Дом с привидениями. Уровень 2 / A Haunted House. Вирджиния Вулф

great hounds rushed in. Then the Squire himself entered, in shabby gaiters. The dogs were tossing their heads. The dogs were snuffling at his pockets. They smelt the meat. They snuffed the table. They pawed the cloth. Then they flung themselves upon the little yellow spaniel. The spaniel was gnawing the carcass under the table.

      “Curse you, curse you!” howled the Squire.

      But his voice was weak.

      “Curse you, curse you!” he shouted.

      Miss Antonia and Miss Rashleigh rose to their feet. The great dogs seized the spaniel. They mauled him with their great yellow teeth. The Squire was cursing the dogs. The Squire was cursing his sisters. With one lash he curled to the ground the vase of chrysanthemums. Another caught old Miss Rashleigh on the cheek. The old woman staggered backwards. She fell against the mantelpiece. Her stick struck the shield above the fireplace. She fell with a thud upon the ashes. The shield of the Rashleighs crashed from the wall. And then King Edward, in the silver frame, slid, toppled, and fell too.

      The grey mist thickened in the carriage. It put the four travellers in the corners at a great distance from each other. The effect was strange. The handsome woman lost her shape. Her body became all mist. Only her eyes gleamed. Eyes without a body. In the misty air they shone out. They moved. An absurd idea? But memory is a light that dances in the mind. The ghost of a family, of an age, of a civilization dances over the grave.

      The train slid into the station. The lights blazed. And the eyes in the corner? They were shut. Perhaps the light was too strong. And of course it was plain—she was quite an ordinary, rather elderly, woman. She took her suitcase. She rose. She took the pheasants from the rack. She murmured “Chk., Chk” as she passed.

      Lappin and Lapinova

      They were married. The pigeons fluttered. Small boys in Eton jackets threw rice. A fox terrier sauntered across the path. Ernest Thorburn led his bride to the car through the crowd of strangers. The strangers are always in London to enjoy other people’s happiness or unhappiness. Certainly he looked handsome. She looked shy. The car moved off.

      That was on Tuesday. Now it was Saturday. Rosalind became Mrs. Ernest Thorburn. Ernest was a difficult name. She didn’t like that name. She preferred Timothy, Antony, or Peter. He did not look like Ernest either. The name suggested the Albert Memorial.