Поворот винта. Уровень 1 / The Turn of the Screw

”

“He only peeps[26 - to peep – подглядывать]?”

“I hope that’s all it will be!” She let go of my hand and turned away. I waited for a moment, then I said, “Go to church. Goodbye. I have to watch.”

Slowly, she turned to me again. “Are you worried about them?”

We looked at each other for a while. “Aren’t you?” Instead of answering, she moved closer to the window and pressed her face against the glass for a minute. “You see how he could see,” I continued talking.

She stayed still. “How long was he here?”

“Until I came out.

I came to meet him.”

Finally, Mrs. Grose turned around, and said, “I couldn’t have come out.”

“Neither could I!” I laughed again. “But I did come. I have my duty.”

“I have mine too,” she replied. Then she asked, “What does he look like?”

“I’ve been dying to tell you. But he’s like nobody.”

“Nobody?” she echoed.

“He has no hat.” Then I noticed the look on her face and realized she had already begun to imagine a picture, which made her even more confused.

So I quickly described him. “He has very red curly hair, and a long pale face. He has small, strange-looking eyes. His mouth is wide, with thin lips, and he only has little, strange red whiskers[27 - whiskers – бакенбарды]. His eyebrows are darker and look like they might move a lot. He looks like an actor.”

“An actor!”

“I’ve never seen one, but that’s what I think they look like. He’s tall, active, and stands up straight, but he’s definitely not a gentleman.”

As I continued, my friend’s face became pale, “Not a gentleman? He?”

“So you know him then?”

“But is he handsome?”

“Very much so!”

“And how is he dressed?”

“He is wearing someone else’s clothes.

They are stylish, but they don’t belong to him.”

She cried, “They belong to the master!”

“So you do know him?”

“Quint!” she cried.

“Quint?”

“Peter Quint—his valet[28 - valet – лакей, слуга], when he was here!”

“When the master was here?”

“He never wore his hat. They were both here—last year.

Then the master left, and Quint was alone.”

I followed, but stopped a bit. “Alone?”

“Alone with us,” she added, “In charge.”

“And what happened to him?”

She took so long to answer that I became even more confused. “He went, too,” she finally said.

“Went where?”

“God knows where! He died.”

“Died?” I almost shouted.

“Yes. Mr. Quint is dead.”

VI

That night, we agreed that we would face things together.