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- Шарлотта Гилман
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- Желтые обои
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- Стр. 11/28
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Looked
at
in
one
way
each
breadth
stands
alone
,
the
bloated
curves
and
flourishes
--
a
kind
of
"
debased
Romanesque
"
with
delirium
tremens
--
go
waddling
up
and
down
in
isolated
columns
of
fatuity
.
But
,
on
the
other
hand
,
they
connect
diagonally
,
and
the
sprawling
outlines
run
off
in
great
slanting
waves
of
optic
horror
,
like
a
lot
of
wallowing
seaweeds
in
full
chase
.
The
whole
thing
goes
horizontally
,
too
,
at
least
it
seems
so
,
and
I
exhaust
myself
in
trying
to
distinguish
the
order
of
its
going
in
that
direction
.
They
have
used
a
horizontal
breadth
for
a
frieze
,
and
that
adds
wonderfully
to
the
confusion
.
There
is
one
end
of
the
room
where
it
is
almost
intact
,
and
there
,
when
the
crosslights
fade
and
the
low
sun
shines
directly
upon
it
,
I
can
almost
fancy
radiation
after
all
--
the
interminable
grotesques
seem
to
form
around
a
common
centre
and
rush
off
in
headlong
plunges
of
equal
distraction
.
It
makes
me
tired
to
follow
it
.
I
will
take
a
nap
I
guess
.
*
*
*
I
do
n't
know
why
I
should
write
this
.
I
do
n't
want
to
.
I
do
n't
feel
able
.
