The House on the Strand
"I took a stack of records at random and piled them one on top of the other on the turntable. But, no matter what sounds filled the music-room, I kept returning to the scenes of this afternoon, the reception in the Priory chapter-house, the stripping of carcasses on the village green, the hooded musician with his double horn wandering amongst the children and the barking dogs, and above all that lass with braided hair and jewelled fillet who, one afternoon six hundred years ago, had looked so bored until, because of some remark which I could not catch, spoken by a man in another time, she had lifted her head and smiled."
Чтение в оригинале было ошибкой.
Или нет.
Книга утратила свою невинность, свой романтический флер - и стала, пожалуй, интереснее за счет этой новой осязаемости... но это уже не мой "Дом на взморье", и внутренний подросток тихонечко оплакивает эту потерю.
Oh well, it's time to grow up. Or is it?