Pokrewne

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Descendant Graham Masterton
Dick Philip K., Zelazny Roger ( Do Androids Dream Of Electric S
Camp Lyon Spraque de Conan 01 Conan i Bog Pajak
Amanda Mackey [Finding You 01 Finding You (epub)
Chad Kultgen Men, Women
[heft] Perry Rhodan 2196 METANU Nabelplatz
Barth, Markus Mettwurst ist kein Smoothie
Charlton Blake Czaropis tom 1 i
Beth Rinyu The Exception to the Rule (epub
Coulter Catherine Panna mloda Panna mloda z piekla rodem

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.They had themselves bought hats, Hermione and the two Rabbs, were now wearing them, Fayne and her mother, Clara they now called her, Clara Rabb and Fayne Rabb and Hermione had bought hats, wonderful hats, soft about their faces, without linings, not so expensive—sans doublure—no, the bigger one.Madame Dupont had helped them, helped them buy exquisite wide straw hats for something about three francs, very extravagant Madame Dupont had said, harrowing the dumpy little milliner’s assistant who might have been Boule de Souife come to life only she had such odd tobacco coloured eyes such white skin, somehow dumpy but with white skin like a magnolia.A common girl in a little back-water of a shop, draper’s assistant and the masts of the boats showing through the uneven squares of the narrow window over the counters of cheap calico and bunches of artificial cherries and plum and magenta ribbons.Boule de Souife.Hermione had whispered “Boule de Souife” and Madame Dupont had dropped the bunch of magenta bignonias she had almost bought instead of the half mourning wheat sheaves to exclaim, “what, but Mademoiselle, you don’t know what you’re saying.” “I wasn’t saying anything.Only remembering—” “You picked up strange ideas in your French studies.You seem to have been oddly coached.” Coached.Where had she got that word? Her husband the new American-French one, had learnt his English in Oxford.Coached.“You mean—taught?” “Taught.Yes.What did I say?” “I don’t know—please don’t be upset, Madame Dupont.It’s France simply.” “I can’t see that there’s anything for you to get upset about in France.You have your good home and your good parents to return to.” Why must she so spoil everything? Black beetle, frog, horrible black beetle French-American frog, getting the best you can out of everyone, out of every country.Sending me back or wanting to.“Can’t you see, frog, black beetle” Hermione almost shouted at her “that I adore your country?” Country.Country.Boats bumped up narrow salt canals and there were women in little flower bonnets, white wings to their bonnets like gull wings.Bretons, Madame Dupont told them.Havre.This was Havre, Havre.Havre.Small boys looking like thin anaemic little girls dressed up in tight short hideous unbecoming little trousers, with curls (some of them) shouting after them, “Engl-eesh.Engl-eeesh.Beef-steak.” “O Clara they think we’re Engl-eesh.” The little boys had persisted and shouted until Hermione had had to turn, stick her tongue out at them, thank them, Messieurs for their hearty welcome to their beautiful patrie where in America they were all taught French children were so polite vous savez till they disappeared and the market was a mass of wine coloured carnations, what were they? “O yes, thank you, Madame Dupont, oeillets, we want some, bunches.” “O God, stick your face in them Fayne Rabb.Where have they come from? Wine, wine, they smell of wine, sops-in-wine.” “O God Clara look, look they’re wet and smell them and how cheap, nothing, all these for only (work it out) about ten cents” and Madame Dupont was scolding “you are always so—extravagant.It is extravagant reckless Americans like you Mademoiselle Hermione who spoil our people.” Sops in wine.I shall go mad with it.Yes, I know I’m too hot and the heat loves me.My head is still going round and round and the salt is sweet from the little clean tide washed canals.They are dreams these Breton women.They are gulls.French.Not frogs.Not hawks.Gulls.Sea-people with wings.How can I ever go further than this? “can’t we have supper on that same little pavement, O damn Madame Dupont.No, we simply can’t trail all that way back to meet her, in order to save a half a franc on the dinner and couverts (all the bread you can eat) compris.I’ll pay the extra.What did it amount to anyhow? The four of us about fifty cents a piece and she said it was too much.I’m too tired.I’ll stay here alone.Let me die here.O yes bring me an omelette like last night.Merci, you are so heavenly to understand my French.How kind of you to understand my French.How heavenly of you to understand.O like last night, exactly, like last night—last night—”The sunset even like last night, faint flamingo rose touching the sails in the little clean salt-water canal like roses on snow.And the Breton hats, children even, little girls in gull-wing hats.They must wear them.They must wear them.They say it’s for good luck.Someone had told her.Where? Was it Pierre Loti? Something had come true again anyhow, something one had read came true.Pierre Loti most likely, even the little girls, babies even, wear the gull winged bonnets for good luck.Sailors like Pêcheur d’Islande with red pom-poms so odd on their blue tam o’shanters that they call berets.O France let me die here, let me die, press me to you, beautiful book, a flower’s leaf floated here by chance, a moth with dried wings spread out.between your vivid pages [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]