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- Уильям Сомерсет Моэм
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I
was
silent
.
I
looked
at
him
reflectively
.
He
held
my
stare
,
and
presently
a
sardonic
twinkle
lit
up
his
eyes
.
"
I
’
m
afraid
you
disapprove
of
me
?
"
"
Nonsense
,
"
I
answered
promptly
;
"
I
don
’
t
disapprove
of
the
boa
-
constrictor
;
on
the
contrary
,
I
’
m
interested
in
his
mental
processes
.
"
"
It
’
s
a
purely
professional
interest
you
take
in
me
?
"
"
Purely
.
"
"
It
’
s
only
right
that
you
shouldn
’
t
disapprove
of
me
.
You
have
a
despicable
character
.
"
"
Perhaps
that
’
s
why
you
feel
at
home
with
me
,
"
I
retorted
.
He
smiled
dryly
,
but
said
nothing
.
I
wish
I
knew
how
to
describe
his
smile
.
I
do
not
know
that
it
was
attractive
,
but
it
lit
up
his
face
,
changing
the
expression
,
which
was
generally
sombre
,
and
gave
it
a
look
of
not
ill
-
natured
malice
.
It
was
a
slow
smile
,
starting
and
sometimes
ending
in
the
eyes
;
it
was
very
sensual
,
neither
cruel
nor
kindly
,
but
suggested
rather
the
inhuman
glee
of
the
satyr
.
It
was
his
smile
that
made
me
ask
him
:
"
Haven
’
t
you
been
in
love
since
you
came
to
Paris
?
"
"
I
haven
’
t
got
time
for
that
sort
of
nonsense
.
Life
isn
’
t
long
enough
for
love
and
art
.
"
