Эротические рассказы

The Guardian Angel. Oliver Wendell HolmesЧитать онлайн книгу.

The Guardian Angel - Oliver Wendell Holmes


Скачать книгу
with regard to the allurements which the world offers to the young and inexperienced female, Miss Cynthia Badlam was severe and eloquent. Sometimes poor Myrtle would stare, not seeing the meaning of her wise caution, sometimes look at Miss Cynthia with a feeling that there was something about her that was false and forced, that she had nothing in common with young people, that she had no pity for them, only hatred of their sins, whatever these might be—a hatred which seemed to extend to those sources of frequent temptation, youth and beauty, as if they were in themselves objectionable.

      Both the lone women at The Poplars were gifted with a thin vein of music. They gave it expression in psalmody, of course, in which Myrtle, who was a natural singer, was expected to bear her part. This would have been pleasantry if the airs most frequently selected had been cheerful or soothing, and if the favorite hymns had been of a sort to inspire a love for what was lovely in this life, and to give some faint foretaste of the harmonies of a better world to come. But there is a fondness for minor keys and wailing cadences common to the monotonous chants of cannibals and savages generally, to such war-songs as the wild, implacable “Marseillaise,” and to the favorite tunes of low—spirited Christian pessimists. That mournful “China,” which one of our most agreeable story-tellers has justly singled out as the cry of despair itself, was often sung at The Poplars, sending such a sense of utter misery through the house, that poor Kitty Fagan would cross herself, and wring her hands, and think of funerals, and wonder who was going to die—for she fancied she heard the Banshee's warning in those most dismal ululations.

      On the first Saturday of June, a fortnight before her disappearance, Myrtle strolled off by the river shore, along its lonely banks, and came home with her hands full of leaves and blossoms. Silence Withers looked at them as if they were a kind of melancholy manifestation of frivolity on the part of the wicked old earth. Not that she did not inhale their faint fragrance with a certain pleasure, and feel their beauty as none whose souls are not wholly shriveled and hardened can help doing, but the world was, in her estimate, a vale of tears, and it was only by a momentary forgetfulness that she could be moved to smile at anything.

      Miss Cynthia, a sharper-edged woman, had formed the habit of crushing everything for its moral, until it lost its sweetness and grew almost odious, as flower-de-luces do when handled roughly. “There's a worm in that leaf, Myrtle. He has rolled it all round him, and hidden himself from sight; but there is a horrid worm in it, for all it is so young and fresh. There is a worm in every young soul, Myrtle.”

      “But there is not a worm in every leaf, Miss Cynthia. Look,” she said, “all these are open, and you can see all over and under them, and there is nothing there. Are there never any worms in the leaves after they get old and yellow, Miss Cynthia?”

      That was a pretty fair hit for a simple creature of fifteen, but perhaps she was not so absolutely simple as one might have thought.

      It was on the evening of this same day that they were sitting together. The sweet season was opening, and it seemed as if the whispering of the leaves, the voices of the birds, the softness of the air, the young life stirring in everything, called on all creatures to join the universal chorus of praise that was going up around them.

      “What shall we sing this evening?” said Miss Silence.

      “Give me one of the books, if you please, Cousin Silence,” said Miss Cynthia. “It is Saturday evening. Holy time has begun. Let us prepare our minds for the solemnities of the Sabbath.”

      She took the book, one well known to the schools and churches of this nineteenth century.

      “Book Second. Hymn 44. Long metre. I guess 'Putney' will be as good a tune as any to sing it to.”

      The trio began—

      Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

      Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

      Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

      Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.

/9j/4AAQSkZJRgABAQAAAQABAAD/2wBDAAMCAgMCAgMDAwMEAwMEBQgFBQQEBQoHBwYIDAoMDAsK CwsNDhIQDQ4RDgsLEBYQERMUFRUVDA8XGBYUGBIUFRT/2wBDAQMEBAUEBQkFBQkUDQsNFBQUFBQU FBQUFBQUFBQUFBQUFBQUFBQUFBQUFBQUFBQUFBQUFBQUFBQUFBQUFBQUFBT/wAARCAWgA4QDASIA AhEBAxEB/8QAHgAAAgEEAwEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAECAwQFBgcICQr/xABnEAABAwIFAgQDBQUEAwkL ABsBAgMRAAQFEiExQQZRBxMiYQgygQkUcaGxFSNCUpEWYsHhM3LRFyQ4gpKis7TwGENTY3aDk5Wy 0vElNFRWV3N0dcIZJicoN0RGhKPTNTZFVWRllMP/xAAWAQEBAQAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAQL/xAAZ EQEBAQEBAQAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAREhMUH/2gAMAwEAAhEDEQA/APMKJppBpDapJBg9qIShpNMginqE idqDMCiIlMmnHEUzOb3og5t9aKiE6nTanEjvTAM6b0CYNERAIExQQSNqlrBo1gdqBRECiDIpmYFB mfeilFAGpp65t9aBM6b0UomgCmAYNGsGgRHNERvT1gUEGBQIpk0RTMz70erNvrQKKImmAZ03oEwY oFHNEc09YPagzA7UCiKRTqNN6kZgUGZ13ohRSCdTptUtc2+tAmdN6BRI2pAECpAGDRrB7UESCRTi BTMwO1BmBQRKdRTpkGdd6PVmoiITqfanEjTWmJze9ABg0UgNJoIkUxJSYo1AHaiFGXSKRSZGm9Mz ApmZ13oF7UgnU6VLXN70AmdN6KUT70AcxTEwdaBMHtRSjSacRQZgdqDMCdqBR7b0RTMzrvTg5veg jGv4URNMAzpvQJgxtQKNJpjvxQJg9qDMDtQBEUAe29MzAnbikoGdd6BUz/8AGnrm/vUhM6b0AKD3 4p6wY+tITB7UAO/FBoMwO1GsCfpQEafpSpqmdd6cHN70EY12oiaYmdN6BMGNqBRpRFMAwe1EGBQK IoI12pkGBQZn3oFFONPwpwc3vSEzpvQAoOv4U9YMfWkJg9qBpMb7UjPNBmB2p8a7cUANBEa8Uo4o MzrvTg5v7

Скачать книгу
Яндекс.Метрика