Риф, или Там, где разбивается счастье

IV

           SheagreedthatitwouldbewelltogoatoncetotheruedelaChaise,butmethisproposalthattheyshoulddrivebythedeclarationthatitwasa“waste”nottowalkinParis;sotheysetoffonfootthroughthecheerfultumultofthestreets.

           Thewalkwaslongenoughforhimtolearnmanythingsabouther.Thestormofthepreviousnighthadclearedtheair,andParisshoneinmorningbeautyunderaskythatwasallbroadwetwashesofwhiteandblue;butDarrowagainnoticedthathervisualsensitivenesswaslesskeenthanherfeelingforwhathewassurethegoodFarlows—whomhealreadyseemedtoknow—wouldhavecalled“thehumaninterest.”Sheseemedhardlyconsciousofsensationsofformandcolour,orofanyimaginativesuggestion,andthespectaclebeforethem—always,initsscenicsplendour,somovingtohercompanion—brokeup,underherscrutiny,intoathousandminorpoints:thethingsintheshops,thetypesofcharacterandmannerofoccupationshowninthepassingfaces,thestreetsigns,thenamesofthehotelstheypassed,themotleybrightnessoftheflower-carts,theidentityofthechurchesandpublicbuildingsthatcaughthereye.Butwhatshelikedbest,hedivined,wasthemerefactofbeingfreetowalkabroadinthebrightair,hertonguerattlingonasitpleased,whileherfeetkepttimetothemightyorchestrationofthecity’ssounds.Herdelightinthefreshair,inthefreedom,lightandsparkleofthemorning,gavehimasuddeninsightintoherstifledpast;norwasitindifferenttohimtoperceivehowmuchhispresenceevidentlyaddedtoherenjoyment.

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