Луна и грош

Chapter XLI

           Itmaybethatinhisroguesthewritergratifiesinstinctsdeep-rootedinhim,whichthemannersandcustomsofacivilisedworldhaveforcedbacktothemysteriousrecessesofthesubconscious.Ingivingtothecharacterofhisinventionfleshandbonesheisgivinglifetothatpartofhimselfwhichfindsnoothermeansofexpression.Hissatisfactionisasenseofliberation.

           Thewriterismoreconcernedtoknowthantojudge.

           TherewasinmysoulaperfectlygenuinehorrorofStrickland,andsidebysidewithitacoldcuriositytodiscoverhismotives.Iwaspuzzledbyhim,andIwaseagertoseehowheregardedthetragedyhehadcausedinthelivesofpeoplewhohadusedhimwithsomuchkindness.Iappliedthescalpelboldly.

           "Stroevetoldmethatpictureyoupaintedofhiswifewasthebestthingyou’veeverdone."

           Stricklandtookhispipeoutofhismouth,andasmilelituphiseyes.

           "Itwasgreatfuntodo."

           "Whydidyougiveithim?"

           "I’dfinishedit.Itwasn’tanygoodtome."

           "DoyouknowthatStroevenearlydestroyedit?"

           "Itwasn’taltogethersatisfactory."

           Hewasquietforamomentortwo,thenhetookhispipeoutofhismouthagain,andchuckled.

           "Doyouknowthatthelittlemancametoseeme?"

           "Weren’tyourathertouchedbywhathehadtosay?"

           "No;Ithoughtitdamnedsillyandsentimental."

           "Isupposeitescapedyourmemorythatyou’druinedhislife?"Iremarked.

           Herubbedhisbeardedchinreflectively.

           "He’saverybadpainter."

           "Butaverygoodman."

           "Andanexcellentcook,"Stricklandaddedderisively.

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