Волхв

Chapter 15

           Itwasanunforgettablepainting;itsetadensegoldenhalooflightroundthemosttrivialofmoments,sothatthemoment,andallsuchmoments,couldneverbecompletelytrivialagain.Conchismovedoutontheterrace,andIfollowedhim.BythewestwardofthetwoFrenchdoorsstoodasmallMoorishivory-inlaidtable.Itcarriedabowlofflowersset,asifvotively,beforeaphotograph.Itwasalargepictureinanold-fashionedsilverframe,withthephotographer’snamestampedfloridlyingoldacrossthebottomcorneraLondonaddress.AgirlinanEdwardiandressstoodbyavaseofrosesonanimprobableCorinthianpedestal,whilepaintedfoliagedroopedsentimentallyacrossthebackground.Itwasoneofthoseoldphotographswhosedarkchocolateshadowsarebalancedbythecreamyrichnessofthelightsurfaces;ofaperiodwhenwomenhadbosoms,notbreasts.Theyounggirlinthepicturehadamassedpileoflighthair,andasharpwaist,andthatplumpsoftnessofskinandslightlyheavyGibson-girlhandsomenessoffeaturethattheagesomuchadmired.Conchishadstoppedandsawmegiveitalingeringglance."Shewasoncemyfiancée."Ilookedagain."Younevermarriedher?""Shedied."Thegirllookedabsurdlyhistorical,standingbyherpompousvaseinfrontofthefaded,paintedgrove."ShelooksEnglish.""Yes."Hepaused,surveyingher."Yes,shewasEnglish."Ilookedathim."WhatwasyourEnglishname,Mr.Conchis?"Hesmiledoneofhisraresmiles;likeamonkey’spawflashingoutofacage."Ihaveforgotten.

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