeper
went
the
knife
,
the
deeper
sank
the
hand
,
until
at
length
its
tiny
grasp
appeared
to
have
caught
hold
of
Georgiana
’
s
heart
;
whence
,
however
,
her
husband
was
inexorably
resolved
to
cut
or
wrench
it
away
.
When
the
dream
had
shaped
itself
perfectly
in
his
memory
,
Aylmer
sat
in
his
wife
’
s
presence
with
a
guilty
feeling
.
Truth
often
finds
its
way
to
the
mind
close
muffled
in
robes
of
sleep
,
and
then
speaks
with
uncompromising
directness
of
matters
in
regard
to
which
we
practise
an
unconscious
self
-
deception
during
our
waking
moments
.
Until
now
he
had
not
been
aware
of
the
tyrannizing
influence
acquired
by
one
idea
over
his
mind
,
and
of
the
lengths
which
he
might
find
in
his
heart
to
go
for
the
sake
of
giving
himself
peace
.
