Поворот винта
Chapter 24
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MyfacemusthaveshownhimIbelievedhimutterly;yetmyhands—butitwasforpuretenderness—shookhimasiftoaskhimwhy,ifitwasallfornothing,hehadcondemnedmetomonthsoftorment.“Whatthendidyoudo?”
Helookedinvaguepainallroundthetopoftheroomanddrewhisbreath,twoorthreetimesover,asifwithdifficulty.Hemighthavebeenstandingatthebottomoftheseaandraisinghiseyestosomefaintgreentwilight.“Well—Isaidthings.”
“Onlythat?”
“Theythoughtitwasenough!”
“Toturnyououtfor?”
Never,truly,hadaperson“turnedout”shownsolittletoexplainitasthislittleperson!Heappearedtoweighmyquestion,butinamannerquitedetachedandalmosthelpless.“Well,IsupposeIoughtn’t.”
“Buttowhomdidyousaythem?”
Heevidentlytriedtoremember,butitdropped—hehadlostit.“Idon’tknow!”
Healmostsmiledatmeinthedesolationofhissurrender,whichwasindeedpractically,bythistime,socompletethatIoughttohaveleftitthere.ButIwasinfatuated—Iwasblindwithvictory,thougheventhentheveryeffectthatwastohavebroughthimsomuchnearerwasalreadythatofaddedseparation.“Wasittoeveryone?”Iasked.
“No;itwasonlyto—”Buthegaveasicklittleheadshake.“Idon’tremembertheirnames.”
“Weretheythensomany?”
“No—onlyafew.ThoseIliked.
