-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Фрэнсис Скотт Фицджеральд
-
- Ночь нежна
-
- Стр. 105/351
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
"
Tell
him
I
’
m
not
here
—
"
As
the
chasseur
turned
away
Abe
asked
:
"
Can
he
come
in
here
?
"
"
I
’
ll
find
out
.
"
Receiving
the
question
Paul
glanced
over
his
shoulder
;
he
shook
his
head
,
then
seeing
Abe
he
came
over
.
"
I
’
m
sorry
;
I
can
’
t
allow
it
.
"
Abe
got
himself
up
with
an
effort
and
went
out
to
the
Rue
Cambon
.
With
his
miniature
leather
brief
-
case
in
his
hand
Richard
Diver
walked
from
the
seventh
arrondisement
—
where
he
left
a
note
for
Maria
Wallis
signed
"
Dicole
,
"
the
word
with
which
he
and
Nicole
had
signed
communications
in
the
first
days
of
love
—
to
his
shirt
-
makers
where
the
clerks
made
a
fuss
over
him
out
of
proportion
to
the
money
he
spent
.
Ashamed
at
promising
so
much
to
these
poor
Englishmen
,
with
his
fine
manners
,
his
air
of
having
the
key
to
security
,
ashamed
of
making
a
tailor
shift
an
inch
of
silk
on
his
arm
.
Afterward
he
went
to
the
bar
of
the
Crillon
and
drank
a
small
coffee
and
two
fingers
of
gin
.
As
he
entered
the
hotel
the
halls
had
seemed
unnaturally
bright
;
when
he
left
he
realized
that
it
was
because
it
had
already
turned
dark
outside
.
It
was
a
windy
four
-
o
’
clock
night
with
the
leaves
on
the
Champs
Élysées
singing
and
failing
,
thin
and
wild
.
Dick
turned
down
the
Rue
de
Rivoli
,
walking
two
squares
under
the
arcades
to
his
bank
where
there
was
mail
.
Then
he
took
a
taxi
and
started
up
the
Champs
Élysées
through
the
first
patter
of
rain
,
sitting
alone
with
his
love
.
Back
at
two
o
’
clock
in
the
Roi
George
corridor
the
beauty
of
Nicole
had
been
to
the
beauty
of
Rosemary
as
the
beauty
of
Leonardo
’
s
girl
was
to
that
of
the
girl
of
an
illustrator
.
Dick
moved
on
through
the
rain
,
demoniac
and
frightened
,
the
passions
of
many
men
inside
him
and
nothing
simple
that
he
could
see
.
Rosemary
opened
her
door
full
of
emotions
no
one
else
knew
of
.
She
was
now
what
is
sometimes
called
a
"
little
wild
thing
"
—
by
twenty
-
four
full
hours
she
was
not
yet
unified
and
she
was
absorbed
in
playing
around
with
chaos
;
as
if
her
destiny
were
a
picture
puzzle
—
counting
benefits
,
counting
hopes
,
telling
off
Dick
,
Nicole
,
her
mother
,
the
director
she
met
yesterday
,
like
stops
on
a
string
of
beads
.
