"Alexander Green - Crimson Sails" - читать интересную книгу автора (Green Alexander)

were tucked behind the mirror, she went over to it and took out the little
bundle; then she glanced at her reflection.
Beyond the walnut frame in the clear void of the reflected room was a
small, slim girl dressed in cheap, white, pink-flowered muslin. A grey silk
kerchief covered her shoulders. The still childish, lightly-tanned face was
lively and expressive; her beautiful eyes, somewhat serious for her age,
looked out with the timid intentness peculiar to sensitive souls. Her
irregular face was endearing in its delicate purity of line; each curve, each
elevation might have been found in many a woman's face, but taken all
together the style was extremely original -- originally sweet; we shall stop
here. The rest cannot be expressed in words, save for one word:
"enchantment".
The reflected girl smiled as impulsively as Assol. The smile turned out
rather sad; noticing this, she became disturbed, as if she were looking at a
stranger. She pressed her cheek against the glass, closed her eyes and
stroked the mirror softly over her reflection. A swarm of hazy, tender
thoughts flashed through her; she straightened up, laughed and sat down
to sew.
While she is sewing, let us have a closer look at her--a look into her. She
was made of too girls, two Assols mixed up in happy, wonderful confusion.
One was the daughter of a sailor, a craftsman, a toy-maker, the other was
a living poem, with all the marvels of its harmonies and images, with a
mysterious alignment of words, in the interaction of light and shadow,
cast by one upon the other. She knew life within the limits of her own
experience, but besides the generalities, she saw the reflected meaning of
a different order. Thus, looking into objects, we observe them not with a
linear perception, but through impression--which is definitely human and
-- as is all that is human -- distinct. Something similar to that which (if we
have succeeded) we have portrayed by this example, she saw above and
beyond the visible. Without these modest victories all that was simply
understandable was alien to her. She loved to read, but in each book she
read mostly between the lines, as she lived. Unconsciously, through
inspiration, she made countless ethereally-subtle discoveries at every step,
inexpressible, but as important as cleanliness and warmth.
Sometimes--and this continued for a number of days -- she even became
transformed; the physical opposition of life fell away, like the stillness in
the sweep of a bow across the strings; and all that she saw, that was vital
to her, that surrounded her, became a lace of mystery in the image of the
mundane. Many a time, apprehensive and afraid, did she go to the beach
at night where, waiting for dawn to break, she looked off most intently,
searching for the ship with the Crimson Sails. These minutes were pure
joy to her; it is difficult for us to give ourselves up thus to a fairy-tale; it
would be no less difficult for her to escape from its power and
enchantment.
On some other occasion, thinking back over all this, she would sincerely
wonder at herself, not being able to believe that she had believed, forgiving
the sea with a smile and sadly coming back to reality; as she now gathered
the ruffle she thought about her past life. There had been much that was
dull and simple. The two of them being lonely together had at times
weighed heavily on her, but there had formed within her by then that fold