Конец рабства

           Attheshoreendofthegangwaythelantern,hunglowtothehandrail,threwavividlightonthewhitelegsandthebigblackfeetofMr.Massywaitingaboutanxiously.Fromthewaistupwardsheremainedshadowy,witharowofbuttonsgleaminguptothevagueoutlineofhischin.

           “YoumaythankCaptainWhalleyforthis,”Mr.VanWyksaidcurtlytohimbeforeturningaway.

           Thelampsontheverandaflungthreelongsquaresoflightbetweentheuprightsfaroverthegrass.Abatflittedbeforehisfacelikeacirclingflakeofvelvetyblackness.Alongthejasminehedgethenightairseemedheavywiththefallofperfumeddew;flowerbedsborderedthepath;theclippedbushesuproseindarkroundedclumpshereandtherebeforethehouse;thedensefoliageofcreepersfilteredthesheenofthelamplightwithininasoftglowallalongthefront;andeverythingnearandfarstoodstillinagreatimmobility,inagreatsweetness.

           Mr.VanWyk(afewyearsbeforehehadhadoccasiontoimaginehimselftreatedmorebadlythananybodyalivehadeverbeenbyawoman)feltforCaptainWhalley’soptimisticviewsthedisdainofamanwhohadoncebeencreduloushimself.Hisdisgustwiththeworld(thewomanforatimehadfilleditforhimcompletely)hadtakentheformofactivityinretirement,because,thoughcapableofgreatdepthoffeeling,hewasenergeticandessentiallypractical.Buttherewasinthatuncommonoldsailor,driftingontheoutskirtsofhisbusysolitude,somethingthatfascinatedhisskepticism.Hisverysimplicity(amusingenough)waslikeadelicaterefinementofanuprightcharacter.