Генри Джеймс - The Lesson of the Master

“How momentous—how magnificent!” cried the girl. “How delicious to bring you together!”

“Your doing it—that makes it perfect,” our friend returned.

“He’s as eager as you,” she went on. “But it’s so odd you shouldn’t have met.”

“It’s not really so odd as it strikes you. I’ve been out of England so much—made repeated absences all these last years.”

She took this in with interest. “And yet you write of it as well as if you were always here.”

“It’s just the being away perhaps. At any rate the best bits, I suspect, are those that were done in dreary places abroad.”

“And why were they dreary?”

“Because they were health-resorts—where my poor mother was dying.”

“Your poor mother?”—she was all sweet wonder.

“We went from place to place to help her to get better. But she never did. To the deadly Riviera (I hate it!) to the high Alps, to Algiers, and far away—a hideous journey—to Colorado.”

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