Епоха невинності

           Asshesatthus,thelamplightfullonherclearbrow,hesaidtohimselfwithasecretdismaythathewouldalwaysknowthethoughtsbehindit,thatnever,inalltheyearstocome,wouldshesurprisehimbyanunexpectedmood,byanewidea,aweakness,acrueltyoranemotion.Shehadspentherpoetryandromanceontheirshortcourting:thefunctionwasexhaustedbecausetheneedwaspast.Nowshewassimplyripeningintoacopyofhermother,andmysteriously,bytheveryprocess,tryingtoturnhimintoaMr.Welland.Helaiddownhisbookandstoodupimpatiently;andatoncesheraisedherhead."What’sthematter?""Theroomisstifling:Iwantalittleair."Hehadinsistedthatthelibrarycurtainsshoulddrawbackwardandforwardonarod,sothattheymightbeclosedintheevening,insteadofremainingnailedtoagiltcornice,andimmovablyloopedupoverlayersoflace,asinthedrawing-room;andhepulledthembackandpushedupthesash,leaningoutintotheicynight.ThemerefactofnotlookingatMay,seatedbesidehistable,underhislamp,thefactofseeingotherhouses,roofs,chimneys,ofgettingthesenseofotherlivesoutsidehisown,othercitiesbeyondNewYork,andawholeworldbeyondhisworld,clearedhisbrainandmadeiteasiertobreathe.Afterhehadleanedoutintothedarknessforafewminutesheheardhersay:"Newland!Doshutthewindow.You’llcatchyourdeath."Hepulledthesashdownandturnedback."Catchmydeath!"heechoed;andhefeltlikeadding:"ButI’vecaughtitalready.IAMdead—I’vebeendeadformonthsandmonths.