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- Уильям Сомерсет Моэм
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- Стр. 141/193
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That
was
perhaps
the
cause
of
the
peculiar
quality
of
Dirk
’
s
love
for
his
wife
.
I
had
noticed
in
it
something
more
than
passion
.
I
remembered
also
how
I
had
always
fancied
that
her
reserve
concealed
I
knew
not
what
;
but
now
I
saw
in
it
more
than
the
desire
to
hide
a
shameful
secret
.
Her
tranquillity
was
like
the
sullen
calm
that
broods
over
an
island
which
has
been
swept
by
a
hurricane
.
Her
cheerfulness
was
the
cheerfulness
of
despair
.
Strickland
interrupted
my
reflections
with
an
observation
the
profound
cynicism
of
which
startled
me
.
"
A
woman
can
forgive
a
man
for
the
harm
he
does
her
,
"
he
said
,
"
but
she
can
never
forgive
him
for
the
sacrifices
he
makes
on
her
account
.
"
"
It
must
be
reassuring
to
you
to
know
that
you
certainly
run
no
risk
of
incurring
the
resentment
of
the
women
you
come
in
contact
with
,
"
I
retorted
.
A
slight
smile
broke
on
his
lips
.
"
You
are
always
prepared
to
sacrifice
your
principles
for
a
repartee
,
"
he
answered
.
"
What
happened
to
the
child
?
"
"
Oh
,
it
was
still
-
born
,
three
or
four
months
after
they
were
married
.
"
Then
I
came
to
the
question
which
had
seemed
to
me
most
puzzling
.
"
Will
you
tell
me
why
you
bothered
about
Blanche
Stroeve
at
all
?
"
He
did
not
answer
for
so
long
that
I
nearly
repeated
it
.
