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Так получилось, что книга ко мне попала в тяжелый эмоциональный кризис и многое мне дала. Написано актуально, тут многих полезных вещей, никакого злоу...
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In the Quarter
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Gethryn began to hum the air of the dream song, smiling, ``Yes 'tis a dream – a dream of love,'' he repeated, but stopped.
Yvonne's temples and throat were crimson.
``Please open the window,'' she cried, ``it's so warm here.''
``Hélène, I think you are blushing,'' said he, mischievously.
She turned her head away from him. He rose and opened the window, leaning out a moment; his heart was beating violently. Presently he returned.
``It's one o'clock.''
No answer.
``Hélène, it's one o'clock in the morning.''
``Are you tired?'' she murmured.
``No.''
``Nor I – don't go.''
``But it's one o'clock.''
``Don't go yet.''
He sank down irresolutely on the rug again. ``I ought to go,'' he murmured.
``Are we to remain friends?''
``That is for Hélène to say.''
``And Hélène will leave it to Homer!''
``To whom?'' said Gethryn.
``Monsieur Homer,'' said the girl, faintly.
``But that was a tragedy.''
``But they were friends.''
``In a way. Yes, in a way.''
Gethryn tried to return to a light tone. ``They fell in love, I believe.'' No answer. ``Very well,'' said Gethryn, still trying to joke, ``I will carry you off in a boat, then.''
``To Troy – when?''
``No, to Meudon, when you are well. Do you like the country?''
``I love it,'' she said.
``Well, I'll take my easel and my paints along too.''
She looked at him seriously. ``You are an artist – I heard that from the concierge.''
``Yes,'' said Gethryn, ``I think I may claim the title tonight.''
And then he told her about the Salon. She listened and brightened with sympathy. Then she grew silent.
``Do you paint landscapes?''
``Figures,'' said the young man, shortly.
``From models?''
``Of course,'' he answered, still more drily.
``Draped,'' she persisted.
``No.''
``I hate models!'' she cried out, almost fiercely.
``They are not a pleasing set, as a rule,'' he admitted. ``But I know some decent ones.''
She shivered and shook her curly head. ``Some are very pretty, I suppose.''
``Some.''
``Do you know Sarah Brown?''
``Yes, I know Sarah.''
``Men go wild about her.''
``I never did.''
Yvonne was out of humor. ``Oh,'' she cried, petulantly, ``you are very cold – you Americans – like ice.''
``Because we don't run after Sarah?''
``Because you are a nation of business, and – ''
``And brains,'' said Gethryn, drily.
There was an uncomfortable pause. Gethryn looked at the girl. She lay with her face turned from him.
``Hélène!'' No answer. ``Yvonne – Mademoiselle!'' No answer. ``It's two o'clock.''
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Так получилось, что книга ко мне попала в тяжелый эмоциональный кризис и многое мне дала. Написано актуально, тут многих полезных вещей, никакого злоу...
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