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- Фрэнсис Скотт Фицджеральд
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But
Amory
,
being
on
the
spot
,
leaned
over
quickly
and
kissed
Myra
's
cheek
.
He
had
never
kissed
a
girl
before
,
and
he
tasted
his
lips
curiously
,
as
if
he
had
munched
some
new
fruit
.
Then
their
lips
brushed
like
young
wild
flowers
in
the
wind
.
"
We
're
awful
,
"
rejoiced
Myra
gently
.
She
slipped
her
hand
into
his
,
her
head
drooped
against
his
shoulder
.
Sudden
revulsion
seized
Amory
,
disgust
,
loathing
for
the
whole
incident
.
He
desired
frantically
to
be
away
,
never
to
see
Myra
again
,
never
to
kiss
any
one
;
he
became
conscious
of
his
face
and
hers
,
of
their
clinging
hands
,
and
he
wanted
to
creep
out
of
his
body
and
hide
somewhere
safe
out
of
sight
,
up
in
the
corner
of
his
mind
.
"
Kiss
me
again
.
"
Her
voice
came
out
of
a
great
void
.
"
I
do
n't
want
to
,
"
he
heard
himself
saying
.
There
was
another
pause
.
"
I
do
n't
want
to
!
"
he
repeated
passionately
.
Myra
sprang
up
,
her
cheeks
pink
with
bruised
vanity
,
the
great
bow
on
the
back
of
her
head
trembling
sympathetically
.
"
I
hate
you
!
"
she
cried
.
"
Do
n't
you
ever
dare
to
speak
to
me
again
!
"
"
What
?
"
stammered
Amory
.
"
I
'll
tell
mama
you
kissed
me
!
I
will
too
!
I
will
too
!
I
'll
tell
mama
,
and
she
wo
n't
let
me
play
with
you
!
"
