Девять рассказов

           Sybilstoppedwalkingandyankedherhandawayfromhim.Shepickedupanordinarybeachshellandlookedatitwithelaborateinterest.Shethrewitdown."WhirlyWood,Connecticut,"shesaid,andresumedwalking,stomachforemost.

           "WhirlyWood,Connecticut,"saidtheyoungman."IsthatanywherenearWhirlyWood,Connecticut,byanychance?"

           Sybillookedathim."That’swhereIlive,"shesaidimpatiently."IliveinWhirlyWood,Connecticut."Sheranafewstepsaheadofhim,caughtupherleftfootinherlefthand,andhoppedtwoorthreetimes.

           "Youhavenoideahowclearthatmakeseverything,"theyoungmansaid.

           Sybilreleasedherfoot."Didyouread’LittleBlackSambo’?"shesaid.

           "It’sveryfunnyyouaskmethat,"hesaid."ItsohappensIjustfinishedreadingitlastnight."HereacheddownandtookbackSybil’shand."Whatdidyouthinkofit?"heaskedher.

           "Didthetigersrunallaroundthattree?"

           "Ithoughtthey’dneverstop.Ineversawsomanytigers."

           "Therewereonlysix,"Sybilsaid.

           "Onlysix!"saidtheyoungman."Doyoucallthatonly?"

           "Doyoulikewax?"Sybilasked.

           "DoIlikewhat?"askedtheyoungman.

           "Wax."

           "Verymuch.Don’tyou?"

           Sybilnodded."Doyoulikeolives?"sheasked.

           "Olives-yes.Olivesandwax.Inevergoanyplacewithout’em."

           "DoyoulikeSharonLipschutz?"Sybilasked.

           "Yes.Yes,Ido,"saidtheyoungman.WhatIlikeparticularlyaboutheristhatsheneverdoesanythingmeantolittledogsinthelobbyofthehotel.ThatlittletoybullthatbelongstothatladyfromCanada,forinstance.