Біла пташка
The Fight For Timothy
”
“Shehasgonetotheshoptoask?”
“No,nottoaskthat,butforadescriptionofthepurchaser’sappearance.”
Oh,Mary,Mary.
HereistheappearanceofpurchaserassuppliedattheArcade:—lookedlikeamilitarygentleman;tall,dark,andratherdressy;fineRomannose(quiteso),carefullytrimmedmoustachegoinggrey(notatall);hairthinandthoughtfullydistributedovertheheadlikefiddlestrings,asiftomakethemostofit(pah!);dustedchairwithhandkerchiefbeforesittingdownonit,andhadotheroldmaidishways(Ishouldliketoknowwhattheyare);tediouslypolite,butnotalker;boredface;ageforty-fiveifaday(alie);wasaccompaniedbyanenormousyellowdogwithsoreeyes.(Theyalwaysthinkthehawsaresoreeyes.)
“Doyouknowanyonewhoislikethat?”Mary’shusbandaskedmeinnocently.
“Mydearman,”Isaid,“Iknowalmostnoonewhoisnotlikethat,”anditwastrue,solikeeachotherdowegrowattheclub.Iwaspleased,onthewhole,withthistalk,foritatleastshowedmehowshehadcometoknowoftheSt.Bernard,butanxietyreturnedwhenonedayfrombehindmycurtainsIsawMaryinmystreetwithaninquiringeyeonthewindows.Shestoppedanursewhowascarryingababyandwentintopretendedecstasiesoverit.IwassureshealsoaskedwhetherbyanychanceitwascalledTimothy.Andifnot,whetherthatnurseknewanyothernursewhohadchargeofaTimothy
