Поворот винта

           “Whatdidyoudo,younaughty,badthing?Whyintheworld,toworryusso—andtakeourthoughtsoff,too,don’tyouknow?—didyoudesertusattheverydoor?”Icouldn’tmeetsuchquestionsnor,astheyaskedthem,theirfalselittlelovelyeyes;yetitwasallsoexactlywhatIshouldhavetomeetthat,astheprospectgrewsharptome,Iatlastletmyselfgo.

           Igot,sofarastheimmediatemomentwasconcerned,away;Icamestraightoutofthechurchyardand,thinkinghard,retracedmystepsthroughthepark.ItseemedtomethatbythetimeIreachedthehouseIhadmadeupmymindIwouldfly.TheSundaystillnessbothoftheapproachesandoftheinterior,inwhichImetnoone,fairlyexcitedmewithasenseofopportunity.WereItogetoffquickly,thisway,Ishouldgetoffwithoutascene,withoutaword.Myquicknesswouldhavetoberemarkable,however,andthequestionofaconveyancewasthegreatonetosettle.Tormented,inthehall,withdifficultiesandobstacles,Iremembersinkingdownatthefootofthestaircase—suddenlycollapsingthereontheloweststepandthen,witharevulsion,recallingthatitwasexactlywheremorethanamonthbefore,inthedarknessofnightandjustsobowedwithevilthings,Ihadseenthespecterofthemosthorribleofwomen.AtthisIwasabletostraightenmyself;Iwenttherestofthewayup;Imade,inmybewilderment,fortheschoolroom,wheretherewereobjectsbelongingtomethatIshouldhavetotake.ButIopenedthedoortofindagain,inaflash,myeyesunsealed.