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- Уильям Гибсон
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'
I
don
’
t
cry
,
much
.
’
'
But
how
would
you
cry
,
if
someone
made
you
cry
?
’
'
I
spit
,
’
she
said
.
'
The
ducts
are
routed
back
into
my
mouth
.
’
'
Then
you
’
ve
already
learned
an
important
lesson
,
for
one
so
young
.
’
He
rested
the
hand
with
the
pistol
on
his
knee
and
took
a
bottle
from
the
table
beside
him
,
without
bothering
to
choose
from
the
half
-
dozen
different
liquors
.
He
drank
.
Brandy
.
A
trickle
of
the
stuff
ran
from
the
corner
of
his
mouth
.
'
That
is
the
way
to
handle
tears
.
’
He
drank
again
.
'
I
’
m
busy
tonight
,
Molly
.
I
built
all
this
,
and
now
I
’
m
busy
.
Dying
.
’
'
I
could
go
out
the
way
I
came
,
’
she
said
.
He
laughed
,
a
harsh
high
sound
.
'
You
intrude
on
my
suicide
and
then
ask
to
simply
walk
out
?
Really
,
you
amaze
me
.
A
thief
.
’
'
It
’
s
my
ass
,
boss
,
and
it
’
s
all
I
got
.
I
just
wanna
get
it
out
of
here
in
one
piece
.
’
'
You
are
a
very
rude
girl
.
Suicides
here
are
conducted
with
a
degree
of
decorum
.
That
’
s
what
I
’
m
doing
,
you
understand
.
But
perhaps
I
’
ll
take
you
with
me
tonight
,
down
to
hell
.
.
.
It
would
be
very
Egyptian
of
me
.
’
He
drank
again
.
'
Come
here
then
.
’
He
held
out
the
bottle
,
his
hand
shaking
.
'
Drink
.
’
She
shook
her
head
.
'
It
isn
’
t
poisoned
,
’
he
said
,
but
returned
the
brandy
to
the
table
.
'
Sit
.
Sit
on
the
floor
.
We
’
ll
talk
.
