Сестра Керри

Chapter XLVII. The Way Of The Beaten: A Harp In The Wind

           Forthefirsttime,itwasbeingborneinuponherhowsillyandworthlesshadbeenherearlierreading,asawhole.Becomingwearied,however,sheyawnedandcametothewindow,lookingoutupontheoldwindingprocessionofcarriagesrollingupFifthAvenue.

           “Isn’titbad?”sheobservedtoLola.

           “Terrible!”saidthatlittlelady,joiningher.“Ihopeitsnowsenoughtogosleighriding.”

           “Oh,dear,”saidCarrie,withwhomthesufferingsofFatherGoriotwerestillkeen.“That’sallyouthinkof.Aren’tyousorryforthepeoplewhohaven’tanythingto-night?”

           “OfcourseIam,”saidLola;“butwhatcanIdo?Ihaven’tanything.”

           Carriesmiled.

           “Youwouldn’tcare,ifyouhad,”shereturned.

           “Iwould,too,”saidLola.“ButpeoplenevergavemeanythingwhenIwashardup.”

           “Isn’titjustawful?”saidCarrie,studyingthewinter’sstorm.

           “Lookatthatmanoverthere,”laughedLola,whohadcaughtsightofsomeonefallingdown.“Howsheepishmenlookwhentheyfall,don’tthey?”

           “We’llhavetotakeacoachto-night,”answeredCarrieabsently.

           InthelobbyoftheImperial,Mr.CharlesDrouetwasjustarriving,shakingthesnowfromaveryhandsomeulster.Badweatherhaddrivenhimhomeearlyandstirredhisdesireforthosepleasureswhichshutoutthesnowandgloomoflife.Agooddinner,thecompanyofayoungwoman,andaneveningatthetheatrewerethechiefthingsforhim.

           “Why,hello,Harry!”hesaid,addressingaloungerinoneofthecomfortablelobbychairs.“Howareyou?”

           “Oh,aboutsixandsix,”saidtheother.

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