Риф, или Там, где разбивается счастье

VI

           Buttherapturouslookshegavehimcheckedthedepreciationonhislips.

           “Oh,whydidyoubringmeouthere?Oneoughttocreepawayandsitinthedarktillitbeginsagain!”

           “Isthatthewaytheymadeyoufeel?”

           “Didn’ttheyyou?...Asifthegodswerethereallthewhile,justbehindthem,pullingthestrings?”Herhandswerepressedagainsttherailing,herfaceshininganddarkeningunderthewing-beatsofsuccessiveimpressions.

           Darrowsmiledinenjoymentofherpleasure.Afterall,hehadfeltallthat,longago;perhapsitwashisownfault,ratherthanthatoftheactors,thatthepoetryoftheplayseemedtohaveevaporated....Butno,hehadbeenrightinjudgingtheperformancetobedullandstale:itwassimplyhiscompanion’sinexperience,herlackofoccasionstocompareandestimate,thatmadeherthinkitbrilliant.

           “Iwasafraidyouwereboredandwantedtocomeaway.”

           “Bored?”Shemadealittleaggrievedgrimace.“Youmeanyouthoughtmetooignorantandstupidtoappreciateit?”

           “No;notthat.”Thehandnearesthimstilllayontherailingofthebalcony,andhecovereditforamomentwithhis.Ashedidsohesawthecolourriseandtrembleinhercheek.

           “Tellmejustwhatyouthink,”hesaid,bendinghisheadalittle,andonlyhalf-awareofhiswords.

           Shedidnotturnherfacetohis,butbegantotalkrapidly,tryingtoconveysomethingofwhatshefelt.

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