Тесс з роду д’Ербервілей

Chapter 44

           Shetookoffthethickbootsinwhichshehadwalkedthusfar,putonherprettythinonesofpatentleather,and,stuffingtheformerintothehedgebythegatepostwhereshemightreadilyfindthemagain,descendedthehill;thefreshnessofcolourshehadderivedfromthekeenairthinningawayinspiteofherasshedrewneartheparsonage.

           Tesshopedforsomeaccidentthatmightfavourher,butnothingfavouredher.ThescrubsontheVicaragelawnrustleduncomfortablyinthefrostybreeze;shecouldnotfeelbyanystretchofimagination,dressedtoherhighestasshewas,thatthehousewastheresidenceofnearrelations;andyetnothingessential,innatureoremotion,dividedherfromthem:inpains,pleasures,thoughts,birth,death,andafter-death,theywerethesame.

           Shenervedherselfbyaneffort,enteredtheswing-gate,andrangthedoor-bell.Thethingwasdone;therecouldbenoretreat.No;thethingwasnotdone.Nobodyansweredtoherringing.Theefforthadberisentoandmadeagain.Sherangasecondtime,andtheagitationoftheact,coupledwithherwearinessafterthefifteenmiles’walk,ledhersupportherselfwhileshewaitedbyrestingherhandonherhip,andherelbowagainstthewalloftheporch.Thewindwassonippingthattheivy-leaveshadbecomewizenedandgray,eachtappingincessantlyuponitsneighbourwithadisquietingstirofhernerves.

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