Пробний камінь
XI
Hereandthere,nodoubt,afrigidurnoraninsipidangelimprisonedsomefine-fibredgrief,asthemosthackneyedwordsmaybecomethevehicleofraremeanings;butforthemostparttheendlessalignmentofmonumentsseemedtoembodythoseeasygeneralizationsaboutdeaththatdonotdisturbthereposeoftheliving.Glennard’seye,ashefollowedthewayindicatedtohim,hadinstinctivelysoughtsomelowmoundwithaquietheadstone.Hehadforgottenthatthedeadseldomplantheirownhouses,andwithapanghediscoveredthenamehesoughtonthecyclopeanbaseofagraniteshaftrearingitsaggressiveheightattheangleoftwoavenues.
“Howshewouldhavehatedit!”hemurmured.
Abenchstoodnearandheseatedhimself.Themonumentrosebeforehimlikesomepretentiousuninhabiteddwelling;hecouldnotbelievethatMargaretAubynlaythere.ItwasaSundaymorningandblackfiguresmovedamongthepaths,placingflowersonthefrost-boundhillocks.Glennardnoticedthattheneighboringgraveshadbeenthusnewlydressed;andhefanciedablindstirofexpectancythroughthesod,asthoughthebaremoundsspreadaparchedsurfacetothatcommemorativerain.Herosepresentlyandwalkedbacktotheentranceofthecemetery.Severalgreenhousesstoodnearthegates,andturninginatthefirstheaskedforsomeflowers.
“Anythingintheemblematicline?”askedtheanaemicmanbehindthedrippingcounter.
Glennardshookhishead.
“Justcutflowers?Thisway,then.”Thefloristunlockedaglassdoorandledhimdownamoistgreenaisle
