Тесс з роду д’Ербервілей

Chapter 12

           

           Againstthepeacefullandscape,thepale,decayingtintsofthecopses,theblueairofthehorizonandthelichenedstileboards,thesestaringvermilionwordsshoneforth.Theyseemedtoshoutthemselvesoutandmaketheatmospherering.Somepeoplemighthavecried“Alas,poorTheology!”atthehideousdefacementthelastgrotesquephaseofacreedwhichhadservedmankindwellinitstime.ButthewordsenteredTesswithaccusatoryhorror.Itwasasifthismanhadknownherrecenthistory;yethewasatotalstranger.

           Havingfinishedhistexthepickedupherbasket,andshemechanicallyresumedherwalkbesidehim.

           “Doyoubelievewhatyoupaint?”sheaskedinlowtones.

           “Believethattex?DoIbelieveinmyownexistence!”

           “But,”saidshetremulously,“supposeyoursinwasnotofyourownseeking?”

           Heshookhishead.

           “Icannotsplithairsonthatburningquery,”hesaid.“Ihavewalkedhundredsofmilesthispastsummer,paintingthesetexesoneverywall,gate,andstilethelengthandbreadthofthisdistrict.Ileavetheirapplicationtotheheartsofthepeoplewhoread’em.”

           “Ithinktheyarehorrible,”saidTess.“Crushing!killing!”

           “That’swhattheyaremeanttobe!”herepliedinatradevoice.“ButyoushouldreadmyhottestonesthemIkipsforslumsandseaports.They’dmakeyewriggle!Notbutwhatthisisaverygoodtexforruraldistricts....Ahthere’sanicebitofblankwallupbythatbarnstandingtowaste.

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