"Colin Wilson - The Glass Cage" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wilson Colin)

society, and the more inhibitions you have about expressing your feelings."
Reade said, laughing, "I've never noticed any inhibitions in you!"
Sarah came in. She said, "The joint's in the oven. It should take about three quarters of an hour.
Is anyone dying of hunger?"
Lewis said, "No." He was obviously irritated at being interrupted.
Reade said, "I'd like to provide the wine this evening, if I may. Will you excuse me for a quarter
of an hour?"
Sarah said, "I'll walk down with you."
"No homework?" Lewis asked.
"Not much. Damon can help me."
Lewis shrugged. He said, "Get me another whiskey before you go."
Reade felt embarrassed and constrained; he would have preferred Sarah not to come. The
feeling disappeared when they were outside. The sky was clear again; the late evening sunlight made the
houses golden. The breeze was coming from the direction of the lake, and it smelled of spring.
At the corner of the market square, a group of boys was lounging; they watched Sarah with
interest. Reade expected someone to whistle, but no one did.
He said, "Don't you have a boy friend now?"
"Lord, no." She grimaced. "Most of the boys in this place are awful." She corrected herself.
"Well, not exactly awful, but not very bright. I'm afraid you and Uncle Hugh have spoiled me for the
leather-jacket crowd."
 "But there must be a few intelligent boys in this place."
"I suppose so. But not very attractive."
He said, with sudden compassion, "You must get pretty tired of small-town life."
"Not exactly. I was in London last Easter, you know, and I didn't like that much either."
They had arrived at the wine shop. He bought two bottles of Beaujolais.
When they came out, she said, "Let's have a look at the lake."
It was a hundred yards away, at the end of the street. The boats on the foreshore were still wet
with rain. There was no breeze and the surface of the lake was all light, the slight ripples about ten yards
apart. Across the lake, ten miles away, he could see the outline of the hills he would climb on the way
home. They stopped and leaned on the railings. The smell of wet leaves was stronger now, and it brought
again a surge of joy that was almost painful. She looked at his face as he looked across the lake.
"You love this place, don't you?"
"I. . . suppose so. I never thought of it quite that way."
"No?"
He said, "I don't think most people really enjoy being alive. They spoil it by being trivial and
stupid. Remember Wordsworth's phrase about seeing things 'apparelled in celestial light'? How can you
see things that way if you're always thinking about yourself?"
"Is that why you never got married? Do you think a wife would spoil it?"
He was startled by the directness of the question. He said, "Er. . . not exactly. I don't suppose
I've met anyone I wanted to marry. Besides, who'd want to live with me in a damp cottage a mile from
the nearest village?"
She said, "I don't think that would worry someone who was in love with you."
Again he was surprised by her self-possession; looking at her face, calm in profile, he thought:
Women grow up so much faster than men. He decided to change the subject.
"I sometimes wonder how much longer your Uncle Hugh can bear this place."
She said, "Oh, he doesn't mind it."
At the mention of Lewis's name, they both turned in the direction of home. For a few minutes
neither spoke. Then he said, "You know, I felt dreadfully depressed this afternoon after that detective left
-- quite neurotic. That's why I came over. Now, quite suddenly, I feel happy again."
She smiled at him, and he lost all inclination to try and explain himself. It was too complicated;