Червона літера
The Market–Place
Nextrosebeforeherinmemory’spicture-gallery,theintricateandnarrowthoroughfares,thetall,greyhouses,thehugecathedrals,andthepublicedifices,ancientindateandquaintinarchitecture,ofacontinentalcity;wherenewlifehadawaitedher,stillinconnexionwiththemisshapenscholar:anewlife,butfeedingitselfontime-wornmaterials,likeatuftofgreenmossonacrumblingwall.Lastly,inlieuoftheseshiftingscenes,camebacktherudemarket-placeofthePuritan,settlement,withallthetownspeopleassembled,andlevellingtheirsternregardsatHesterPrynne—yes,atherself—whostoodonthescaffoldofthepillory,aninfantonherarm,andtheletterA,inscarlet,fantasticallyembroideredwithgoldthread,uponherbosom.
Coulditbetrue?Sheclutchedthechildsofiercelytoherbreastthatitsentforthacry;sheturnedhereyesdownwardatthescarletletter,andeventoucheditwithherfinger,toassureherselfthattheinfantandtheshamewerereal.Yesthesewereherrealities—allelsehadvanished!
