-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Фрэнсис Скотт Фицджеральд
-
- Ночь нежна
-
- Стр. 89/351
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
Meanwhile
Dick
had
seen
that
Perrin
,
at
the
head
of
the
line
of
desks
,
was
in
conversation
with
the
heavyweight
champion
of
the
world
;
from
a
sidesweep
of
Perrin
’
s
eye
Dick
saw
that
he
was
considering
calling
him
over
and
introducing
him
,
but
that
he
finally
decided
against
it
.
Cutting
across
the
social
mood
of
Casasus
with
the
intensity
he
had
accumulated
at
the
glass
desk
—
which
is
to
say
he
looked
hard
at
the
check
,
studying
it
,
and
then
fixed
his
eyes
on
grave
problems
beyond
the
first
marble
pillar
to
the
right
of
the
banker
’
s
head
and
made
a
business
of
shifting
the
cane
,
hat
,
and
letters
he
carried
—
he
said
good
-
by
and
went
out
.
He
had
long
ago
purchased
the
doorman
;
his
taxi
sprang
to
the
curb
.
"
I
want
to
go
to
the
Films
Par
Excellence
Studio
—
it
’
s
on
a
little
street
in
Passy
.
Go
to
the
Muette
.
I
’
ll
direct
you
from
there
.
"
He
was
rendered
so
uncertain
by
the
events
of
the
last
forty
-
eight
hours
that
he
was
not
even
sure
of
what
he
wanted
to
do
;
he
paid
off
the
taxi
at
the
Muette
and
walked
in
the
direction
of
the
studio
,
crossing
to
the
opposite
side
of
the
street
before
he
came
to
the
building
.
Dignified
in
his
fine
clothes
,
with
their
fine
accessories
,
he
was
yet
swayed
and
driven
as
an
animal
.
Dignity
could
come
only
with
an
overthrowing
of
his
past
,
of
the
effort
of
the
last
six
years
.
He
went
briskly
around
the
block
with
the
fatuousness
of
one
of
Tarkington
’
s
adolescents
,
hurrying
at
the
blind
places
lest
he
miss
Rosemary
’
s
coming
out
of
the
studio
.
It
was
a
melancholy
neighborhood
.
Next
door
to
the
place
he
saw
a
sign
:
"
1000
chemises
.
"
The
shirts
filled
the
window
,
piled
,
cravated
,
stuffed
,
or
draped
with
shoddy
grace
on
the
showcase
floor
:
"
1000
chemises
"
—
count
them
!
On
either
side
he
read
:
"
Papeterie
,
"
"
Pâtisserie
,
"
"
Solde
,
"
"
Réclame
"
—
and
Constance
Talmadge
in
"
Déjeuner
de
Soleil
,
"
and
farther
away
there
were
more
sombre
announcements
:
"
Vêtements
Ecclésiastiques
,
"
"
Déclaration
de
Décès
"
and
"
Pompes
Funèbres
.
"
Life
and
death
.
He
knew
that
what
he
was
now
doing
marked
a
turning
point
in
his
life
—
it
was
out
of
line
with
everything
that
had
preceded
it
—
even
out
of
line
with
what
effect
he
might
hope
to
produce
upon
Rosemary
.
Rosemary
saw
him
always
as
a
model
of
correctness
—
his
presence
walking
around
this
block
was
an
intrusion
But
Dick
’
s
necessity
of
behaving
as
he
did
was
a
projection
of
some
submerged
reality
:
he
was
compelled
to
walk
there
,
or
stand
there
,
his
shirt
-
sleeve
fitting
his
wrist
and
his
coat
sleeve
encasing
his
shirt
-
sleeve
like
a
sleeve
valve
,
his
collar
molded
plastically
to
his
neck
,
his
red
hair
cut
exactly
,
his
hand
holding
his
small
briefcase
like
a
dandy
—
just
as
another
man
once
found
it
necessary
to
stand
in
front
of
a
church
in
Ferrara
,
in
sackcloth
and
ashes
.
Dick
was
paying
some
tribute
to
things
unforgotten
,
unshriven
,
unexpurgated
.
After
three
-
quarters
of
an
hour
of
standing
around
,
he
became
suddenly
involved
in
a
human
contact
.
It
was
just
the
sort
of
thing
that
was
likely
to
happen
to
him
when
he
was
in
the
mood
of
not
wanting
to
see
any
one
.
So
rigidly
did
he
sometimes
guard
his
exposed
self
-
consciousness
that
frequently
he
defeated
his
own
purposes
;
as
an
actor
who
underplays
a
part
sets
up
a
craning
forward
,
a
stimulated
emotional
attention
in
an
audience
,
and
seems
to
create
in
others
an
ability
to
bridge
the
gap
he
has
left
open
.
Similarly
we
are
seldom
sorry
for
those
who
need
and
crave
our
pity
—
we
reserve
this
for
those
who
,
by
other
means
,
make
us
exercise
the
abstract
function
of
pity
.
So
Dick
might
,
himself
,
have
analyzed
the
incident
that
ensued
.
As
he
paced
the
Rue
des
Saintes
-
Anges
he
was
spoken
to
by
a
thin
-
faced
American
,
perhaps
thirty
,
with
an
air
of
being
scarred
and
a
slight
but
sinister
smile
.
As
Dick
gave
him
the
light
he
requested
,
he
placed
him
as
one
of
a
type
of
which
he
had
been
conscious
since
early
youth
—
a
type
that
loafed
about
tobacco
stores
with
one
elbow
on
the
counter
and
watched
,
through
heaven
knew
what
small
chink
of
the
mind
,
the
people
who
came
in
and
out
.
Intimate
to
garages
,
where
he
had
vague
business
conducted
in
undertones
,
to
barber
shops
,
to
the
lobbies
of
theatres
—
in
such
places
,
at
any
rate
,
Dick
placed
him
.
Sometimes
the
face
bobbed
up
in
one
of
Tad
’
s
more
savage
cartoons
—
in
boyhood
Dick
had
often
thrown
an
uneasy
glance
at
the
dim
borderland
of
crime
on
which
he
stood
.
"
How
do
you
like
Paris
,
Buddy
?
"
Not
waiting
for
an
answer
the
man
tried
to
fit
in
his
footsteps
with
Dick
’
s
:
"
Where
you
from
?
"
he
asked
encouragingly
.
