Таємничий сад

XVII. A Tantrum

           

           Heclosedhiseyesandlayquitestillandsheheldhishandandbegantospeakveryslowlyandinaverylowvoice.

           “Ithinkithasbeenleftalonesolong—thatithasgrownallintoalovelytangle.Ithinktheroseshaveclimbedandclimbedandclimbeduntiltheyhangfromthebranchesandwallsandcreepovertheground—almostlikeastrangegraymist.Someofthemhavediedbutmany—arealiveandwhenthesummercomestherewillbecurtainsandfountainsofroses.Ithinkthegroundisfullofdaffodilsandsnowdropsandliliesandirisworkingtheirwayoutofthedark.Nowthespringhasbegun—perhaps—perhaps—”

           Thesoftdroneofhervoicewasmakinghimstillerandstillerandshesawitandwenton.

           “Perhapstheyarecomingupthroughthegrass—perhapsthereareclustersofpurplecrocusesandgoldones—evennow.Perhapstheleavesarebeginningtobreakoutanduncurl—andperhaps—thegrayischangingandagreengauzeveiliscreeping—andcreepingover—everything.Andthebirdsarecomingtolookatit—becauseitis—sosafeandstill.Andperhaps—perhaps—perhaps—”verysoftlyandslowlyindeed,“therobinhasfoundamate—andisbuildinganest.”

           AndColinwasasleep.

           

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Roboto Lora
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