Пробный камень

           Hisheadwasbentandhedidnotchangehisattitude.Shesatdownbesidehimwithoutspeaking;buttheirsilencesnowwerefertileasrain-clouds—theyquickenedtheseedsofunderstanding.

           Atlengthhelookedup.“Idon’tknow,”hesaid,“whatspiritshavecometoliveinthehouseofevilthatIbuilt—butyou’rethereandthat’senoughforme.It’sstrange,”hewentonafteranotherpause,“shewishedthebestformesooften,andnow,atlast,it’sthroughherthatit’scometome.ButforherIshouldn’thaveknownyou—it’sthroughherthatI’vefoundyou.Sometimes,doyouknow?—thatmakesithardest—makesmemostintolerabletomyself.Can’tyouseethatit’stheworstthingI’vegottoface?IsometimesthinkIcouldhaveborneitbetterifyouhadn’tunderstood!Itookeverythingfromher—everything—eventothepoorshelterofloyaltyshe’dtrustedin—theonlythingIcouldhavelefther!—Itookeverythingfromher,Ideceivedher,Idespoiledher,Idestroyedher—andshe’sgivenmeyouinreturn!”

           Hiswife’scrycaughthimup.“Itisn’tthatshe’sgivenmetoyou—itisthatshe’sgivenyoutoyourself.”Sheleanedtohimasthoughsweptforwardonawaveofpity