John Franklin, who was my contempor

John Franklin, who was my contemporary at Oxford, invited me to stay with his people at Markhampton for the Markshire Hunt Ball. He and his sister were getting up a small party for it, he said.
"I've never met your sister," I remarked. "What is she like?"
"She is a beauty," said John, seriously and simply. I thought at the time that it was an odd, old-fashioned phrase, but it turned out to be strictly and literally true. Deborah Franklin was beautiful in the grand, classic manner. She didn't look in the least like a film star or a model. She had never been a deb, which was just as well, for she would have made the other debs look more than ordinarily silly. I suppose her vital statistics were in order, but looking at her you forgot about them. It was the sheer beauty of her face that took your breath away.
With looks like that, it would be asking too much to expect anything startling in the way of brains, and I found Deborah, though amiable, a trifle dull. She was of course well aware of her extraordinary good looks, and was perfect¬ly prepared to discuss them, without conceit, just as a man seven feet high might talk about the advantages and incon-veniences of being tall.
Most of our party were old friends of the Franklins, who took Deborah for granted as a local phenomenon, but among them was a newcomer — a young man with a beard named Aubrey Melcombe, who had lately taken charge of the local museum. As soon as he set eyes on Deborah he said;
"We have never met before, but your face, of course, is perfectly familiar."
Deborah had evidently heard that one before. "I never give sittings to photographers," she said; "but people will snap me in the street. It's such a nuisance."
"Photographs!" said Aubrey. "I mean your portrait —
the one that was painted four hundred years ago. Has nobody
ever told you that you are the living image of the Warbeck
Titian?"
"I've never heard of the Warbeck Titian," said Deborah, which was rather letting the side down, for Warbeck Hall is near Markhampton and its pictures are famous, though of course only visitors go to see them.
"Truly," said Aubrey, 'T dwell among the Philistines. But you shall judge for yourself. Lord Warbeck is lending
the Titian to an exhibition in aid of the Cathedral Fund
which we are organizing in the spring. I'll send you a ticket
for the opening."
Then he went off to dance with Rosamund Clegg, his
assistant at the museum. She had a face which didn’t dis¬tract you for one moment from her vital statistics, and was
said to be his fiancée.
I did not care much for Aubrey, or for his young woman, but I had to admit that they knew their job when I came to the opening of the exhibition a few months later. They had gathered in treasures of every sort from all over the county and arranged them admirably. The jewel of the show was, of course, the great Titian. It had a wall to itself at the end of the room and I was looking at it when Deborah came in. The likeness was fantastic. Lord Warbeck had never had his paintings cleaned, so that Titian's flesh tints were gold¬en and carmine, in vivid contrast to Deborah's pink and white. But that apart, the face behind the glass might have been her mirror image. By a happy chance she had chosen to wear a very plain black dress which matched up well to the portrait's somber garb. She stood there still and silent, staring at her centuries-old likeness. I wondered what she
felt.
A pressman's camera flashed and clicked.

Результаты (русский) 1:

Джон Франклин, который был мой Современник в Оксфорде, пригласил меня остаться с его народом на Markhampton для Markshire Хант мяч. Он и его сестра вставать небольшой партии для его, сказал он. «Я никогда не встречал вашу сестру», я заметил. «Какова она как?» «Она красавица,» сказал Джон, серьезно и просто. Я думал в то время, что это было странно, старомодным фразу, но оказалось, чтобы быть строго и буквально верно. Дебора Франклин был красивым образом Гранд, классический. Она не смотреть в последнюю очередь как звезда фильма или модели. Она никогда не была Деб, который был так же хорошо, ибо она сделали бы другие Дебс выглядят более чем обычно глупо. Я полагаю, ее статистики естественного движения населения были в порядке, но глядя на нее, вы забыли о них. Это было чистой красоты ее лицо, что забрал ваше дыхание. С выглядит как это он будет просить слишком много ожидать ничего поразительные пути мозги, и я нашел Дебора, хотя любезным, немного скучно. Она была конечно хорошо осведомлены о ее внеочередной выглядит хорошо, и perfect¬ly готова обсудить их, без самомнения, так же, как человек семь футов может говорить о преимуществах и incon veniences быть высотой. Большинство из нашей партии были старыми друзьями Franklins, принявших Дебора должное как явление местных, но среди них был новичком — молодой человек с бородой имени Обри Melcombe, который в последнее время приняло заряд местного музея. Он сказал, что как только он установил глаза на Дебора; «Мы никогда не встречались раньше, но ваше лицо, конечно, прекрасно знакомы.» Дебора очевидно слышал, что один и раньше. «Я никогда не даю заседания для фотографов»,-сказала она; «но люди будут привязываться меня на улице. Это такая неприятность. «Фотографии!» сказал Обри. «Я имею в виду ваш портрет — тот, который был расписан четыреста лет назад. Никто не имеет когда-нибудь сказал вам, что ты живой образ Уорбек Тициан?» «Я никогда не слышал о Уорбек Тициана,» сказал Дебора, который довольно позволяя стороне вниз, Уорбек зал находится рядом с Markhampton и его фотографии известных, хотя конечно только посетителей пойти, чтобы увидеть их. «Действительно,» сказал Обри, 'T жить среди филистимлян. Но вы должны судить сами. Лорд Уорбек кредитование Тициан на выставку рекламирование фонда собор который мы организуем весной. Я пришлю вам билет для открытия». Затем он отправился танцевать с Розамунд Клегг, его помощник в музее. Она была лицом, которое не dis¬tract вы на один момент от ее статистики естественного движения населения и было говорят, что его невеста. I did not care much for Aubrey, or for his young woman, but I had to admit that they knew their job when I came to the opening of the exhibition a few months later. They had gathered in treasures of every sort from all over the county and arranged them admirably. The jewel of the show was, of course, the great Titian. It had a wall to itself at the end of the room and I was looking at it when Deborah came in. The likeness was fantastic. Lord Warbeck had never had his paintings cleaned, so that Titian's flesh tints were gold¬en and carmine, in vivid contrast to Deborah's pink and white. But that apart, the face behind the glass might have been her mirror image. By a happy chance she had chosen to wear a very plain black dress which matched up well to the portrait's somber garb. She stood there still and silent, staring at her centuries-old likeness. I wondered what she felt. A pressman's camera flashed and clicked.