"Wells, H G - The Door In The Wall, And Other Stories" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wells H G)

formidable bulldog of adolescence--and thought of that door in the
long white wall. 'If I had stopped,' I thought, 'I should have
missed my scholarship, I should have missed Oxford--muddled all the
fine career before me! I begin to see things better!' I fell
musing deeply, but I did not doubt then this career of mine was a
thing that merited sacrifice.

"Those dear friends and that clear atmosphere seemed very
sweet to me, very fine, but remote. My grip was fixing now upon
the world. I saw another door opening--the door of my career."

He stared again into the fire. Its red lights picked out a
stubborn strength in his face for just one flickering moment, and
then it vanished again.

"Well", he said and sighed, "I have served that career. I
have done--much work, much hard work. But I have dreamt of the
enchanted garden a thousand dreams, and seen its door, or at least
glimpsed its door, four times since then. Yes--four times. For a
while this world was so bright and interesting, seemed so full of
meaning and opportunity that the half-effaced charm of the garden
was by comparison gentle and remote. Who wants to pat panthers on
the way to dinner with pretty women and distinguished men? I came
down to London from Oxford, a man of bold promise that I have done
something to redeem. Something--and yet there have been
disappointments . . . . .

"Twice I have been in love--I will not dwell on that--but
once, as I went to someone who, I know, doubted whether I dared to
come, I took a short cut at a venture through an unfrequented road
near Earl's Court, and so happened on a white wall and a familiar
green door. 'Odd!' said I to myself, 'but I thought this place was
on Campden Hill. It's the place I never could find somehow--like
counting Stonehenge--the place of that queer day dream of mine.'
And I went by it intent upon my purpose. It had no appeal to me
that afternoon.

"I had just a moment's impulse to try the door, three steps
aside were needed at the most--though I was sure enough in my heart
that it would open to me--and then I thought that doing so might
delay me on the way to that appointment in which I thought my
honour was involved. Afterwards I was sorry for my punctuality--I
might at least have peeped in I thought, and waved a hand to those
panthers, but I knew enough by this time not to seek again
belatedly that which is not found by seeking. Yes, that time made
me very sorry . . . . .

"Years of hard work after that and never a sight of the door.
It's only recently it has come back to me. With it there has come
a sense as though some thin tarnish had spread itself over my