Біла пташка
A Night-Piece
Ishookhimbythehand,butbythistimehewashaw-haw-hawingsoabominablythatadisgustofhimswelledupwithinme,andwithitapassionatedesiretojeeroncemoreatMaryA—
“Itislittleshewillcareforyounow,”Isaidtothefellow;“Iknowthesortofwoman;herintellectuals(whichareallshehastodistinguishherfromthebrutes)aresoimperfectlydevelopedthatshewillbeacrazythingaboutthatboyforthenextthreeyears.Shehasnolongeroccasionforyou,mydearsir;youarelikeapicturepaintedout.”
ButIquestionwhetherheheardme.Ireturnedtomyhome.Home!Asifonealonecanbuildanest.HowoftenasIhaveascendedthestairsthatleadtomylonely,sumptuousrooms,haveIpausedtolistentothehilarityoftheservantsbelow.ThatmorningIcouldnotrest:Iwanderedfromchambertochamber,followedbymygreatdog,andallwerealikeemptyanddesolate.IhadnearlyfinishedacigarwhenIthoughtIheardapebblestrikethewindow,andlookingoutIsawDavid’sfatherstandingbeneath.IhadtoldhimthatIlivedinthisstreet,andIsupposemylightshadguidedhimtomywindow.
“Icouldnotliedown,”hecalleduphoarsely,“untilIheardyournews.Isitallright?”
ForamomentIfailedtounderstandhim.ThenIsaidsourly:“Yes,allisright.”
“Bothdoingwell?”heinquired.
“Both,”Ianswered,andallthetimeIwastryingtoshutthewindow.Itwasundoubtedlyakindlyimpulsethathadbroughthimout,butIwasneverthelessinapassionwithhim.
“Boyorgirl?”persistedthedoddererwithungentlemanlikecuriosity
