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- Джон Уиндем
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"
Apples
and
fings
,
"
the
child
told
him
.
"
Fine
!
"
said
the
young
man
.
He
pulled
off
his
shoe
and
hit
the
window
a
smart
smack
with
the
heel
of
it
.
He
was
inexperienced
;
the
first
blow
did
not
do
it
,
but
the
second
did
.
The
crash
reverberated
up
and
down
the
street
.
He
restored
his
shoe
,
put
an
arm
cautiously
through
the
broken
window
,
and
felt
about
until
he
found
a
couple
of
oranges
.
One
he
gave
to
the
woman
and
one
to
the
child
.
He
felt
about
again
,
found
one
for
himself
,
and
began
to
peel
it
.
The
woman
fingered
hers
.
"
But
—
"
she
began
.
"
What
’
s
the
matter
?
Don
’
t
like
oranges
?
"
he
asked
.
"
But
it
isn
’
t
right
,
"
she
said
.
"
We
didn
’
t
ought
to
take
‘
em
.
Not
like
this
.
"
"
How
else
are
you
going
to
get
food
?
"
he
inquired
.
"
I
suppose
—
well
,
I
don
’
t
know
,
"
she
admitted
doubtfully
.
"
Very
well
.
That
’
s
the
answer
.
Eat
it
up
now
,
and
we
’
ll
go
and
find
something
more
substantial
.
"
She
still
held
the
orange
in
her
hand
,
head
bent
down
as
though
she
were
looking
at
it
.
