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- Стр. 76/193
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"
Let
me
tell
you
.
I
imagine
that
for
months
the
matter
never
comes
into
your
head
,
and
you
’
re
able
to
persuade
yourself
that
you
’
ve
finished
with
it
for
good
and
all
You
rejoice
in
your
freedom
,
and
you
feel
that
at
last
you
can
call
your
soul
your
own
.
You
seem
to
walk
with
your
head
among
the
stars
.
And
then
,
all
of
a
sudden
you
can
’
t
stand
it
any
more
,
and
you
notice
that
all
the
time
your
feet
have
been
walking
in
the
mud
.
And
you
want
to
roll
yourself
in
it
.
And
you
find
some
woman
,
coarse
and
low
and
vulgar
,
some
beastly
creature
in
whom
all
the
horror
of
sex
is
blatant
,
and
you
fall
upon
her
like
a
wild
animal
.
You
drink
till
you
’
re
blind
with
rage
.
"
He
stared
at
me
without
the
slightest
movement
.
I
held
his
eyes
with
mine
.
I
spoke
very
slowly
.
"
I
’
ll
tell
you
what
must
seem
strange
,
that
when
it
’
s
over
you
feel
so
extraordinarily
pure
.
You
feel
like
a
disembodied
spirit
,
immaterial
;
and
you
seem
to
be
able
to
touch
beauty
as
though
it
were
a
palpable
thing
;
and
you
feel
an
intimate
communion
with
the
breeze
,
and
with
the
trees
breaking
into
leaf
,
and
with
the
iridescence
of
the
river
.
You
feel
like
God
.
Can
you
explain
that
to
me
?
"
He
kept
his
eyes
fixed
on
mine
till
I
had
finished
,
and
then
he
turned
away
.
There
was
on
his
face
a
strange
look
,
and
I
thought
that
so
might
a
man
look
when
he
had
died
under
the
torture
.
He
was
silent
.
I
knew
that
our
conversation
was
ended
.
I
settled
down
in
Paris
and
began
to
write
a
play
.
I
led
a
very
regular
life
,
working
in
the
morning
,
and
in
the
afternoon
lounging
about
the
gardens
of
the
Luxembourg
or
sauntering
through
the
streets
.
I
spent
long
hours
in
the
Louvre
,
the
most
friendly
of
all
galleries
and
the
most
convenient
for
meditation
;
or
idled
on
the
quays
,
fingering
second
-
hand
books
that
I
never
meant
to
buy
.
I
read
a
page
here
and
there
,
and
made
acquaintance
with
a
great
many
authors
whom
I
was
content
to
know
thus
desultorily
.
In
the
evenings
I
went
to
see
my
friends
.
I
looked
in
often
on
the
Stroeves
,
and
sometimes
shared
their
modest
fare
.
Dirk
Stroeve
flattered
himself
on
his
skill
in
cooking
Italian
dishes
,
and
I
confess
that
his
spaghetti
were
very
much
better
than
his
pictures
.
It
was
a
dinner
for
a
King
when
he
brought
in
a
huge
dish
of
it
,
succulent
with
tomatoes
,
and
we
ate
it
together
with
the
good
household
bread
and
a
bottle
of
red
wine
.
I
grew
more
intimate
with
Blanche
Stroeve
,
and
I
think
,
because
I
was
English
and
she
knew
few
English
people
,
she
was
glad
to
see
me
.
She
was
pleasant
and
simple
,
but
she
remained
always
rather
silent
,
and
I
knew
not
why
,
gave
me
the
impression
that
she
was
concealing
something
.
But
I
thought
that
was
perhaps
no
more
than
a
natural
reserve
accentuated
by
the
verbose
frankness
of
her
husband
.
Dirk
never
concealed
anything
.
He
discussed
the
most
intimate
matters
with
a
complete
lack
of
self
-
consciousness
.
Sometimes
he
embarrassed
his
wife
,
and
the
only
time
I
saw
her
put
out
of
countenance
was
when
he
insisted
on
telling
me
that
he
had
taken
a
purge
,
and
went
into
somewhat
realistic
details
on
the
subject
.
The
perfect
seriousness
with
which
he
narrated
his
misfortunes
convulsed
me
with
laughter
,
and
this
added
to
Mrs
.
Stroeve
’
s
irritation
.
"
You
seem
to
like
making
a
fool
of
yourself
,
"
she
said
.
His
round
eyes
grew
rounder
still
,
and
his
brow
puckered
in
dismay
as
he
saw
that
she
was
angry
.
"
Sweetheart
,
have
I
vexed
you
?
I
’
ll
never
take
another
.
It
was
only
because
I
was
bilious
.
I
lead
a
sedentary
life
.
I
don
’
t
take
enough
exercise
.
For
three
days
I
hadn
’
t
.
.
.
"
