小迎书屋

The Patagoniaby Henry JamesCHAPTER IThe houses were dark in the August night and the perspective ofBeacon Street, with its double chain of lamps, was a foreshorteneddesert. The club on the hill alone, from its semi-cylindrical front,projected a glow upon the dusky vagueness of the Common, and as Ipassed it I heard in the hot stillness the click of a pair ofbilliard-balls. As "every one" was out of town perhaps the servants,in the extravagance of their leisure, were profaning the tables. Theheat