"Wilkie Collins - I Say No" - читать интересную книгу автора (Collins Wilkie)

of the room, occupied by the three lazy girls. With no new alarm to disturb
them, Effie, Annis, and Priscilla had yielded to the composing influences of a
good supper and a warm night. They were fast asleep--and the stoutest of the
three (softly, as became a young lady) was snoring!
The unblemished reputation of the bedroom was dear to Emily, in her capacity of
queen. She felt herself humiliated in the presence of the new pupil.
"If that fat girl ever gets a lover," she said indignantly, "I shall consider it
my duty to warn the poor man before he marries her. Her ridiculous name is
Euphemia. I have christened her (far more appropriately) Boiled Veal. No color
in her hair, no color in her eyes, no color in her complexion. In short, no
flavor in Euphemia. You naturally object to snoring. Pardon me if I turn my back
on you--I am going to throw my slipper at her."
The soft voice of Cecilia--suspiciously drowsy in tone--interposed in the
interests of mercy.
"She can't help it, poor thing; and she really isn't loud enough to disturb us."

"She won't disturb you, at any rate! Rouse yourself, Cecilia. We are wide awake
on this side of the room--and Francine says it's our turn to amuse her."
A low murmur, dying away gently in a sigh, was the only answer. Sweet Cecilia
had yielded to the somnolent influences of the supper and the night. The soft
infection of repose seemed to be in some danger of communicating itself to
Francine. Her large mouth opened luxuriously in a long-continued yawn.
"Good-night!" said Emily.
Miss de Sor became wide awake in an instant.
"No," she said positively; "you are quite mistaken if you think I am going to
sleep. Please exert yourself, Miss Emily--I am waiting to be interested."
Emily appeared to be unwilling to exert herself. She preferred talking of the
weather.
"Isn't the wind rising?" she said.
There could be no doubt of it. The leaves in the garden were beginning to
rustle, and the pattering of the rain sounded on the windows.
Francine (as her straight chin proclaimed to all students of physiognomy) was an
obstinate girl. Determined to carry her point she tried Emily's own system on
Emily herself--she put questions.
"Have you been long at this school?"
"More than three years."
"Have you got any brothers and sisters?"
"I am the only child."
"Are your father and mother alive?"
Emily suddenly raised herself in bed.
"Wait a minute," she said; "I think I hear it again."
"The creaking on the stairs?"
"Yes."
Either she was mistaken, or the change for the worse in the weather made it not
easy to hear slight noises in the house. The wind was still rising. The passage
of it through the great trees in the garden began to sound like the fall of
waves on a distant beach. It drove the rain--a heavy downpour by this
time--rattling against the windows.
"Almost a storm, isn't it?" Emily said
Francine's last question had not been answered yet. She took the earliest