Лето

           Miles,takingthebottleinhishand,passedbehindthetable.Charityfollowedhim,andtheystoodbeforeamattressonthefloorinacorneroftheroom.Awomanlayonit,butshedidnotlooklikeadeadwoman;sheseemedtohavefallenacrosshersqualidbedinadrunkensleep,andtohavebeenleftlyingwhereshefell,inherraggeddisorderedclothes.Onearmwasflungaboveherhead,onelegdrawnupunderatornskirtthatlefttheotherbaretotheknee:aswollenglisteninglegwitharaggedstockingrolleddownabouttheankle.Thewomanlayonherback,hereyesstaringupunblinkinglyatthecandlethattrembledinMr.Miles’shand.

           “Shejus’droppedoff,”awomansaid,overtheshoulderoftheothers;andtheyoungmanadded:“Ijus’comeinandfoundher.”

           Anelderlymanwithlankhairandafeeblegrinpushedbetweenthem.“Itwaslikethis:Isaystoheron’ythenightbefore:ifyoudon’ttakeandquit,Isaystoher...”

           Someonepulledhimbackandsenthimreelingagainstabenchalongthewall,wherehedroppeddownmutteringhisunheedednarrative.

           Therewasasilence;thentheyoungwomanwhohadbeenlollingagainstthetablesuddenlypartedthegroup,andstoodinfrontofCharity.Shewashealthierandrobusterlookingthantheothers,andherweather-beatenfacehadacertainsullenbeauty.

           “Who’sthegirl?Whobroughtherhere?”shesaid,fixinghereyesmistrustfullyontheyoungmanwhohadrebukedherfornothavingacandleready.

           Mr.Milesspoke.“Ibroughther;sheisMaryHyatt’sdaughter.