Риф, или Там, где разбивается счастье

I

           Thewindrosewiththerain,andtheharriedwretchesexposedtothisdoubleassaultwreakedontheirneighboursthevengeancetheycouldnottakeontheelements.

           Darrow,whosehealthyenjoymentoflifemadehimingeneralagoodtraveller,tolerantofagglutinatedhumanity,felthimselfobscurelyoutragedbythesepromiscuouscontacts.Itwasasthoughallthepeopleabouthimhadtakenhismeasureandknownhisplight;asthoughtheywerecontemptuouslybumpingandshovinghimliketheinconsiderablethinghehadbecome.“Shedoesn’twantyou,doesn’twantyou,doesn’twantyou,”theirumbrellasandtheirelbowsseemedtosay.

           Hehadrashlyvowed,whenthetelegramwasflungintohiswindow:“AtanyrateIwon’tturnback”—asthoughitmightcausethesenderamaliciousjoytohavehimretracehisstepsratherthankeepontoParis!Nowheperceivedtheabsurdityofthevow,andthankedhisstarsthatheneednotplunge,tonopurpose,intothefuryofwavesoutsidetheharbour.

           Withthisthoughtinhismindheturnedbacktolookforhisporter;butthecontiguityofdrippingumbrellasmadesignallingimpossibleand,perceivingthathehadlostsightoftheman,hescrambledupagaintotheplatform.Ashereachedit,adescendingumbrellacaughthiminthecollar-bone;andthenextmoment,bentsidewaysbythewind,itturnedinsideoutandsoaredup,kite-wise,attheendofahelplessfemalearm.

           Darrowcaughttheumbrella,lowereditsinvertedribs,andlookedupatthefaceitexposedtohim.

           “Waitaminute,”hesaid;“youcan’tstayhere.

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