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- Фрэнсис Скотт Фицджеральд
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- Великий Гэтсби
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- Стр. 19/165
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"
I
'll
meet
you
by
the
news-stand
on
the
lower
level
.
"
She
nodded
and
moved
away
from
him
just
as
George
Wilson
emerged
with
two
chairs
from
his
office
door
.
We
waited
for
her
down
the
road
and
out
of
sight
.
It
was
a
few
days
before
the
Fourth
of
July
,
and
a
gray
,
scrawny
Italian
child
was
setting
torpedoes
in
a
row
along
the
railroad
track
.
"
Terrible
place
,
is
n't
it
,
"
said
Tom
,
exchanging
a
frown
with
Doctor
Eckleburg
.
"
Awful
.
"
"
It
does
her
good
to
get
away
.
"
"
Does
n't
her
husband
object
?
"
"
Wilson
?
He
thinks
she
goes
to
see
her
sister
in
New
York
.
He
's
so
dumb
he
does
n't
know
he
's
alive
.
"
So
Tom
Buchanan
and
his
girl
and
I
went
up
together
to
New
York
--
or
not
quite
together
,
for
Mrs.
Wilson
sat
discreetly
in
another
car
.
Tom
deferred
that
much
to
the
sensibilities
of
those
East
Eggers
who
might
be
on
the
train
.
She
had
changed
her
dress
to
a
brown
figured
muslin
,
which
stretched
tight
over
her
rather
wide
hips
as
Tom
helped
her
to
the
platform
in
New
York
.
At
the
news-stand
she
bought
a
copy
of
Town
Tattle
and
a
moving-picture
magazine
,
and
in
the
station
drug-store
some
cold
cream
and
a
small
flask
of
perfume
.
Up-stairs
,
in
the
solemn
echoing
drive
she
let
four
taxicabs
drive
away
before
she
selected
a
new
one
,
lavender-colored
with
gray
upholstery
,
and
in
this
we
slid
out
from
the
mass
of
the
station
into
the
glowing
sunshine
.
But
immediately
she
turned
sharply
from
the
window
and
,
leaning
forward
,
tapped
on
the
front
glass
.
"
I
want
to
get
one
of
those
dogs
,
"
she
said
earnestly
.
"
I
want
to
get
one
for
the
apartment
.
They
're
nice
to
have
--
a
dog
.
"
We
backed
up
to
a
gray
old
man
who
bore
an
absurd
resemblance
to
John
D.
Rockefeller
.
In
a
basket
swung
from
his
neck
cowered
a
dozen
very
recent
puppies
of
an
indeterminate
breed
.
"
What
kind
are
they
?
"
asked
Mrs.
Wilson
eagerly
,
as
he
came
to
the
taxi-window
.
