Риф, или Там, где разбивается счастье

XXIII

           Then,inaflash,thetruthcametoher:MissVinerhadpowderedherfacebecauseMissVinerhadbeencrying.

           Annaleanedforwardimpulsively.“Mydearchild,what’sthematter?”Shesawthegirl’sbloodrushupunderthewhitemask,andhastenedon:“Pleasedon’tbeafraidtotellme.IdosowantyoutofeelthatyoucantrustmeasOwendoes.Andyouknowyoumustn’tmindif,justatfirst,MadamedeChantelleoccasionallyrelapses.”

           Shespokeeagerly,persuasively,almostonanoteofpleading.Shehad,intruth,somanyreasonsforwantingSophytolikeher:herloveforOwen,hersolicitudeforEffie,andherownsenseofthegirl’sfinemettle.Shehadalwaysfeltaromanticandalmosthumbleadmirationforthosemembersofhersexwho,fromforceofwill,ortheconstraintofcircumstances,hadplungedintotheconflictfromwhichfatehadsopersistentlyexcludedher.Therewereevenmomentswhenshefanciedherselfvaguelytoblameforherimmunity,andfeltthatsheoughtsomehowtohaveaffrontedtheperilsandhardshipswhichrefusedtocometoher.Andnow,asshesatlookingatSophyViner,sosmall,soslight,sovisiblydefencelessandundone,shestillfelt,throughallthesuperiorityofherworldlyadvantagesandherseemingmaturity,thesameoddsenseofignoranceandinexperience.Shecouldnothavesaidwhattherewasinthegirl’smannerandexpressiontogiveherthisfeeling,butshewasreminded,asshelookedatSophyViner,oftheothergirlsshehadknowninheryouth,thegirlswhoseemedpossessedofasecretshehadmissed.

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