Місяць і гріш

Chapter XXIV

           Idimlyperceivedabedinthecorner,andIwonderedwhetherthelightwoulddiscloselyingonitadeadbody.

           "Haven’tyougotamatch,youfool?"

           Strickland’svoice,comingoutofthedarkness,harshly,mademestart.

           Stroevecriedout.

           "Oh,myGod,Ithoughtyouweredead."

           Istruckamatch,andlookedaboutforacandle.Ihadarapidglimpseofatinyapartment,halfroom,halfstudio,inwhichwasnothingbutabed,canvaseswiththeirfacestothewall,aneasel,atable,andachair.Therewasnocarpetonthefloor.Therewasnofireplace.Onthetable,crowdedwithpaints,palette-knives,andlitterofallkinds,wastheendofacandle.Ilitit.Stricklandwaslyinginthebed,uncomfortablybecauseitwastoosmallforhim,andhehadputallhisclothesoverhimforwarmth.Itwasobviousataglancethathewasinahighfever.Stroeve,hisvoicecrackingwithemotion,wentuptohim.

           "Oh,mypoorfriend,whatisthematterwithyou?Ihadnoideayouwereill.Whydidn’tyouletmeknow?YoumustknowI’dhavedoneanythingintheworldforyou.WereyouthinkingofwhatIsaid?Ididn’tmeanit.Iwaswrong.Itwasstupidofmetotakeoffence."

           "Gotohell,"saidStrickland.

           "Now,bereasonable.Letmemakeyoucomfortable.Haven’tyouanyonetolookafteryou?"

           Helookedroundthesqualidatticindismay.Hetriedtoarrangethebed-clothes.Strickland,breathinglaboriously,keptanangrysilence.Hegavemearesentfulglance.Istoodquitequietly,lookingathim.

           "Ifyouwanttodosomethingforme,youcangetmesomemilk,"hesaidatlast

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