Риф, или Там, где разбивается счастье

XXVI

           Perhapsifthemares’-tailshadnotcomeuptheskytheiradventuremighthavehadnosequel.Butthecloudbroughtrain,andnextmorninghelookedoutofhiswindowintoacoldgreyblur.Theyhadplannedanall-dayexcursiondowntheSeine,tothetwoAndelysandRouen,andnow,withthelonghoursontheirhands,theywerebothalittleataloss....TherewastheLouvre,ofcourse,andtheLuxembourg;buthehadtriedlookingatpictureswithher,shehadfirstsopersistentlyadmiredtheworstthings,andthensofranklylapsedintoindifference,thathehadnowishtorepeattheexperiment.Sotheywentout,aimlessly,andtookacoldwetwalk,turningatlengthintothedesertedarcadesofthePalaisRoyal,andfinallydriftingintooneofitsequallydesertedrestaurants,wheretheylunchedaloneandsomewhatdolefully,servedbyawanoldwaiterwiththelookofacastawaywhohasgivenupwatchingforasail....Itwasoddhowthewaiter’sfacecamebacktohim...

           Perhapsbutfortherainitmightneverhavehappened;butwhatwastheuseofthinkingofthatnow?Hetriedtoturnhisthoughtstomoreurgentissues;but,byastrangeperversityofassociation,everydetailofthedaywasforcingitselfonhismindwithaninsistencefromwhichtherewasnoescape.Reluctantlyherelivedthelongwetwalkbacktothehotel,afteratedioushouratacinematographshowontheBoulevard

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