Поворот винта

           Iwasinvited—withnovisibleconnection—torepeatafreshGoodyGosling’scelebratedmotortoconfirmthedetailsalreadysuppliedastotheclevernessofthevicaragepony.

           Itwaspartlyatsuchjuncturesastheseandpartlyatquitedifferentonesthat,withtheturnmymattershadnowtaken,mypredicament,asIhavecalledit,grewmostsensible.Thefactthatthedayspassedformewithoutanotherencounterought,itwouldhaveappeared,tohavedonesomethingtowardsoothingmynerves.Sincethelightbrush,thatsecondnightontheupperlanding,ofthepresenceofawomanatthefootofthestair,Ihadseennothing,whetherinoroutofthehouse,thatonehadbetternothaveseen.TherewasmanyacornerroundwhichIexpectedtocomeuponQuint,andmanyasituationthat,inamerelysinisterway,wouldhavefavoredtheappearanceofMissJessel.Thesummerhadturned,thesummerhadgone;theautumnhaddroppeduponBlyandhadblownouthalfourlights.Theplace,withitsgrayskyandwitheredgarlands,itsbaredspacesandscattereddeadleaves,waslikeatheateraftertheperformance—allstrewnwithcrumpledplaybills.Therewereexactlystatesoftheair,conditionsofsoundandofstillness,unspeakableimpressionsofthekindofministeringmoment,thatbroughtbacktome,longenoughtocatchit,thefeelingofthemediuminwhich,thatJuneeveningoutofdoors,IhadhadmyfirstsightofQuint,andinwhich,too,atthoseotherinstants,Ihad,afterseeinghimthroughthewindow,lookedforhiminvaininthecircleofshrubbery.