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- Фрэнсис Скотт Фицджеральд
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- Стр. 201/351
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England
was
like
a
rich
man
after
a
disastrous
orgy
who
makes
up
to
the
household
by
chatting
with
them
individually
,
when
it
is
obvious
to
them
that
he
is
only
trying
to
get
back
his
self
-
respect
in
order
to
usurp
his
former
power
.
Dick
had
with
him
what
magazines
were
available
on
the
station
quays
:
The
Century
,
The
Motion
Picture
,
L
’
lllustration
,
and
the
Fliegende
Blätter
,
but
it
was
more
fun
to
descend
in
his
imagination
into
the
villages
and
shake
hands
with
the
rural
characters
.
He
sat
in
the
churches
as
he
sat
in
his
father
’
s
church
in
Buffalo
,
amid
the
starchy
must
of
Sunday
clothes
.
He
listened
to
the
wisdom
of
the
Near
East
,
was
Crucified
,
Died
,
and
was
Buried
in
the
cheerful
church
,
and
once
more
worried
between
five
or
ten
cents
for
the
collection
plate
,
because
of
the
girl
who
sat
in
the
pew
behind
.
The
Englishman
suddenly
borrowed
his
magazines
with
a
little
small
change
of
conversation
,
and
Dick
,
glad
to
see
them
go
,
thought
of
the
voyage
ahead
of
him
.
Wolf
-
like
under
his
sheep
’
s
clothing
of
long
-
staple
Australian
wool
,
he
considered
the
world
of
pleasure
—
the
incorruptible
Mediterranean
with
sweet
old
dirt
caked
in
the
olive
trees
,
the
peasant
girl
near
Savona
with
a
face
as
green
and
rose
as
the
color
of
an
illuminated
missal
.
He
would
take
her
in
his
hands
and
snatch
her
across
the
border
.
.
.
.
.
.
but
there
he
deserted
her
—
he
must
press
on
toward
the
Isles
of
Greece
,
the
cloudy
waters
of
unfamiliar
ports
,
the
lost
girl
on
shore
,
the
moon
of
popular
songs
.
A
part
of
Dick
’
s
mind
was
made
up
of
the
tawdry
souvenirs
of
his
boyhood
Yet
in
that
somewhat
littered
Five
-
and
-
Ten
,
he
had
managed
to
keep
alive
the
low
painful
fire
of
intelligence
.
Tommy
Barban
was
a
ruler
,
Tommy
was
a
hero
—
Dick
happened
upon
him
in
the
Marienplatz
in
Munich
,
in
one
of
those
cafés
,
where
small
gamblers
diced
on
"
tapestry
"
mats
.
The
air
was
full
of
politics
,
and
the
slap
of
cards
.
Tommy
was
at
a
table
laughing
his
martial
laugh
:
"
Um
-
buh
—
ha
-
ha
!
Um
-
buh
—
ha
-
ha
!
"
As
a
rule
,
he
drank
little
;
courage
was
his
game
and
his
companions
were
always
a
little
afraid
of
him
.
Recently
an
eighth
of
the
area
of
his
skull
had
been
removed
by
a
Warsaw
surgeon
and
was
knitting
under
his
hair
,
and
the
weakest
person
in
the
café
could
have
killed
him
with
a
flip
of
a
knotted
napkin
.
"
—
this
is
Prince
Chillicheff
—
"
A
battered
,
powder
-
gray
Russian
of
fifty
,
"
—
and
Mr
.
McKibben
—
and
Mr
.
Hannan
—
"
the
latter
was
a
lively
ball
of
black
eyes
and
hair
,
a
clown
;
and
he
said
immediately
to
Dick
:
"
The
first
thing
before
we
shake
hands
—
what
do
you
mean
by
fooling
around
with
my
aunt
?
"
"
Why
,
I
—
"
