Тесс з роду д’Ербервілей

Chapter 24

           ThiswasTessDurbeyfield’shabit,hertemplepressingthemilcher’sflank,hereyesfixedonthefarendofthemeadowwiththequietofonelostinmeditation.ShewasmilkingOldPrettythus,andthesunchancingtobeonthemilking-sideitshoneflatuponherpink-gownedformandherwhitecurtain-bonnet,anduponherprofile,renderingitkeenasacameocutfromthedunbackgroundofthecow.

           ShedidnotknowthatClarehadfollowedherround,andthathesatunderhiscowwatchingher.Thestillnessofherheadandfeatureswasremarkable:shemighthavebeeninatrance,hereyesopen,yetunseeing.NothinginthepicturemovedbutOldPretty’stailandTess’spinkhands,thelattersogentlyastobearhythmicpulsationonly,asiftheywereobeyingareflexstimulus,likeabeatingheart.

           Howverylovableherfacewastohim.yettherewasnothingetherealaboutit;allwasrealvitality,realwarmth,realincarnation.Anditwasinhermouththatthisculminated.Eyesalmostasdeepandspeakinghehadseenbefore,andcheeksperhapsasfair;browsasarched,achinandthroatalmostasshapely;hermouthhehadseennothingtoequalonthefaceoftheearth.Toayoungmanwiththeleastfireinhimthatlittleupwardliftinthemiddleofherredtoplipwasdistracting,infatuating,maddening.Hehadneverbeforeseenawoman’slipsandteethwhichforceduponhismindwithsuchpersistentiterationtheoldElizabethansimileofrosesfilledwithsnow.Perfect,he,asalover,mighthavecalledthemoff-hand.Butnotheywerenotperfect.

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