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- Джон Стейнбек
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- Стр. 59/317
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It
was
quite
dark
by
now
.
Many
of
the
doors
were
closed
,
and
the
dim
lights
within
the
little
rooms
threw
square
patches
of
light
on
the
ground
outside
.
Mac
chewed
his
sandwich
.
"
I
never
saw
such
a
bunch
of
bags
as
this
crowd
,
"
he
said
.
"
Only
decent
one
in
the
camp
is
thirteen
years
old
.
I
’
ll
admit
she
’
s
got
an
eighteen
-
year
-
old
can
,
but
I
’
m
doing
no
fifty
years
.
"
Jim
said
,
"
You
seem
to
be
having
trouble
keeping
your
economics
out
of
the
bedroom
.
"
"
Who
the
hell
wants
to
keep
it
out
?
"
Mac
demanded
.
He
chuckled
.
"
Every
time
the
sun
shines
on
my
back
all
afternoon
I
get
hot
pants
.
What
’
s
wrong
with
that
?
"
The
bright
,
hard
stars
were
out
,
not
many
of
them
,
but
sharp
and
penetrating
in
the
cold
night
sky
.
From
the
rooms
nearby
came
the
rise
and
fall
of
many
voices
talking
,
with
now
and
then
a
single
voice
breaking
clear
.
Jim
turned
toward
the
sound
.
"
What
’
s
going
on
over
there
,
Mac
?
"
"
Crap
game
.
Got
it
started
quick
.
I
don
’
t
know
what
they
’
re
using
for
money
.
Shooting
next
week
’
s
pay
,
maybe
.
Most
of
’
em
aren
’
t
going
to
have
any
pay
when
they
settle
up
with
the
store
.
One
man
tonight
in
the
store
got
two
big
jars
of
mince
-
meat
.
Probably
eat
both
jars
tonight
and
be
sick
tomorrow
.
They
get
awful
hungry
for
something
nice
.
Ever
notice
when
you
’
re
hungry
,
Jim
,
your
mind
fastens
on
just
one
thing
?
It
’
s
always
mashed
potatoes
with
me
,
just
slimy
with
melted
butter
.
I
s
’
pose
this
guy
tonight
had
been
thinking
about
mince
-
meat
for
months
.
"
Along
the
front
of
the
building
a
big
man
moved
,
and
the
lights
from
the
windows
flashed
on
him
as
he
passed
each
one
.
"
Here
comes
London
,
"
Mac
said
.
He
strode
up
to
them
,
swinging
his
shoulders
.
The
tonsure
showed
white
against
the
black
rim
of
hair
.
"
I
finished
eatin
’
,
"
London
said
.
"
Let
’
s
get
goin
’
.
My
Ford
’
s
around
back
.
"
He
turned
and
walked
in
the
direction
from
which
he
had
come
;
Mac
and
Jim
followed
him
.
Behind
the
building
a
topless
model
T
Ford
touring
car
stood
nosed
in
against
the
building
.
The
oilcloth
seats
were
frayed
and
split
,
so
that
the
coil
spring
stuck
through
,
and
wads
of
horsehair
hung
from
the
holes
.
London
got
in
and
turned
the
key
.
The
rasp
of
the
points
sounded
.
"
Crank
’
er
,
Jim
,
"
said
Mac
.
Jim
put
his
weight
on
the
stiff
crank
.
"
Spark
down
?
I
don
’
t
want
my
head
kicked
off
.
"
