Поворот винта
Chapter 17
ItoverwhelmedmenowthatIshouldneverbeabletobearthat,anditmademeletmyselfgo.IthrewmyselfuponhimandinthetendernessofmypityIembracedhim.“DearlittleMiles,dearlittleMiles—!”
Myfacewasclosetohis,andheletmekisshim,simplytakingitwithindulgentgoodhumor.“Well,oldlady?”
“Istherenothing—nothingatallthatyouwanttotellme?”
Heturnedoffalittle,facingroundtowardthewallandholdinguphishandtolookatasonehadseensickchildrenlook.“I’vetoldyou—Itoldyouthismorning.”
Oh,Iwassorryforhim!“Thatyoujustwantmenottoworryyou?”
Helookedroundatmenow,asifinrecognitionofmyunderstandinghim;theneversogently,“Toletmealone,”hereplied.
Therewasevenasingularlittledignityinit,somethingthatmademereleasehim,yet,whenIhadslowlyrisen,lingerbesidehim.GodknowsIneverwishedtoharasshim,butIfeltthatmerely,atthis,toturnmybackonhimwastoabandonor,toputitmoretruly,tolosehim.“I’vejustbegunalettertoyouruncle,”Isaid.
“Well,then,finishit!”
Iwaitedaminute.“Whathappenedbefore?”
Hegazedupatmeagain.“Beforewhat?”
“Beforeyoucameback.Andbeforeyouwentaway.”
Forsometimehewassilent,buthecontinuedtomeetmyeyes
