Чувство и чувствительность

Chapter XLIV

           Well,atlast,asIneednottellyou,youwereforcedonme;andwhatasweetfigureIcut!—whataneveningofagonyitwas!—Marianne,beautifulasanangelononeside,callingmeWilloughbyinsuchatone!—Oh,God!—holdingoutherhandtome,askingmeforanexplanation,withthosebewitchingeyesfixedinsuchspeakingsolicitudeonmyface!—andSophia,jealousasthedevilontheotherhand,lookingallthatwas—Well,itdoesnotsignify;itisovernow.—Suchanevening!—IranawayfromyouallassoonasIcould;butnotbeforeIhadseenMarianne’ssweetfaceaswhiteasdeath.—THATwasthelast,lastlookIeverhadofher;—thelastmannerinwhichsheappearedtome.Itwasahorridsight!—yetwhenIthoughtofherto-dayasreallydying,itwasakindofcomforttometoimaginethatIknewexactlyhowshewouldappeartothose,whosawherlastinthisworld.Shewasbeforeme,constantlybeforeme,asItravelled,inthesamelookandhue."

           Ashortpauseofmutualthoughtfulnesssucceeded.Willoughbyfirstrousinghimself,brokeitthus:

           "Well,letmemakehasteandbegone.Yoursisteriscertainlybetter,certainlyoutofdanger?"

           "Weareassuredofit."

           "Yourpoormother,too!—dotingonMarianne."

           "Buttheletter,Mr.Willoughby,yourownletter;haveyouanythingtosayaboutthat?"

           "Yes,yes,THATinparticular.Yoursisterwrotetomeagain,youknow,theverynextmorning.Yousawwhatshesaid.IwasbreakfastingattheEllisons,—andherletter,withsomeothers,wasbroughttometherefrommylodgings.

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