Аня з Авонлеї
XXVII. An Afternoon at the Stone House
butI’mhorribly,selfishlysorry.Ishallmissyousomuch.Oh,sometimes,Ithinkitisofnousetomakefriends.Theyonlygooutofyourlifeafterawhileandleaveahurtthatisworsethantheemptinessbeforetheycame.”
“ThatsoundslikesomethingMissElizaAndrewsmightsaybutneverMissLavendar,”saidAnne.“NOTHINGisworsethanemptiness...andI’mnotgoingoutofyourlife.Therearesuchthingsaslettersandvacations.Dearest,I’mafraidyou’relookingalittlepaleandtired.”
“Oh...hoo...hoo...hoo,”wentPaulonthedyke,wherehehadbeenmakingnoisesdiligently...notallofthemmelodiousinthemaking,butallcomingbacktransmutedintotheverygoldandsilverofsoundbythefairyalchemistsovertheriver.MissLavendarmadeanimpatientmovementwithherprettyhands.
“I’mjusttiredofeverything...evenoftheechoes.Thereisnothinginmylifebutechoes...echoesoflosthopesanddreamsandjoys.They’rebeautifulandmocking.OhAnne,it’shorridofmetotalklikethiswhenIhavecompany.It’sjustthatI’mgettingoldanditdoesn’tagreewithme.IknowI’llbefearfullycrankybythetimeI’msixty.ButperhapsallIneedisacourseofbluepills.”AtthismomentCharlottatheFourth,whohaddisappearedafterlunch,returned,andannouncedthatthenortheastcornerofMr.JohnKimball’spasturewasredwithearlystrawberries,andwouldn’tMissShirleyliketogoandpicksome.
“Earlystrawberriesfortea!”exclaimedMissLavendar.“Oh,I’mnotsooldasIthought...
