Червона літера
The Procession
Lastly,theinhabitantsofthetown(theirowninterestinthisworn-outsubjectlanguidlyrevivingitself,bysympathywithwhattheysawothersfeel)loungedidlytothesamequarter,andtormentedHesterPrynne,perhapsmorethanalltherest,withtheircool,well-acquaintedgazeatherfamiliarshame.Hestersawandrecognizedtheselfsamefacesofthatgroupofmatrons,whohadawaitedherforthcomingfromtheprison-doorsevenyearsago;allsaveone,theyoungestandonlycompassionateamongthem,whoseburial-robeshehadsincemade.Atthefinalhour,whenshewassosoontoflingasidetheburningletter,ithadstrangelybecomethecentreofmoreremarkandexcitement,andwasthusmadetosearherbreastmorepainfully,thanatanytimesincethefirstdaysheputiton.
WhileHesterstoodinthatmagiccircleofignominy,wherethecunningcrueltyofhersentenceseemedtohavefixedherforever,theadmirablepreacherwaslookingdownfromthesacredpulpituponanaudiencewhoseveryinmostspiritshadyieldedtohiscontrol.Thesaintedministerinthechurch!Thewomanofthescarletletterinthemarketplace!Whatimaginationwouldhavebeenirreverentenoughtosurmisethatthesamescorchingstigmawasonthemboth!
