Біла пташка
William Paterson
Sowouldyourchildbe,madam,ifbornwithaman’spowers,andwhendisillusionedofallelse,hewouldclingforamomentlongertoyou,thewomanofwhom,beforehesawyou,hehadheardsomuch.Howyouwouldstrivetocheathim,evenasIstrovetohidemyrealselffromPaterson,andstillyouwouldstriveasIstroveafteryouknewthegamewasup.
ThesorrowfuleyesofPatersonstrippedmebare.ThereweredayswhenIcouldnotendurelookingathim,thoughsurelyIhavelongceasedtobeavainman.HestillmetusintheGardens,butforhoursheandIwouldbetogetherwithoutspeaking.Itwassouponthelastday,oneofthoseinnumerabledrearydayswhenDavid,havingsneezedthenightbefore,waskeptathomeinflannel,andIsatalonewithPatersonontheStory-seat.AtlastIturnedtoaddresshim.Neverhadwespokenofwhatchainedourtongues,andImeantonlytosaynowthatwemustgo,forsoonthegateswouldclose,butwhenIlookedathimIsawthathewasmoremournfulthaneverbefore;heshuthiseyessotightlythatadropofbloodfellfromthem.
“Itwasallover,Paterson,longago,”Ibrokeoutharshly,“whydowelinger?”
Hebeathishandstogethermiserably,andyetcastmeappealinglooksthathadmuchaffectioninthem.
“Youexpectedtoomuchofme,”Itoldhim,andhebowedhishead.“Idon’tknowwhereyoubroughtyourgrandideasofmenandwomenfrom.Idon’twanttoknow,”Iaddedhastily.
“Butitmusthavebeenfromaprettierworldthanthis,”Isaid:“areyouquitesurethatyouwerewiseinleavingit?”
Heroseandsatdownagain
