Вдалині від божевільного натовпу

IX. The Homestead—A Visitor—Half-Confidences

           Thebeautyherfeaturesmighthavelackedinformwasamplymadeupforbyperfectionofhue,whichatthiswinter-timewasthesoftenedruddinessonasurfaceofhighrotunditythatwemeetwithinaTerburgoraGerardDouw;and,likethepresentationsofthosegreatcolourists,itwasafacewhichkeptwellbackfromtheboundarybetweencomelinessandtheideal.ThoughelasticinnatureshewaslessdaringthanBathsheba,andoccasionallyshowedsomeearnestness,whichconsistedhalfofgenuinefeeling,andhalfofmannerlinesssuperaddedbywayofduty.

           Throughapartly-openeddoorthenoiseofascrubbing-brushleduptothecharwoman,MaryannMoney,apersonwhoforafacehadacirculardisc,furrowedlessbyagethanbylonggazesofperplexityatdistantobjects.Tothinkofherwastogetgood-humoured;tospeakofherwastoraisetheimageofadriedNormandypippin.

           "Stopyourscrubbingamoment,"saidBathshebathroughthedoortoher."Ihearsomething."

           Maryannsuspendedthebrush.

           Thetrampofahorsewasapparent,approachingthefrontofthebuilding.Thepacesslackened,turnedinatthewicket,and,whatwasmostunusual,cameupthemossypathclosetothedoor.Thedoorwastappedwiththeendofacroporstick.

           "Whatimpertinence!"saidLiddy,inalowvoice."Torideupthefootpathlikethat!Whydidn’thestopatthegate?Lord!’Tisagentleman!Iseethetopofhishat."

           "Bequiet!"saidBathsheba.

           ThefurtherexpressionofLiddy’sconcernwascontinuedbyaspectinsteadofnarrative.

           "Whydoesn’tMrs.Coggangotothedoor?"Bathshebacontinued.

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