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- Уильям Сомерсет Моэм
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- Стр. 130/193
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He
had
a
sudden
vision
of
her
standing
in
the
kitchen
—
it
was
hardly
larger
than
a
cupboard
—
washing
the
plates
and
glasses
,
the
forks
and
spoons
,
giving
the
knives
a
rapid
polish
on
the
knife
-
board
;
and
then
putting
everything
away
,
giving
the
sink
a
scrub
,
and
hanging
the
dish
-
cloth
up
to
dry
—
it
was
there
still
,
a
gray
torn
rag
;
then
looking
round
to
see
that
everything
was
clean
and
nice
.
He
saw
her
roll
down
her
sleeves
and
remove
her
apron
—
the
apron
hung
on
a
peg
behind
the
door
—
and
take
the
bottle
of
oxalic
acid
and
go
with
it
into
the
bedroom
.
The
agony
of
it
drove
him
up
from
the
bed
and
out
of
the
room
.
He
went
into
the
studio
.
It
was
dark
,
for
the
curtains
had
been
drawn
over
the
great
window
,
and
he
pulled
them
quickly
back
;
but
a
sob
broke
from
him
as
with
a
rapid
glance
he
took
in
the
place
where
he
had
been
so
happy
.
Nothing
was
changed
here
,
either
.
Strickland
was
indifferent
to
his
surroundings
,
and
he
had
lived
in
the
other
’
s
studio
without
thinking
of
altering
a
thing
.
It
was
deliberately
artistic
.
It
represented
Stroeve
’
s
idea
of
the
proper
environment
for
an
artist
.
There
were
bits
of
old
brocade
on
the
walls
,
and
the
piano
was
covered
with
a
piece
of
silk
,
beautiful
and
tarnished
;
in
one
corner
was
a
copy
of
the
Venus
of
Milo
,
and
in
another
of
the
Venus
of
the
Medici
.
Here
and
there
was
an
Italian
cabinet
surmounted
with
Delft
,
and
here
and
there
a
bas
-
relief
.
In
a
handsome
gold
frame
was
a
copy
of
Velasquez
’
Innocent
X
.
,
that
Stroeve
had
made
in
Rome
,
and
placed
so
as
to
make
the
most
of
their
decorative
effect
were
a
number
of
Stroeve
’
s
pictures
,
all
in
splendid
frames
.
Stroeve
had
always
been
very
proud
of
his
taste
.
He
had
never
lost
his
appreciation
for
the
romantic
atmosphere
of
a
studio
,
and
though
now
the
sight
of
it
was
like
a
stab
in
his
heart
,
without
thinking
what
he
was
at
,
he
changed
slightly
the
position
of
a
Louis
XV
.
table
which
was
one
of
his
treasures
.
Suddenly
he
caught
sight
of
a
canvas
with
its
face
to
the
wall
.
It
was
a
much
larger
one
than
he
himself
was
in
the
habit
of
using
,
and
he
wondered
what
it
did
there
.
He
went
over
to
it
and
leaned
it
towards
him
so
that
he
could
see
the
painting
.
It
was
a
nude
.
His
heart
began
to
beat
quickly
,
for
he
guessed
at
once
that
it
was
one
of
Strickland
’
s
pictures
.
He
flung
it
back
against
the
wall
angrily
—
what
did
he
mean
by
leaving
it
there
?
—
but
his
movement
caused
it
to
fall
,
face
downwards
,
on
the
ground
.
No
mater
whose
the
picture
,
he
could
not
leave
it
there
in
the
dust
,
and
he
raised
it
;
but
then
curiosity
got
the
better
of
him
.
He
thought
he
would
like
to
have
a
proper
look
at
it
,
so
he
brought
it
along
and
set
it
on
the
easel
.
Then
he
stood
back
in
order
to
see
it
at
his
ease
.
He
gave
a
gasp
.
It
was
the
picture
of
a
woman
lying
on
a
sofa
,
with
one
arm
beneath
her
head
and
the
other
along
her
body
;
one
knee
was
raised
,
and
the
other
leg
was
stretched
out
.
The
pose
was
classic
.
Stroeve
’
s
head
swam
.
It
was
Blanche
.
Grief
and
jealousy
and
rage
seized
him
,
and
he
cried
out
hoarsely
;
he
was
inarticulate
;
he
clenched
his
fists
and
raised
them
threateningly
at
an
invisible
enemy
.
He
screamed
at
the
top
of
his
voice
.
He
was
beside
himself
.
He
could
not
bear
it
.
That
was
too
much
.
He
looked
round
wildly
for
some
instrument
;
he
wanted
to
hack
the
picture
to
pieces
;
it
should
not
exist
another
minute
.
He
could
see
nothing
that
would
serve
his
purpose
;
he
rummaged
about
his
painting
things
;
somehow
he
could
not
find
a
thing
;
he
was
frantic
.
At
last
he
came
upon
what
he
sought
,
a
large
scraper
,
and
he
pounced
on
it
with
a
cry
of
triumph
.
He
seized
it
as
though
it
were
a
dagger
,
and
ran
to
the
picture
.
As
Stroeve
told
me
this
he
became
as
excited
as
when
the
incident
occurred
,
and
he
took
hold
of
a
dinner
-
knife
on
the
table
between
us
,
and
brandished
it
.
He
lifted
his
arm
as
though
to
strike
,
and
then
,
opening
his
hand
,
let
it
fall
with
a
clatter
to
the
ground
.
He
looked
at
me
with
a
tremulous
smile
.
He
did
not
speak
.
"
Fire
away
,
"
I
said
.
"
I
don
’
t
know
what
happened
to
me
.
I
was
just
going
to
make
a
great
hole
in
the
picture
,
I
had
my
arm
all
ready
for
the
blow
,
when
suddenly
I
seemed
to
see
it
.
"
"
See
what
?
"
"
The
picture
.
It
was
a
work
of
art
.
I
couldn
’
t
touch
it
.
I
was
afraid
.
"
