Поворот винта
Chapter 3
Oneofthethoughtsthat,asIdon’tintheleastshrinknowfromnoting,usedtobewithmeinthesewanderingswasthatitwouldbeascharmingasacharmingstorysuddenlytomeetsomeone.Someonewouldappearthereattheturnofapathandwouldstandbeforemeandsmileandapprove.Ididn’taskmorethanthat—Ionlyaskedthatheshouldknow;andtheonlywaytobesureheknewwouldbetoseeit,andthekindlightofit,inhishandsomeface.Thatwasexactlypresenttome—bywhichImeanthefacewas—when,onthefirstoftheseoccasions,attheendofalongJuneday,Istoppedshortonemergingfromoneoftheplantationsandcomingintoviewofthehouse.Whatarrestedmeonthespot—andwithashockmuchgreaterthananyvisionhadallowedfor—wasthesensethatmyimaginationhad,inaflash,turnedreal.Hedidstandthere!—buthighup,beyondthelawnandattheverytopofthetowertowhich,onthatfirstmorning,littleFlorahadconductedme.Thistowerwasoneofapair—square,incongruous,crenelatedstructures—thatweredistinguished,forsomereason,thoughIcouldseelittledifference,asthenewandtheold.Theyflankedoppositeendsofthehouseandwereprobablyarchitecturalabsurdities,redeemedinameasureindeedbynotbeingwhollydisengagednorofaheighttoopretentious,dating,intheirgingerbreadantiquity,fromaromanticrevivalthatwasalreadyarespectablepast.
