Зима тревоги нашей
Chapter 8
AndatthesametimemyMarysigheddeeplyandmurmuredbesideme.Andabreezesprangupandmovedtheshadowsofleafinglimbsontheceiling.
Islippedquietlyfrombedandslidintomybathrobe,forI,likeeveryoneelse,believedthatasleepwalkershouldnotbestartledawake.
ThissoundsasthoughIdidn’tlikemydaughter,butIdo.Iloveher,butIamsomewhatinfearofherbecauseIdon’tunderstandher.
Ifyouuseourstairsneartheedgeonthesideofthewall,theydonotcreak.Idiscoveredthatasatomcattingboycominghomefromthebackfencesofthetown.IstillusetheknowledgeifIdonotwanttodisturbMary.Iuseditnow—movedsilentlydownthestaircase,trailingmyfingersagainstthewallforguidance.Adimandlacysublightpenetratedfromthestreet-lampsideanddissipatedtosemidarknessawayfromthewindow.ButIcouldseeEllen.Sheseemedtohaveaglow,perhapsherwhitenightgown.Herfacewasshadowedbutherarmsandhandspickeduplight.Shewasstandingattheglass-frontedcabinetwheretheworthlessfamilytreasuresarekept,thecarvedscrimshaw,thespermwhalesandboatscompletewithoarsandironsandcrews,harpoonerinthebow—allcarvedfromwhales’bone—liketeethandthecurvedtusksofwalrus;asmallmodeloftheBelle-Adair,shinywithvarnish,herfurledsailsandcordagebrownanddusty.
