Читать книгу The Complete Works of Algernon Blackwood. Novels, Short Stories, Horror Classics, Occult & Supernatural Tales, Plays онлайн

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Yet this process of beautifying himself was instinctive, not deliberate. It was unconscious; he did not realise what he had been about until he was half-way downstairs. And then came another of those swift, subtle flashes by which the soul reveals herself—to herself. This 'dressing-up,' what was it for? For whom? Certainly, he did not care a button what Joan Nicholson thought of his persona appearance. That was positive. Then, for whom and for what, was it? Was it for some one else? Had the arrival of this 'woman' upon the scene somehow brought the truth into sudden relief?

A delightful, fairy thought sped across his mine with wings of gold, waving through the dusk of hi soul a spray of leaves from a silver birch-tree that he knew, and disappearing into those depths of consciousness where feelings never clothe themselves in precise language. A line of poetry swam up and took its place mysteriously—

My heart has thoughts, which, though thine eyes hold mine,

Flit to the silent world and other summers,