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- Фрэнсис Скотт Фицджеральд
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- Стр. 67/348
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"
You
're
awfully
good
at
sizing
people
up
.
"
Amory
denied
this
painfully
.
However
,
he
sized
up
several
people
for
her
.
Then
they
talked
about
hands
.
"
You
've
got
awfully
nice
hands
,
"
she
said
.
"
They
look
as
if
you
played
the
piano
.
Do
you
?
"
I
have
said
they
had
reached
a
very
definite
stage
--
nay
,
more
,
a
very
critical
stage
.
Amory
had
stayed
over
a
day
to
see
her
,
and
his
train
left
at
twelve-eighteen
that
night
.
His
trunk
and
suitcase
awaited
him
at
the
station
;
his
watch
was
beginning
to
hang
heavy
in
his
pocket
.
"
Isabelle
,
"
he
said
suddenly
,
"
I
want
to
tell
you
something
.
"
They
had
been
talking
lightly
about
"
that
funny
look
in
her
eyes
,
"
and
Isabelle
knew
from
the
change
in
his
manner
what
was
coming
--
indeed
,
she
had
been
wondering
how
soon
it
would
come
.
Amory
reached
above
their
heads
and
turned
out
the
electric
light
,
so
that
they
were
in
the
dark
,
except
for
the
red
glow
that
fell
through
the
door
from
the
reading-room
lamps
.
Then
he
began
:
"
I
do
n't
know
whether
or
not
you
know
what
you
--
what
I
'm
going
to
say
.
Lordy
,
Isabelle
--
this
sounds
like
a
line
,
but
it
is
n't
.
"
"
I
know
,
"
said
Isabelle
softly
.
"
Maybe
we
'll
never
meet
again
like
this
--
I
have
darned
hard
luck
sometimes
.
"
He
was
leaning
away
from
her
on
the
other
arm
of
the
lounge
,
but
she
could
see
his
eyes
plainly
in
the
dark
.
"
You
'll
meet
me
again
--
silly
.
"
There
was
just
the
slightest
emphasis
on
the
last
word
--
so
that
it
became
almost
a
term
of
endearment
.
He
continued
a
bit
huskily
:
