Риф, или Там, где разбивается счастье

XI

           Thepath,growingnarrower,woundoncircuitouslythroughthewoods,betweenslenderserriedtrunkstwinedwithivy.Patchesofblueappearedabovethemthroughthedwindlingleaves,andpresentlythetreesdrewbackandshowedtheopenfieldsalongtheriver.

           Theywalkedonacrossthefieldstothetow-path.Inacurveofthewallsomestepsleduptoacrumblingpavilionwithopeningschokedwithivy.AnnaandDarrowseatedthemselvesonthebenchprojectingfromtheinnerwallofthepavilionandlookedacrosstheriverattheslopesdividedintoblocksofgreenandfawn-colour,andatthechalk-tintedvillageliftingitssquatchurch-towerandgreyroofsagainstthepreciselydrawnlinesofthelandscape.Annasatsilent,sointenselyawareofDarrow’snearnessthattherewasnosurpriseinthetouchhelaidonherhand.Theylookedateachother,andhesmiledandsaid:“Therearetobenomoreobstaclesnow.”

           “Obstacles?”Thewordstartledher.“Whatobstacles?”

           “Don’tyourememberthewordingofthetelegramthatturnedmebacklastMay?‘Unforeseenobstacle’:thatwasit.Whatwastheearth-shakingproblem,bytheway?FindingagovernessforEffie,wasn’tit?”

           “ButIgaveyoumyreason:thereasonwhyitwasanobstacle.Iwroteyoufullyaboutit.”

           “Yes,Iknowyoudid.”Heliftedherhandandkissedit.“Howfaroffitallseems,andhowlittleitallmatterstoday!”

           Shelookedathimquickly.“Doyoufeelthat?IsupposeI’mdifferent.Iwanttodrawallthosewastedmonthsintotoday—tomakethemapartofit.”

           “Buttheyare,tome.

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