Читать книгу The Complete Works of F. Scott Fitzgerald онлайн
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“Yes, we thought you quite the young prig. We considered ourselves advanced.”
“You’re only twenty, aren’t you?” asked Clay suddenly.
She nodded.
“Don’t you believe in Tolstoy anymore?” he asked, almost fiercely.
She shook her head and then looked up at him almost wistfully.
“Won’t you let me lean against your shoulder just the smallest bit?”
He put his arm around her, never once taking his eyes from her face, and suddenly the whole strength of her appeal burst upon him. Clay was no saint, but he had always been rather decent about women. Perhaps that’s why he felt so helpless now. His emotions were not complex. He knew what was wrong, but he knew also that he wanted this woman, this warm creature of silk and life who crept so close to him. There were reasons why he oughtn’t to have her, but he had suddenly seen how love was a big word like Life and Death, and she knew that he realized and was glad. Still they sat without moving for a long while and watched the fire.
II.
At two-twenty next day Clay shook hands gravely with his father and stepped into the train for Dover. Eleanor, comfortable with a novel, was nestled into a corner of his compartment, and as he entered she smiled a welcome and closed the book.