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- Фрэнсис Скотт Фицджеральд
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Love
for
the
dusk
...
Love
for
the
glistening
after
;
Quiet
the
trees
to
their
last
tops
...
serene
...
Faint
winds
,
and
far
away
a
fading
laughter
...
"
Atlantic
City
.
Amory
paced
the
board
walk
at
day
's
end
,
lulled
by
the
everlasting
surge
of
changing
waves
,
smelling
the
half-mournful
odor
of
the
salt
breeze
.
The
sea
,
he
thought
,
had
treasured
its
memories
deeper
than
the
faithless
land
.
It
seemed
still
to
whisper
of
Norse
galleys
ploughing
the
water
world
under
raven-figured
flags
,
of
the
British
dreadnoughts
,
gray
bulwarks
of
civilization
steaming
up
through
the
fog
of
one
dark
July
into
the
North
Sea
.
"
Well
--
Amory
Blaine
!
"
Amory
looked
down
into
the
street
below
.
A
low
racing
car
had
drawn
to
a
stop
and
a
familiar
cheerful
face
protruded
from
the
driver
's
seat
.
"
Come
on
down
,
goopher
!
"
cried
Alec
.
Amory
called
a
greeting
and
descending
a
flight
of
wooden
steps
approached
the
car
.
He
and
Alec
had
been
meeting
intermittently
,
but
the
barrier
of
Rosalind
lay
always
between
them
.
He
was
sorry
for
this
;
he
hated
to
lose
Alec
.
"
Mr.
Blaine
,
this
is
Miss
Waterson
,
Miss
Wayne
,
and
Mr.
Tully
.
"
"
How
d'
y
do
?
"
