Сестра Керрі

Chapter XLII. A Touch Of Spring: The Empty Shell

           Hesat,gazingdownward,andgraduallythoughtheheardtheoldvoicesandtheclinkofglasses.

           “You’readandy,Hurstwood,”hisfriendWalkersaid.Hewasstandingagainwelldressed,smiling,good-natured,therecipientofencoresforagoodstory.

           Allatoncehelookedup.Theroomwassostillitseemedghostlike.Heheardtheclocktickingaudiblyandhalfsuspectedthathehadbeendozing.Thepaperwassostraightinhishands,however,andtheitemshehadbeenreadingsodirectlybeforehim,thatheridhimselfofthedozeidea.Still,itseemedpeculiar.Whenitoccurredasecondtime,however,itdidnotseemquitesostrange.

           Butcherandgroceryman,bakerandcoalman—notthegroupwithwhomhewasthendealing,butthosewhohadtrustedhimtothelimit—called.Hemetthemallblandly,becomingdeftinexcuse.Atlasthebecamebold,pretendedtobeout,orwavedthemoff.

           “Theycan’tgetbloodoutofaturnip,”hesaid,“ifIhaditI’dpaythem.”

           Carrie’slittlesoldierfriend,MissOsborne,seeinghersucceeding,hadbecomeasortofsatellite.LittleOsbornecouldneverofherselfamounttoanything.Sheseemedtorealiseitinasortofpussy-likewayandinstinctivelyconcludedtoclingwithhersoftlittleclawstoCarrie.

           “Oh,you’llgetup,”shekepttellingCarriewithadmiration.“You’resogood.”

           TimidasCarriewas,shewasstrongincapability.Therelianceofothersmadeherfeelasifshemust,andwhenshemustshedared.Experienceoftheworldandofnecessitywasinherfavour.Nolongerthelightestwordofamanmadeherheaddizzy.

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