Червона літера
The Leech and His Patient
Pearllookedasbeautifulastheday,butwasinoneofthosemoodsofperversemerrimentwhich,whenevertheyoccurred,seemedtoremoveherentirelyoutofthesphereofsympathyorhumancontact.Shenowskippedirreverentlyfromonegravetoanother;untilcomingtothebroad,flat,armorialtombstoneofadepartedworthy—perhapsofIsaacJohnsonhimself—shebegantodanceuponit.Inreplytohermother’scommandandentreatythatshewouldbehavemoredecorously,littlePearlpausedtogatherthepricklyburrsfromatallburdockwhichgrewbesidethetomb.Takingahandfulofthese,shearrangedthemalongthelinesofthescarletletterthatdecoratedthematernalbosom,towhichtheburrs,astheirnaturewas,tenaciouslyadhered.Hesterdidnotpluckthemoff.
RogerChillingworthhadbythistimeapproachedthewindowandsmiledgrimlydown.
"Thereisnolaw,norreverenceforauthority,noregardforhumanordinancesoropinions,rightorwrong,mixedupwiththatchild’scomposition,"remarkedhe,asmuchtohimselfastohiscompanion."Isawher,theotherday,bespattertheGovernorhimselfwithwateratthecattle-troughinSpringLane.What,inheaven’sname,isshe?Istheimpaltogetherevil?Hathsheaffections?Hathsheanydiscoverableprincipleofbeing?"
"None,savethefreedomofabrokenlaw,"answeredMr.Dimmesdale,inaquietway,asifhehadbeendiscussingthepointwithinhimself,"Whethercapableofgood,Iknownot."
