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- Фрэнсис Скотт Фицджеральд
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- Стр. 340/351
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Dick
and
Nicole
were
accustomed
to
go
together
to
the
barber
,
and
have
haircuts
and
shampoos
in
adjoining
rooms
.
From
Dick
’
s
side
Nicole
could
hear
the
snip
of
shears
,
the
count
of
changes
,
the
Voilàs
and
Pardons
.
The
day
after
his
return
they
went
down
to
be
shorn
and
washed
in
the
perfumed
breeze
of
the
fans
.
In
front
of
the
Carleton
Hotel
,
its
windows
as
stubbornly
blank
to
the
summer
as
so
many
cellar
doors
,
a
car
passed
them
and
Tommy
Barban
was
in
it
.
Nicole
’
s
momentary
glimpse
of
his
expression
,
taciturn
and
thoughtful
and
,
in
the
second
of
seeing
her
,
wide
-
eyed
and
alert
,
disturbed
her
.
She
wanted
to
be
going
where
he
was
going
.
The
hour
with
the
hair
-
dresser
seemed
one
of
the
wasteful
intervals
that
composed
her
life
,
another
little
prison
.
The
coiffeuse
in
her
white
uniform
,
faintly
sweating
lip
-
rouge
and
cologne
reminded
her
of
many
nurses
.
In
the
next
room
Dick
dozed
under
an
apron
and
a
lather
of
soap
.
The
mirror
in
front
of
Nicole
reflected
the
passage
between
the
men
’
s
side
and
the
women
’
s
,
and
Nicole
started
up
at
the
sight
of
Tommy
entering
and
wheeling
sharply
into
the
men
’
s
shop
.
She
knew
with
a
flush
of
joy
that
there
was
going
to
be
some
sort
of
showdown
.
She
heard
fragments
of
its
beginning
.
"
Hello
,
I
want
to
see
you
.
"
"
.
.
.
serious
.
"
"
.
.
.
serious
.
"
"
.
.
.
perfectly
agreeable
.
"
In
a
minute
Dick
came
into
Nicole
’
s
booth
,
his
expression
emerging
annoyed
from
behind
the
towel
of
his
hastily
rinsed
face
.
"
Your
friend
has
worked
himself
up
into
a
state
.
He
wants
to
see
us
together
,
so
I
agreed
to
have
it
over
with
.
