Зима тревоги нашей

           "Nothingtobegoodat.Youletpeople—women,thatis—talkaboutthemselvesandthentellitbacktothemandtheythinkyou’vegotsecondsight."

           "Andtalldarkstrangers?"

           "There’sthat,sure.IfIcouldreadmen,Iwouldn’thavepulledthebellywhoppersIhave.Brother!didImisreadacoupleofcharacters."

           "Didn’tyourfirsthusbanddie?"

           "No,mysecond,peacebetohisashes,thesonofa—No,letitride.Peacebetohisashes."

           EthangreetedtheenteringelderlyMrs.Ezyzinskisolicitouslyandlingeredoverthetransferenceofaquarterofapoundofbutter,evenpassedacomplimentarywordortwoabouttheweather,butMargieYoung-Hunt,relaxedandsmiling,inspectedthegold-sealedcansofpâtédefoiegrasandtheminusculejewel-casesofcaviarinbackofthecounterbythecashregister.

           "Now,"saidMargiewhentheoldladytotteredout,mutteringtoherselfinPolish.

           "Now—what?"

           "Iwasjustthinking—ifIknewasmuchaboutmenasIdoaboutwomen,I’dputoutmyshingle.Whydon’tyouteachmeaboutmen,Ethan?"

           "Youknowenough.Maybetoomuch."

           "Oh,comeon!Don’tyouhaveasillyboneinyourbody?"

           "Wanttostartnow?"