Риф, или Там, где разбивается счастье

XXII

           Afterdinner,however,atthepiano,hebrokeintoamoodofextravaganthilarityandfloodedtheroomwiththesplashandrippleofhismusic.

           Darrow,sunkinasofacornerintheleeofMissPainter’sgranitebulk,smokedandlistenedinsilence,hiseyesmovingfromonefiguretoanother.MadamedeChantelle,inherarmchairnearthefire,claspedherlittlegranddaughtertoherwiththegestureofadrawing-roomNiobe,andAnna,seatednearthem,hadfallenintooneoftheattitudesofvividcalmwhichseemedtoDarrowtoexpressherinmostquality.SophyViner,aftermovinguncertainlyabouttheroom,hadplacedherselfbeyondMrs.Leath,inachairnearthepiano,whereshesatwithheadthrownbackandeyesattachedtothemusician,inthesameraptfixityofattentionwithwhichshehadfollowedtheplayersattheFrançais.Theaccidentofherhavingfallenintothesameattitude,andofherwearingthesamedress,gaveDarrow,ashewatchedher,astrangesenseofdoubleconsciousness.Toescapefromit,hisglanceturnedbacktoAnna;butfromthepointatwhichhewasplacedhiseyescouldnottakeintheonefacewithouttheother,andthatrenewedthedisturbingdualityoftheimpression.SuddenlyOwenbrokeoffwithacrashofchordsandjumpedtohisfeet.

           “What’stheuseofthis,withsuchamoontosayitforus?”

           Behindtheuncurtainedwindowalowgoldenorbhunglikearipefruitagainsttheglass.

           “Yes—let’sgooutandlisten,”Annaanswered.Owenthrewopenthewindow,andwithhisgestureafoldoftheheavystar-sprinkledskyseemedtodroopintotheroomlikeadrawn-incurtain.

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