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- Джером Дэвид Сэлинджер
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His
face
lit
up
.
"
Meet
you
at
the
corner
!
"
he
shrieked
,
and
raced
out
of
the
room
,
possibly
in
hysterics
.
Esme
was
standing
with
crossed
ankles
again
.
"
You
’
re
quite
sure
you
won
’
t
forget
to
write
that
story
for
me
?
"
she
asked
.
"
It
doesn
’
t
have
to
be
exclusively
for
me
.
It
can
—
"
I
said
there
was
absolutely
no
chance
that
I
’
d
forget
.
I
told
her
that
I
’
d
never
written
a
story
for
anybody
,
but
that
it
seemed
like
exactly
the
right
time
to
get
down
to
it
.
She
nodded
.
"
Make
it
extremely
squalid
and
moving
,
"
she
suggested
.
"
Are
you
at
all
acquainted
with
squalor
?
"
I
said
not
exactly
but
that
I
was
getting
better
acquainted
with
it
,
in
one
form
or
another
,
all
the
time
,
and
that
I
’
d
do
my
best
to
come
up
to
her
specifications
.
We
shook
hands
.
"
Isn
’
t
it
a
pity
that
we
didn
’
t
meet
under
less
extenuating
circumstances
?
"
I
said
it
was
,
I
said
it
certainly
was
.
"
Goodbye
,
"
Esme
said
.
"
I
hope
you
return
from
the
war
with
all
your
faculties
intact
.
"
I
thanked
her
,
and
said
a
few
other
words
,
and
then
watched
her
leave
the
tearoom
.
She
left
it
slowly
,
reflectively
,
testing
the
ends
of
her
hair
for
dryness
.
