Поющие в терновнике

           Ontheheavy,idlewindcameastrong,sickeningstenchMeggiehadn’tstoppedtryingtogetoutofhernostrilssincesteppingoffthetrain.Likedecay,onlynotlikedecay;unbearablysweet,all-pervasive,atangiblepresencewhichneverseemedtodiminishnomatterhowhardthebreezeblew.

           "Whatyoucansmellismolasses,"saidAnneasshenoticedMeggie’sflaringnose;shelitatailor-madeArdathcigarette.

           "It’sdisgusting."

           "Iknow.That’swhyIsmoke.Buttoacertainextentyougetusedtoit,thoughunlikemostsmellsitneverquitedisappears.Dayinanddayout,themolassesisalwaysthere."

           "Whatarethebuildingsontheriverwiththeblackchimney?"

           "That’sthemill.Itprocessesthecaneintorawsugar.What’sleftover,thedryremnantsofthecaneminusitssugarcontent,iscalledbagasse.BothrawsugarandbagassearesentsouthtoSydneyforfurtherrefining.Outofrawsugartheygetmolasses,treacle,goldensyrup,brownsugar,whitesugarandliquidglucose.ThebagasseismadeintofibrousbuildingboardlikeMasonite.Nothingiswasted,absolutelynothing.That’swhyeveninthisDepressiongrowingcaneisstillaveryprofitablebusiness."

           ***

           ArneSwensonwassixfeettwoinchestall,exactlyLuke’sheight,andjustashandsome.