Пробный камень
VII
“You’vereadit,then?”
“Iglancedatit—Ineverreadsuchthings.”
“Isittruethatshedidn’twishtheletterstobepublished?”
Glennardfeltthesuddendizzinessofthemountaineeronanarrowledge,andwithitthesensethathewaslostifhelookedmorethanastepahead.
“I’msureIdon’tknow,”hesaid;then,summoningasmile,hepassedhishandthroughherarm.“Ididn’thaveteaattheDreshams,youknow;won’tyougivemesomenow?”hesuggested.
ThateveningGlennard,underpretextofworktobedone,shuthimselfintothesmallstudyopeningoffthedrawing-room.Ashegathereduphispapershesaidtohiswife:“You’renotgoingtositindoorsonsuchanightasthis?I’lljoinyoupresentlyoutside.”
Butshehaddrawnherarmchairtothelamp.“Iwanttolookatmybook,”shesaid,takingupthefirstvolumeofthe“Letters.”
Glennard,withashrug,withdrewintothestudy.“I’mgoingtoshutthedoor;Iwanttobequiet,”heexplainedfromthethreshold;andshenoddedwithoutliftinghereyesfromthebook.
Hesankintoachair,staringaimlesslyattheoutspreadpapers.Howwashetowork,whileontheothersideofthedoorshesatwiththatvolumeinherhand?Thedoordidnotshutherout—hesawherdistinctly,feltherclosetohiminacontactaspainfulasthepressureonabruise.
Thesensationwaspartofthegeneralstrangenessthatmadehimfeellikeamanwakingfromalongsleeptofindhimselfinanunknowncountryamongpeopleofalientongue.
