Воспоминания Шерлока Холмса
The Yellow Face
Ihavestoodmanyatimeandthoughtwhataneatlittlehomesteaditwouldmake.
"Well,lastMondayeveningIwastakingastrolldownthatwaywhenImetanemptyvancomingupthelaneandsawapileofcarpetsandthingslyingaboutonthegrass-plotbesidetheporch.Itwasclearthatthecottagehadatlastbeenlet.Iwalkedpastit,andthenstopping,asanidlemanmight,Iranmyeyeoveritandwonderedwhatsortoffolktheywerewhohadcometolivesonearus.AndasIlookedIsuddenlybecameawarethatafacewaswatchingmeoutofoneoftheupperwindows.
"Idon’tknowwhattherewasaboutthatface,Mr.Holmes,butitseemedtosendachillrightdownmyback.Iwassomelittlewayoff,sothatIcouldnotmakeoutthefeatures,buttherewassomethingunnaturalandinhumanabouttheface.ThatwastheimpressionthatIhad,andImovedquicklyforwardtogetanearerviewofthepersonwhowaswatchingme.ButasIdidsothefacesuddenlydisappeared,sosuddenlythatitseemedtohavebeenpluckedawayintothedarknessoftheroom.Istoodforfiveminutesthinkingthebusinessoverandtryingtoanalyzemyimpressions.Icouldnottellifthefacewasthatofamanorawoman.Ithadbeentoofarfrommeforthat.Butitscolourwaswhathadimpressedmemost.Itwasofalividchalkywhite,andwithsomethingsetandrigidaboutitwhichwasshockinglyunnatural.SodisturbedwasIthatIdeterminedtoseealittlemoreofthenewinmatesofthecottage.
