Возвращение на родину

VII. The Tragic Meeting of Two Old Friends

           IfIwaitforyoutogotomorrowanotherdaywillbelost;andIknowIshallbeunabletorestanothernightwithouthavingbeen.Iwanttogetthissettled,andwill.Youmustvisitherafterwards—itwillbeallthesame.”

           “Icouldevengowithyounow?”

           “YoucouldscarcelywalkthereandbackwithoutalongerrestthanIshalltake.No,nottonight,Eustacia.”

           “Letitbeasyousay,then,”sherepliedinthequietwayofonewho,thoughwillingtowardoffevilconsequencesbyamildeffort,wouldleteventsfalloutastheymightsoonerthanwrestlehardtodirectthem.

           Clymthenwentintothegarden;andathoughtfullanguorstoleoverEustaciafortheremainderoftheafternoon,whichherhusbandattributedtotheheatoftheweather.

           Intheeveninghesetoutonthejourney.Althoughtheheatofsummerwasyetintensethedayshadconsiderablyshortened,andbeforehehadadvancedamileonhiswayalltheheathpurples,browns,andgreenshadmergedinauniformdresswithoutairinessorgraduation,andbrokenonlybytouchesofwhitewherethelittleheapsofcleanquartzsandshowedtheentrancetoarabbitburrow,orwherethewhiteflintsofafootpathlaylikeathreadovertheslopes.Inalmosteveryoneoftheisolatedandstuntedthornswhichgrewhereandthereanighthawkrevealedhispresencebywhirringliketheclackofamillaslongashecouldholdhisbreath,thenstopping,flappinghiswings,wheelingroundthebush,alighting,andafterasilentintervaloflisteningbeginningtowhirragain.

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