О мышах и людях

           Theymadetheirbedsonthesand,andastheblazedroppedfromthefirethesphereoflightgrewsmaller;thecurlingbranchesdisappearedandonlyafaintglimmershowedwherethetreetrunkswere.FromthedarknessLenniecalled,«George—youasleep?»

           «No.Whattayouwant?»

           «Let’shavedifferentcolorrabbits,George.»

           «Surewewill,"Georgesaidsleepily.«Redandblueandgreenrabbits,Lennie.Millionsof‘em.»

           «Furryones,George,likeIseeninthefairinSacramento.»

           «Sure,furryones.»

           «’CauseIcanjus’aswellgoaway,George,an’liveinacave.»

           «Youcanjus’aswellgotohell,"saidGeorge.«Shutupnow.»

           Theredlightdimmedonthecoals.Upthehillfromtheriveracoyoteyammered,andadogansweredfromtheothersideofthestream.

           Thesycamoreleaveswhisperedinalittlenightbreeze.

           Thebunkhousewasalong,rectangularbuilding.Inside,thewallswerewhitewashedandthefloorunpainted.Inthreewallsthereweresmall,squarewindows,andinthefourth,asoliddoorwithawoodenlatch.Againstthewallswereeightbunks,fiveofthemmadeupwithblanketsandtheotherthreeshowingtheirburlapticking.Overeachbunktherewasnailedanappleboxwiththeopeningforwardsothatitmadetwoshelvesforthepersonalbelongingsoftheoccupantofthebunk.