Вдалині від божевільного натовпу

XXXVIII. Rain—One Solitary Meets Another

           

           Itwasaboutseveno’clockinthedarkleadenmorningwhenGabrielcamedownfromthelaststack,andthankfullyexclaimed,"Itisdone!"Hewasdrenched,weary,andsad,andyetnotsosadasdrenchedandweary,forhewascheeredbyasenseofsuccessinagoodcause.

           Faintsoundscamefromthebarn,andhelookedthatway.Figuressteppedsinglyandinpairsthroughthedoorsallwalkingawkwardly,andabashed,savetheforemost,whoworearedjacket,andadvancedwithhishandsinhispockets,whistling.Theothersshambledafterwithaconscience-strickenair:thewholeprocessionwasnotunlikeFlaxman’sgroupofthesuitorstotteringontowardstheinfernalregionsundertheconductofMercury.Thegnarledshapespassedintothevillage,Troy,theirleader,enteringthefarmhouse.Notasingleoneofthemhadturnedhisfacetothericks,orapparentlybestowedonethoughtupontheircondition.

           SoonOaktoowenthomeward,byadifferentroutefromtheirs.Infrontofhimagainstthewetglazedsurfaceofthelanehesawapersonwalkingyetmoreslowlythanhimselfunderanumbrella.Themanturnedandplainlystarted;hewasBoldwood.

           "Howareyouthismorning,sir?"saidOak.

           "Yes,itisawetday.Oh,Iamwell,verywell,Ithankyou;quitewell."

           "Iamgladtohearit,sir."

           Boldwoodseemedtoawaketothepresentbydegrees."Youlooktiredandill,Oak,"hesaidthen,desultorilyregardinghiscompanion.

           "Iamtired.Youlookstrangelyaltered,sir."

           "I?Notabitofit:Iamwellenough.Whatputthatintoyourhead?"

           "Ithoughtyoudidn’tlookquitesotoppingasyouusedto,thatwasall.

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