Поющие в терновнике

           Herlipswerequiteinvisible,compressedintoasinglelineofconcentrationonthehardbusinessofbeingtheBrideofChristinacolonialbackwaterwithtopsy-turvyseasonswhenshehadtakenhervowsinthesweetsoftnessofaKillarneyabbeyoverfiftyyearsbefore.Twosmallcrimsonmarkswereetchedintothesidesofhernosefromtheremorselessgripofherround,steel-framedspectacles,andbehindthemhereyespeeredoutsuspiciously,pale-blueandbitter.

           "Well,RobertCleary,whyareyoulate?"SisterAgathabarkedinherdry,onceIrishvoice.

           "I’msorry,Sister,"Bobrepliedwoodenly,hisblue-greeneyesstillrivetedonthetipofthequiveringcaneasitwavedbackandforth.

           "Whyareyoulate?"sherepeated.

           "I’msorry,Sister."

           "Thisisthefirstmorningofthenewschoolyear,RobertCleary,andIwouldhavethoughtthatonthismorningifnotonothersyoumighthavemadeanefforttobeontime."

           Meggieshivered,butpluckeduphercourage."Oh,please,Sister,itwasmyfault!"shesqueaked.

           Thepale-blueeyesdeviatedfromBobandseemedtogothroughandthroughMeggie’sverysoulasshestoodtheregazingupingenuineinnocence,notawareshewasbreakingthefirstruleofconductinadeadlyduelwhichwentonbetweenteachersandpupilsadinfinitum:nevervolunteerinformation.BobkickedherswiftlyonthelegandMeggielookedathimsideways,bewildered.

           "Whywasityourfault?"thenundemandedinthecoldesttonesMeggiehadeverheard.