Риф, или Там, где разбивается счастье

           “Oh,Owen,whereintheworldhaveyoubeen?IwalkedmilesandmileswithNurseandcouldn’tfindyou,andwemetJeanandhesaidhedidn’tknowwhereyou’dgone.”

           “NobodyknowswhereIgo,orwhatIseewhenIgetthere—that’sthebeautyofit!”helaughedbackather.“Butifyou’regood,”headded,“I’lltellyouaboutitoneofthesedays.”

           “Oh,now,Owen,now!Idon’treallybelieveI’lleverbemuchbetterthanIamnow.”

           “LetOwenhavehisteafirst,”hermothersuggested;buttheyoungman,decliningtheoffer,proppedhisgunagainstthewall,and,lightingacigarette,begantopaceupanddowntheroominawaythatremindedDarrowofhisowncagedwanderings.Effiepursuedhimwithherblandishments,andforawhilehepouredouttoheralow-voicedstreamofnonsense;thenhesatdownbesidehisstep-motherandleanedovertohelphimselftotea.

           “Where’sMissViner?”heasked,asEffieclimbeduponhim.“Whyisn’tsheheretochainupthisungovernableinfant?”

           “PoorMissVinerhasaheadache.Effiesaysshewenttoherroomassoonaslessonswereover,andsentwordthatshewouldn’tbedownfortea.”

           “Ah,”saidOwen,abruptlysettingdownhiscup.Hestoodup,litanothercigarette,andwanderedawaytothepianointheroombeyond.

           Fromthetwilightwherehesatalonelymusic,borneonfantasticchords,floatedtothegroupaboutthetea-table.UnderitsinfluenceMadamedeChantelle’smeditativepausesincreasedinlengthandfrequency,andEffiestretchedherselfonthehearth,herdrowsyheadagainstthedog.