Ярмарка тщеславия

Sunday After the Battle

           

           Punctually,astheshrill-tonedbelloftheblackmarblestudyclockbegantochimenine,SirPittmadehisappearance,fresh,neat,smuglyshaved,withawaxycleanface,andstiffshirtcollar,hisscantyhaircombedandoiled,trimminghisnailsashedescendedthestairsmajestically,inastarchedcravatandagreyflanneldressing-gownarealoldEnglishgentleman,inawordamodelofneatnessandeverypropriety.HestartedwhenhesawpoorRawdoninhisstudyintumbledclothes,withblood-shoteyes,andhishairoverhisface.Hethoughthisbrotherwasnotsober,andhadbeenoutallnightonsomeorgy."Goodgracious,Rawdon,"hesaid,withablankface,"whatbringsyouhereatthistimeofthemorning?Whyain’tyouathome?"

           "Home,"saidRawdonwithawildlaugh."Don’tbefrightened,Pitt.I’mnotdrunk.Shutthedoor;Iwanttospeaktoyou."

           Pittclosedthedoorandcameuptothetable,wherehesatdownintheotherarm-chairthatoneplacedforthereceptionofthesteward,agent,orconfidentialvisitorwhocametotransactbusinesswiththeBaronetandtrimmedhisnailsmorevehementlythanever.

           "Pitt,it’salloverwithme,"theColonelsaidafterapause."I’mdone."

           "Ialwayssaiditwouldcometothis,"theBaronetcriedpeevishly,andbeatingatunewithhisclean-trimmednails."Iwarnedyouathousandtimes.Ican’thelpyouanymore.Everyshillingofmymoneyistiedup.

Настройки
Фон страницы
Размер шрифта
Межстрочный интервал
Фразовые глаголы
Показать / Скрыть меню
Шрифт
Roboto Lora
Уведомления
Страница 948 из 1227