Вдалині від божевільного натовпу

XXVI. Scene on the Verge of the Hay-Mead

           Still,theremighthavebeensomeself-conceitinmyfoolishsuppositiontheothernight.IknewthatwhatIsaidinadmirationmightbeanopiniontoooftenforceduponyoutogiveanypleasure,butIcertainlydidthinkthatthekindnessofyournaturemightpreventyoujudginganuncontrolledtongueharshlywhichyouhavedoneandthinkingbadlyofmeandwoundingmethismorning,whenIamworkinghardtosaveyourhay."

           "Well,youneednotthinkmoreofthat:perhapsyoudidnotmeantoberudetomebyspeakingoutyourmind:indeed,Ibelieveyoudidnot,"saidtheshrewdwoman,inpainfullyinnocentearnest."AndIthankyouforgivinghelphere.Butbutmindyoudon’tspeaktomeagaininthatway,orinanyother,unlessIspeaktoyou."

           "Oh,MissBathsheba!Thatistoohard!"

           "No,itisn’t.Whyisit?"

           "Youwillneverspeaktome;forIshallnotbeherelong.Iamsoongoingbackagaintothemiserablemonotonyofdrillandperhapsourregimentwillbeorderedoutsoon.Andyetyoutakeawaytheonelittleewe-lambofpleasurethatIhaveinthisdulllifeofmine.Well,perhapsgenerosityisnotawoman’smostmarkedcharacteristic."

           "Whenareyougoingfromhere?"sheasked,withsomeinterest.

           "Inamonth."

           "Buthowcanitgiveyoupleasuretospeaktome?"

           "CanyouaskMissEverdeneknowingasyoudowhatmyoffenceisbasedon?"

           "Ifyoudocaresomuchforasillytrifleofthatkind,then,Idon’tminddoingit,"sheuncertainlyanddoubtinglyanswered."Butyoucan’treallycareforawordfromme?youonlysaysoIthinkyouonlysayso.

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