Поворот винта

           Irecognized,asIlookedatthepairofshort,thickoars,quitesafelydrawnup,theprodigiouscharacterofthefeatforalittlegirl;butIhadlived,bythistime,toolongamongwondersandhadpantedtotoomanyliveliermeasures.Therewasagateinthefence,throughwhichwepassed,andthatbroughtus,afteratriflinginterval,moreintotheopen.Then,“Theresheis!”webothexclaimedatonce.

           Flora,ashortwayoff,stoodbeforeusonthegrassandsmiledasifherperformancewasnowcomplete.Thenextthingshedid,however,wastostoopstraightdownandpluck—quiteasifitwereallshewastherefor—abig,uglysprayofwitheredfern.Iinstantlybecamesureshehadjustcomeoutofthecopse.Shewaitedforus,notherselftakingastep,andIwasconsciousoftheraresolemnitywithwhichwepresentlyapproachedher.Shesmiledandsmiled,andwemet;butitwasalldoneinasilencebythistimeflagrantlyominous.Mrs.Grosewasthefirsttobreakthespell:shethrewherselfonherkneesand,drawingthechildtoherbreast,claspedinalongembracethelittletender,yieldingbody.WhilethisdumbconvulsionlastedIcouldonlywatchit—whichIdidthemoreintentlywhenIsawFlora’sfacepeepatmeoverourcompanion’sshoulder.Itwasseriousnow—theflickerhadleftit;butitstrengthenedthepangwithwhichIatthatmomentenviedMrs.Grosethesimplicityofherrelation.Still,allthiswhile,nothingmorepassedbetweenussavethatFlorahadletherfoolishfernagaindroptotheground