Поворот винта
Chapter 24
“It’snotMissJessel!Butit’satthewindow—straightbeforeus.It’sthere—thecowardhorror,thereforthelasttime!”
Atthis,afterasecondinwhichhisheadmadethemovementofabaffleddog’sonascentandthengaveafranticlittleshakeforairandlight,hewasatmeinawhiterage,bewildered,glaringvainlyovertheplaceandmissingwholly,thoughitnow,tomysense,filledtheroomlikethetasteofpoison,thewide,overwhelmingpresence.“It’she?”
IwassodeterminedtohaveallmyproofthatIflashedintoicetochallengehim.“Whomdoyoumeanby‘he’?”
“PeterQuint—youdevil!”Hisfacegaveagain,roundtheroom,itsconvulsedsupplication.“Where?”
Theyareinmyearsstill,hissupremesurrenderofthenameandhistributetomydevotion.“Whatdoeshematternow,myown?—whatwillheevermatter?Ihaveyou,”Ilaunchedatthebeast,“buthehaslostyouforever!”Then,forthedemonstrationofmywork,“There,there!”IsaidtoMiles.
Buthehadalreadyjerkedstraightround,stared,glaredagain,andseenbutthequietday.WiththestrokeofthelossIwassoproudofheutteredthecryofacreaturehurledoveranabyss,andthegraspwithwhichIrecoveredhimmighthavebeenthatofcatchinghiminhisfall.Icaughthim,yes,Iheldhim—itmaybeimaginedwithwhatapassion;butattheendofaminuteIbegantofeelwhatittrulywasthatIheld.Wewerealonewiththequietday,andhislittleheart,dispossessed,hadstopped.
