Зима тревоги нашей

           "Nowdon’tdawdle.You’llhavetobatheandchange.TheForemaster,youknow."

           "Iwon’t,myfair,mylovely.Mr.Bakergavemehellforlettingyouspendathousanddollars."

           "Why,thatoldgoat!"

           "Mary—Mary!Thewallshaveears."

           "Youtellhimwhathecando."

           "Buthecan’t.Besides,hethinksyou’reanitwit."

           "What?"

           "AndI’mawishy-washy,awashy-wishy—ayouknowhowIam."

           Shewaslaughingherlovelytrill,somethingthatraisesgooselumpsofpleasureonmysoul.

           "Hurryhome,darling,"shesaid."Hurryhome."Andhow’sthatforamantohave!WhenIhungup,Istoodbythephoneallweakandleakyandhappyifthereissuchacondition.ItriedtothinkhowithadbeenbeforeMary,andIcouldn’tremember,orhowitwouldbewithouther,andIcouldnotimagineitexceptthatitwouldbeaconditionborderedinblack.Iguesseveryoneatsometimeorotherwriteshisepitaph.Minewouldbe"Good-byCharley."

           Thesunwasbelowthewesternhillsbutagreatpowderycloudscoopeditslightandthrewitontheharborandthebreakwaterandtheseabeyondsothatthewhitecapswerepinkasroses.Thepilesinthewaterbythecitypieraretriplelogsiron-bandedatthetopandslopinglikepylonstoshearthewinterice.Ontopofeachoneagullstoodmotionless,usuallyamalewithwhiteimmaculatevestandcleangraywings.Iwonderifeachoneownshisplaceandcansellorrentitatwill.

           Afewfishingboatswerein.Iknowallthefishermen,haveknownthemallmylife.AndMarywasright.