Поворот винта
Chapter 17
“Haven’tI?”Itwasn’tformetohelphim—itwasforthethingIhadmet!
Somethinginhistoneandtheexpressionofhisface,asIgotthisfromhim,setmyheartachingwithsuchapangasithadneveryetknown;sounutterablytouchingwasittoseehislittlebrainpuzzledandhislittleresourcestaxedtoplay,underthespelllaidonhim,apartofinnocenceandconsistency.“No,never—fromthehouryoucameback.You’venevermentionedtomeoneofyourmasters,oneofyourcomrades,northeleastlittlethingthateverhappenedtoyouatschool.Never,littleMiles—no,never—haveyougivenmeaninklingofanythingthatmayhavehappenedthere.ThereforeyoucanfancyhowmuchI’minthedark.Untilyoucameout,thatway,thismorning,youhad,sincethefirsthourIsawyou,scarceevenmadeareferencetoanythinginyourpreviouslife.Youseemedsoperfectlytoacceptthepresent.”Itwasextraordinaryhowmyabsoluteconvictionofhissecretprecocity(orwhateverImightcallthepoisonofaninfluencethatIdaredbuthalftophrase)madehim,inspiteofthefaintbreathofhisinwardtrouble,appearasaccessibleasanolderperson—imposedhimalmostasanintellectualequal.“Ithoughtyouwantedtogoonasyouare.”
Itstruckmethatatthishejustfaintlycolored.Hegave,atanyrate,likeaconvalescentslightlyfatigued,alanguidshakeofhishead.“Idon’t—Idon’t.Iwanttogetaway.”
“You’retiredofBly?”
“Oh,no,IlikeBly.
