Коллекционер

           "WhyamIhere?"

           Iwantyoutobemyguest.

           "Yourguest!"

           Shestoodupandwalkedroundthearmchairandleantagainsttheback,eyesonmeallthetime.She’dtakenherbluejumperoff,shestoodthereinadarkgreentartandress,likeaschoolgirltunic,withawhiteblouseopenatthethroat.Herhairsweptbackintothepigtail.Herlovelyface.Shelookedbrave.Idon’tknowwhy,Ithoughtofhersittingonmyknees,verystill,withmestrokinghersoftblondehair,alloutlooseasIsawitafter.

           SuddenlyIsaid,Iloveyou.It’sdrivenmemad.

           Shesaid,"Isee,"inaqueergravevoice.

           Shedidn’tlookatmeanymorethen.

           Iknowit’sold-fashionedtosayyouloveawoman,Inevermeanttodoitthen.Inmydreamsitwasalwayswelookedintoeachother’seyesonedayandthenwekissedandnothingwassaiduntilafter.AchapcalledNobbyinR.A.P.C.whoknewallaboutwomen,alwayssaidyoushouldn’tevertellawomanyoulovedher.Evenifyoudid.Ifyouhadtosay"Iloveyou,"yousaiditjoking—hesaidthatwayitkeptthemafteryou.Youhadtoplayhardtoget.ThesillythingwasItoldmyselfadozentimesbeforeImustn’ttellherIlovedher,butletitcomenaturallyonbothsides.ButwhenIhadhertheremyheadwentroundandIoftensaidthingsIdidn’tmeanto.

           Idon’tmeanItoldhereverything.ItoldheraboutworkingintheAnnexeandseeingherandthinkingaboutherandthewayshebehavedandwalkedandallshe’dmeanttomeandthenhavingmoneyandknowingshe’dneverlookatmeinspiteofitandbeinglonely.