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- Шарлотта Гилман
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- Желтые обои
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- Стр. 10/28
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I
do
n't
feel
as
if
it
was
worth
while
to
turn
my
hand
over
for
anything
,
and
I
'm
getting
dreadfully
fretful
and
querulous
.
I
cry
at
nothing
,
and
cry
most
of
the
time
.
Of
course
I
do
n't
when
John
is
here
,
or
anybody
else
,
but
when
I
am
alone
.
And
I
am
alone
a
good
deal
just
now
.
John
is
kept
in
town
very
often
by
serious
cases
,
and
Jennie
is
good
and
lets
me
alone
when
I
want
her
to
.
So
I
walk
a
little
in
the
garden
or
down
that
lovely
lane
,
sit
on
the
porch
under
the
roses
,
and
lie
down
up
here
a
good
deal
.
I
'm
getting
really
fond
of
the
room
in
spite
of
the
wall-paper
.
Perhaps
BECAUSE
of
the
wall-paper
.
It
dwells
in
my
mind
so
!
I
lie
here
on
this
great
immovable
bed
--
it
is
nailed
down
,
I
believe
--
and
follow
that
pattern
about
by
the
hour
.
It
is
as
good
as
gymnastics
,
I
assure
you
.
I
start
,
we
'll
say
,
at
the
bottom
,
down
in
the
corner
over
there
where
it
has
not
been
touched
,
and
I
determine
for
the
thousandth
time
that
I
WILL
follow
that
pointless
pattern
to
some
sort
of
a
conclusion
.
I
know
a
little
of
the
principle
of
design
,
and
I
know
this
thing
was
not
arranged
on
any
laws
of
radiation
,
or
alternation
,
or
repetition
,
or
symmetry
,
or
anything
else
that
I
ever
heard
of
.
It
is
repeated
,
of
course
,
by
the
breadths
,
but
not
otherwise
.
