Смешные рассказы / The Funny Stories - - (книги серии онлайн .TXT) 📗
Generally speaking, a tennis ground abroad is a pretty sight. The women pay more attention to their costumes than do our lady players. The men are usually in white. The ground is often in a wonderful place, the club-house is picturesque; there is always laughter and joy. The play may not be so good to watch, but the picture is delightful. I accompanied a man a little while ago to his club on the outskirts of Brussels [41]. The ground was bordered by a wood.
It was a glorious spring afternoon. The courts were crowded. The red earth and the green grass formed a background against which the women, in their new Parisian toilets [42], under their bright parasols, stood out like moving flowers. The whole atmosphere was delightful.
Just nearby a group of peasants were working in the field. An old woman and a young girl, with ropes about their shoulders, were drawing a harrow [43], an old man was guiding them. They paused for a moment at the wire fencing, and looked through. It was an odd contrast; the two worlds divided by the wire fencing—so slight, almost invisible. The girl swept the sweat from her face with her hand; the woman pushed back her grey locks underneath the handkerchief about her head; the old man stood himself with some difficulty. So they stood for a minute, gazing with quiet faces through that slight fencing.
Was there any thought, I wonder, passing through their brains? The young girl—she was very nice in spite of her ugly garments. The woman—she had a wonderfully fine face: clear, calm eyes under a square broad brow.
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It was a glorious spring afternoon. The courts were crowded. The red earth and the green grass formed a background against which the women, in their new Parisian toilets[42], under their bright parasols, stood out like moving flowers. The whole atmosphere was delightful.
Just nearby a group of peasants were working in the field. An old woman and a young girl, with ropes about their shoulders, were drawing a harrow[43], an old man was guiding them. They paused for a moment at the wire fencing, and looked through. It was an odd contrast; the two worlds divided by the wire fencing—so slight, almost invisible. The girl swept the sweat from her face with her hand; the woman pushed back her grey locks underneath the handkerchief about her head; the old man stood himself with some difficulty. So they stood for a minute, gazing with quiet faces through that slight fencing.
Was there any thought, I wonder, passing through their brains? The young girl—she was very nice in spite of her ugly garments. The woman—she had a wonderfully fine face: clear, calm eyes under a square broad brow.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, Купить полную версию книги
