Сестра Керри

Chapter XII. Of The Lamps Of The Mansions: The Ambassador Plea

           Nowitwasbutachair,nowatable,nowanornatecorner,whichmethereye,butitappealedtoherasalmostnothingelsecould.Suchchildishfanciesasshehadhadoffairypalacesandkinglyquartersnowcameback.Sheimaginedthatacrosstheserichlycarvedentrance-ways,wheretheglobedandcrystalledlampsshoneuponpanelleddoorssetwithstainedanddesignedpanesofglass,wasneithercarenorunsatisfieddesire.Shewasperfectlycertainthatherewashappiness.Ifshecouldbutstrollupyonbroadwalk,crossthatrichentrance-way,whichtoherwasofthebeautyofajewel,andsweepingraceandluxurytopossessionandcommand—oh!howquicklywouldsadnessflee;how,inaninstant,wouldtheheartacheend.Shegazedandgazed,wondering,delighting,longing,andallthewhilethesirenvoiceoftheunrestfulwaswhisperinginherear.

           “Ifwecouldhavesuchahomeasthat,”saidMrs.Halesadly,“howdelightfulitwouldbe.”

           “Andyettheydosay,”saidCarrie,“thatnooneiseverhappy.”

           Shehadheardsomuchofthecantingphilosophyofthegrapelessfox.

           “Inotice,”saidMrs.Hale,“thattheyalltrymightyhard,though,totaketheirmiseryinamansion.”

           Whenshecametoherownrooms,Carriesawtheircomparativeinsignificance.Shewasnotsodullbutthatshecouldperceivetheywerebutthreesmallroomsinamoderatelywell-furnishedboarding-house.Shewasnotcontrastingitnowwithwhatshehadhad,butwhatshehadsorecentlyseen.Theglowofthepalatialdoorswasstillinhereye,therollofcushionedcarriagesstillinherears.

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