Похищенный
Chapter 22
”
Hegavemeonelookasmuchastosay,“Welldone,David!”andoffhesetagainathistopspeed.
Itgrewcoolerandevenalittledarker(butnotmuch)withthecomingofthenight.Theskywascloudless;itwasstillearlyinJuly,andprettyfarnorth;inthedarkestpartofthatnight,youwouldhaveneededprettygoodeyestoread,butforallthat,Ihaveoftenseenitdarkerinawintermid-day.Heavydewfellanddrenchedthemoorlikerain;andthisrefreshedmeforawhile.Whenwestoppedtobreathe,andIhadtimetoseeallaboutme,theclearnessandsweetnessofthenight,theshapesofthehillslikethingsasleep,andthefiredwindlingawaybehindus,likeabrightspotinthemidstofthemoor,angerwouldcomeuponmeinaclapthatImuststilldragmyselfinagonyandeatthedustlikeaworm.
BywhatIhavereadinbooks,Ithinkfewthathaveheldapenwereeverreallywearied,ortheywouldwriteofitmorestrongly.Ihadnocareofmylife,neitherpastnorfuture,andIscarcerememberedtherewassuchaladasDavidBalfour.Ididnotthinkofmyself,butjustofeachfreshstepwhichIwassurewouldbemylast,withdespair—andofAlan,whowasthecauseofit,withhatred.Alanwasintherighttradeasasoldier;thisistheofficer’sparttomakemencontinuetodothings,theyknownotwherefore,andwhen,ifthechoicewasoffered,theywouldliedownwheretheywereandbekilled.
