Воспоминания Шерлока Холмса
The Yellow Face
Inthecorner,stoopingoveradesk,theresatwhatappearedtobealittlegirl.Herfacewasturnedawayasweentered,butwecouldseethatshewasdressedinaredfrock,andthatshehadlongwhitegloveson.Asshewhiskedroundtous,Igaveacryofsurpriseandhorror.Thefacewhichsheturnedtowardsuswasofthestrangestlividtint,andthefeatureswereabsolutelydevoidofanyexpression.Aninstantlaterthemysterywasexplained.Holmes,withalaugh,passedhishandbehindthechild’sear,amaskpeeledofffromhercountenance,andtherewasalittlecoal-blacknegress,withallherwhiteteethflashinginamusementatouramazedfaces.Iburstoutlaughing,outofsympathywithhermerriment;butGrantMunrostoodstaring,withhishandclutchinghisthroat.
"MyGod!"hecried."Whatcanbethemeaningofthis?"
"Iwilltellyouthemeaningofit,"criedthelady,sweepingintotheroomwithaproud,setface."Youhaveforcedme,againstmyownjudgment,totellyou,andnowwemustbothmakethebestofit.MyhusbanddiedatAtlanta.Mychildsurvived."
"Yourchild?"
Shedrewalargesilverlocketfromherbosom."Youhaveneverseenthisopen."
"Iunderstoodthatitdidnotopen."
Shetouchedaspring,andthefronthingedback.Therewasaportraitwithinofamanstrikinglyhandsomeandintelligent-looking,butbearingunmistakablesignsuponhisfeaturesofhisAfricandescent.
