Пробний камінь
IV
”
Glennardtookthebookwithsuddeneagerness.“WhowasMadameCommanville?”
“Hissister.”HewasconsciousthatFlamelwaslookingathimwiththesmilethatwaslikeaninterrogationpoint.“Ididn’tknowyoucaredforthiskindofthing.”
“Idon’t—atleastI’veneverhadthechance.Haveyoumanycollectionsofletters?”
“Lord,no—veryfew.I’mjustbeginning,andmostoftheinterestingonesareoutofmyreach.Here’saqueerlittlecollection,though—therarestthingI’vegot—halfadozenofShelley’sletterstoHarrietWestbrook.Ihadadevilofatimegettingthem—alotofcollectorswereafterthem.”
Glennard,takingthevolumefromhishand,glancedwithakindofrepugnanceattheinterleavingofyellowcris-crossedsheets.“Shewastheonewhodrownedherself,wasn’tshe?”
Flamelnodded.“Isupposethatlittleepisodeaddsaboutfiftypercent.totheirvalue,”hesaid,meditatively.
Glennardlaidthebookdown.HewonderedwhyhehadjoinedFlamel.Hewasinnohumortobeamusedbytheolderman’stalk,andarecrudescenceofpersonalmiseryroseabouthimlikeanicytide.
“IbelieveImusttakemyselfoff,”hesaid.“I’dforgottenanengagement.”
Heturnedtogo;butalmostatthesamemomenthewasconsciousofadualityofintentionwhereinhisapparentwishtoleaverevealeditselfasalasteffortofthewillagainsttheovermasteringdesiretostayandunbosomhimselftoFlamel.
Theolderman,asthoughdiviningtheconflict,laidadetainingpressureonhisarm.
“Won’ttheengagementkeep?Sitdownandtryoneofthesecigars.
