Поворот винта

           Forbiddengroundwasthequestionofthereturnofthedeadingeneralandofwhatever,inespecial,mightsurvive,inmemory,ofthefriendslittlechildrenhadlost.ThereweredayswhenIcouldhaveswornthatoneofthemhad,withasmallinvisiblenudge,saidtotheother:“Shethinksshe’lldoitthistime—butshewon’t!”To“doit”wouldhavebeentoindulgeforinstance—andforonceinaway—insomedirectreferencetotheladywhohadpreparedthemformydiscipline.Theyhadadelightfulendlessappetiteforpassagesinmyownhistory,towhichIhadagainandagaintreatedthem;theywereinpossessionofeverythingthathadeverhappenedtome,hadhad,witheverycircumstancethestoryofmysmallestadventuresandofthoseofmybrothersandsistersandofthecatandthedogathome,aswellasmanyparticularsoftheeccentricnatureofmyfather,ofthefurnitureandarrangementofourhouse,andoftheconversationoftheoldwomenofourvillage.Therewerethingsenough,takingonewithanother,tochatterabout,ifonewentveryfastandknewbyinstinctwhentogoround.Theypulledwithanartoftheirownthestringsofmyinventionandmymemory;andnothingelseperhaps,whenIthoughtofsuchoccasionsafterward,gavemesothesuspicionofbeingwatchedfromundercover.Itwasinanycaseovermylife,mypast,andmyfriendsalonethatwecouldtakeanythinglikeourease—astateofaffairsthatledthemsometimeswithouttheleastpertinencetobreakoutintosociablereminders.