Дні мрій
The Twenty-first Of October
WhateverinnocentmirththeholidaysmightholdinstoreforEdward,thatparticularpig,atleast,wouldnotbeacontributor.Andnowhewasgiventounderstandthatthesituationhadnotmateriallychanged!Hewouldhavetorevisehisideas,itseemed.Sittinguponend,helookedtowardsthegardenforassistanceinthetask.Thence,evenashegazed,atinycolumnofsmokerosestraightupintothestillair.Thegardenerhadbeensweepingthatafternoon,andnow,anunconsciouspriest,wasofferinghissacrificeofautumnleavestothecalm-eyedgoddessofchanginghuesandchillforebodingswhowasmovingslowlyaboutthelandthatgoldenafternoon.Haroldwasupandoffinamoment,forgettingNelson,forgettingthepig,themole,theLarkinbetrayal,andSelina’sstrangefeverofconscience.Herewasfire,realfire,toplaywith,andthatwasevenbetterthanmessingwithwater,orremodellingtheplasticsurfaceoftheearth.Ofallthetoystheworldprovidesforright-mindedpersons,theoriginalelementsrankeasilythefirst.
ButSelinasatonwhereshewas,herchinonherfists;andherfancieswhirledanddrifted,hereandthere,incurlsandeddies,alongwiththesmokeshewaswatching.Asthequick-footedduskoftheshortOctoberdaysteppedlightlyoverthegarden,littleredtonguesoffiremightbeseentoleapandvanishinthesmoke.Harold,anonstaggeringunderarmfulsofleaves,anonstokingvigorously,wasdiscernibleonlyatfitfulintervals.
