Місіс Деллоуей
Still,hethought,yawningandbeginningtotakenotice—Regent’sParkhadchangedverylittlesincehewasaboy,exceptforthesquirrels—still,presumablytherewerecompensations—whenlittleEliseMitchell,whohadbeenpickinguppebblestoaddtothepebblecollectionwhichsheandherbrotherweremakingonthenurserymantelpiece,plumpedherhandfuldownonthenurse’skneeandscuddedoffagainfulltiltintoalady’slegs.PeterWalshlaughedout.
ButLucreziaWarrenSmithwassayingtoherself,It’swicked;whyshouldIsuffer?shewasasking,asshewalkeddownthebroadpath.No;Ican’tstanditanylonger,shewassaying,havingleftSeptimus,whowasn’tSeptimusanylonger,tosayhard,cruel,wickedthings,totalktohimself,totalktoadeadman,ontheseatoverthere;whenthechildranfulltiltintoher,fellflat,andburstoutcrying.
Thatwascomfortingrather.Shestoodherupright,dustedherfrock,kissedher.
Butforherselfshehaddonenothingwrong;shehadlovedSeptimus;shehadbeenhappy;shehadhadabeautifulhome,andtherehersisterslivedstill,makinghats.
- Немає глав