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- Фрэнсис Скотт Фицджеральд
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Amory
nodded
,
his
eyes
staring
oddly
.
Stepping
back
to
let
some
one
pass
,
he
knocked
the
dish
of
olives
to
a
crash
on
the
floor
.
"
Too
bad
,
"
he
muttered
.
"
Have
a
drink
?
"
Wilson
,
ponderously
diplomatic
,
reached
over
and
slapped
him
on
the
back
.
"
You
've
had
plenty
,
old
boy
.
"
Amory
eyed
him
dumbly
until
Wilson
grew
embarrassed
under
the
scrutiny
.
"
Plenty
,
hell
!
"
said
Amory
finally
.
"
I
have
n't
had
a
drink
to-day
.
"
Wilson
looked
incredulous
.
"
Have
a
drink
or
not
?
"
cried
Amory
rudely
.
Together
they
sought
the
bar
.
"
Rye
high
.
"
