- زمان مطالعه 3 دقیقه
- سطح خیلی سخت
دانلود اپلیکیشن «زیبوک»
این فصل را میتوانید به بهترین شکل و با امکانات عالی در اپلیکیشن «زیبوک» بخوانید
متن انگلیسی فصل
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
That night our place of safety was a farm about twenty miles from Johannesburg. I kept telling myself that our troubles were over. Harry and I were together and we would never be separated again. Yet I was aware that he was somehow holding himself back, which I could not understand.
I came out on to the verandah early the following morning and looked across the plain towards Johannesburg. I could see the big hills of waste rock from the mines, shining in the pale sunshine, and I could hear the distant thunder of guns. The farmer’s wife came out and called me in to breakfast. Harry had left early that morning and had not yet returned, she told me. Again I felt uneasy.
After breakfast I sat outside, so lost in my own thoughts that I didn’t see Colonel Race ride up and get off his horse. It was not until he said, ‘Good morning, Anne,’ that I realized he was there.
‘Oh,’ I said, ‘it’s you. Please sit down. What is the news?’
‘Prime Minister Smuts will be in Johannesburg tomorrow.
I give this revolution three days more before it collapses. In the meantime the fighting goes on. But I have other news. I’m afraid I have failed. Sir Eustace has escaped.’
‘No one knows how he managed it. He was securely locked up for the night - in an upstairs room of one of the farms near here which the military have taken over, but this morning the room was empty.’
Secretly, I was rather pleased. I always had a liking for Sir Eustace. I’m sure it is wrong of me, but I admired him. He was thoroughly bad, but I have never met anyone half so amusing.
I hid my feelings, of course. Colonel Race would feel differently about it.
‘And apart from the paperwork, Harry is now cleared of all crimes. There is no reason why he should not use his real name.’
Then Harry came round the corner of the house. Colonel Race got up.
‘Good morning - Lucas.’
For some reason Harry blushed.
‘Yes,’ I said happily, ‘you must be known by your real name now.’
But Harry was still staring at Colonel Race.
‘So you know, sir,’ he said at last.
‘I never forget a face. I saw you once as a boy.’
‘What’s all this about?’ I asked, puzzled, looking from one to the other. They seemed to be testing each other somehow. Race won. Harry turned slightly away.
‘I suppose you’re right, sir. Tell her my real name.’
‘Anne, this isn’t Harry Lucas. Harry Lucas was killed in the War. This is John Harold Eardsley.’
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