Скорбь сатаны

Chapter 37

           Isaidnoonegaveheranhonestregret,butIwaswrong.MavisClarewasgenuinely,almostpassionatelygrieved.Shesentnoflowersforthecoffin,butshecametothefuneralbyherself,andstoodalittleapartwaitingsilentlytillthegravewascoveredinandthen,justasthe"fashionable"trainofmournerswereleavingthechurchyard,sheadvancedandplacedawhitecrossofherowngarden-liliesuponthenewly-turnedbrownmould.Inoticedheraction,anddeterminedthatbeforeIleftWillowsmerefortheEastwithLucio(formyjourneyhadonlybeenpostponedaweekortwoonaccountofSibyl’sdeath)sheshouldknowall.

           ThedaycamewhenIcarriedoutthisresolve.Itwasarainyandchillafternoon,andIfoundMavisinherstudy,sittingbesideabrightlogfirewithhersmallterrierinherlapandherfaithfulStBernardstretchedatherfeet.ShewasabsorbedinabookandoverherwatchedthemarblePallasinflexibleandaustere.AsIenteredsherose,andputtingdownthevolumeandherpetdogtogether,sheadvancedtomeetmewithanintensesympathyinhercleareyes,andawordlesspityinthetremulouslinesofhersweetmouth.ItwascharmingtoseehowsorryshefeltformeanditwasoddthatIcouldnotfeelsorryformyself.AfterafewwordsofembarrassedgreetingIsatdownandwatchedhersilently,whileshearrangedthelogsinthefiretomakethemburnbrighter,andforthemomentavoidedmygaze.

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