Поворот винта
Chapter 6
Theoldtrees,thethickshrubbery,madeagreatandpleasantshade,butitwasallsuffusedwiththebrightnessofthehot,stillhour.Therewasnoambiguityinanything;nonewhatever,atleast,intheconvictionIfromonemomenttoanotherfoundmyselfformingastowhatIshouldseestraightbeforemeandacrossthelakeasaconsequenceofraisingmyeyes.TheywereattachedatthisjuncturetothestitchinginwhichIwasengaged,andIcanfeeloncemorethespasmofmyeffortnottomovethemtillIshouldsohavesteadiedmyselfastobeabletomakeupmymindwhattodo.Therewasanalienobjectinview—afigurewhoserightofpresenceIinstantly,passionatelyquestioned.Irecollectcountingoverperfectlythepossibilities,remindingmyselfthatnothingwasmorenatural,forinstance,thentheappearanceofoneofthemenabouttheplace,orevenofamessenger,apostman,oratradesman’sboy,fromthevillage.ThatreminderhadaslittleeffectonmypracticalcertitudeasIwasconscious—stillevenwithoutlooking—ofitshavinguponthecharacterandattitudeofourvisitor.Nothingwasmorenaturalthanthatthesethingsshouldbetheotherthingsthattheyabsolutelywerenot.
OfthepositiveidentityoftheapparitionIwouldassuremyselfassoonasthesmallclockofmycourageshouldhavetickedouttherightsecond;meanwhile,withaneffortthatwasalreadysharpenough,ItransferredmyeyesstraighttolittleFlora,who,atthemoment,wasabouttenyardsaway
