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- Фрэнсис Скотт Фицджеральд
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They
drifted
up
the
stairs
and
Myra
led
the
way
into
the
little
den
of
his
dreams
,
where
a
cosy
fire
was
burning
before
a
big
sink-down
couch
.
A
few
years
later
this
was
to
be
a
great
stage
for
Amory
,
a
cradle
for
many
an
emotional
crisis
.
Now
they
talked
for
a
moment
about
bobbing
parties
.
"
There
's
always
a
bunch
of
shy
fellas
,
"
he
commented
,
"
sitting
at
the
tail
of
the
bob
,
sorta
lurkin
'
an
'
whisperin
'
an
'
pushin
'
each
other
off
.
Then
there
's
always
some
crazy
cross-eyed
girl
"
--
he
gave
a
terrifying
imitation
--
"
she
's
always
talkin
'
hard
,
sorta
,
to
the
chaperon
.
"
"
You
're
such
a
funny
boy
,
"
puzzled
Myra
.
"
How
d'
y
'
mean
?
"
Amory
gave
immediate
attention
,
on
his
own
ground
at
last
.
"
Oh
--
always
talking
about
crazy
things
.
Why
do
n't
you
come
ski-ing
with
Marylyn
and
I
to-morrow
?
"
"
I
do
n't
like
girls
in
the
daytime
,
"
he
said
shortly
,
and
then
,
thinking
this
a
bit
abrupt
,
he
added
:
"
But
I
like
you
.
"
He
cleared
his
throat
.
"
I
like
you
first
and
second
and
third
.
"
Myra
's
eyes
became
dreamy
.
What
a
story
this
would
make
to
tell
Marylyn
!
Here
on
the
couch
with
this
wonderful-looking
boy
--
the
little
fire
--
the
sense
that
they
were
alone
in
the
great
building
--
Myra
capitulated
.
The
atmosphere
was
too
appropriate
.
"
I
like
you
the
first
twenty-five
,
"
she
confessed
,
her
voice
trembling
,
"
and
Froggy
Parker
twenty-sixth
.
"
Froggy
had
fallen
twenty-five
places
in
one
hour
.
As
yet
he
had
not
even
noticed
it
.
