Вдалині від божевільного натовпу

XXI. Troubles in the Fold—A Message

           

           "Hesaysheshallnotcomeonlessyourequestentocomecivillyandinapropermanner,asbecomesany’oomanbeggingafavour."

           "Oh,oh,that’shisanswer!Wheredoeshegethisairs?WhoamI,then,tobetreatedlikethat?ShallIbegtoamanwhohasbeggedtome?"

           Anotheroftheflocksprangintotheair,andfelldead.

           Themenlookedgrave,asiftheysuppressedopinion.

           Bathshebaturnedaside,hereyesfulloftears.Thestraitshewasinthroughprideandshrewishnesscouldnotbedisguisedlonger:sheburstoutcryingbitterly;theyallsawit;andsheattemptednofurtherconcealment.

           "Iwouldn’tcryaboutit,miss,"saidWilliamSmallbury,compassionately."Whynotaskhimsofterlike?I’msurehe’dcomethen.Gableisatruemaninthatway."

           Bathshebacheckedhergriefandwipedhereyes."Oh,itisawickedcrueltytomeitisitis!"shemurmured."AndhedrivesmetodowhatIwouldn’t;yes,hedoes!Tall,comeindoors."

           Afterthiscollapse,notverydignifiedfortheheadofanestablishment,shewentintothehouse,Tallatherheels.Hereshesatdownandhastilyscribbledanotebetweenthesmallconvulsivesobsofconvalescencewhichfollowafitofcryingasaground-swellfollowsastorm.Thenotewasnonethelesspoliteforbeingwritteninahurry.Shehelditatadistance,wasabouttofoldit,thenaddedthesewordsatthebottom:

           "Donotdesertme,Gabriel!"

           Shelookedalittleredderinrefoldingit,andclosedherlips,asiftherebytosuspendtilltoolatetheactionofconscienceinexaminingwhethersuchstrategywerejustifiable.

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