Червона літера
The Interview
"Dostthouknowmesolittle,HesterPrynne?Aremypurposeswonttobesoshallow?EvenifIimagineaschemeofvengeance,whatcouldIdobetterformyobjectthantolettheelive—thantogivetheemedicinesagainstallharmandperiloflife—sothatthisburningshamemaystillblazeuponthybosom?"Ashespoke,helaidhislongfore-fingeronthescarletletter,whichforthwithseemedtoscorchintoHester’sbreast,asifitadbeenredhot.Henoticedherinvoluntarygesture,andsmiled."Live,therefore,andbearaboutthydoomwiththee,intheeyesofmenandwomen—intheeyesofhimwhomthoudidstcallthyhusband—intheeyesofyonderchild!And,thatthoumayestlive,takeoffthisdraught."
Withoutfurtherexpostulationordelay,HesterPrynnedrainedthecup,and,atthemotionofthemanofskill,seatedherselfonthebed,wherethechildwassleeping;whilehedrewtheonlychairwhichtheroomafforded,andtookhisownseatbesideher.Shecouldnotbuttrembleatthesepreparations;forshefeltthat—havingnowdoneallthathumanity,orprinciple,or,ifsoitwere,arefinedcruelty,impelledhimtodoforthereliefofphysicalsuffering—hewasnexttotreatwithherasthemanwhomshehadmostdeeplyandirreparablyinjured.
"Hester,"saidhe,"Iasknotwherefore,norhowthouhastfallenintothepit,orsay,rather,thouhastascendedtothepedestalofinfamyonwhichIfoundthee.Thereasonisnotfartoseek.Itwasmyfolly,andthyweakness.
