Девять рассказов

           Theywerecrossedjustenoughtobementioned,andonlyincontextwiththefactthatonemighthavethoughtlongandseriouslybeforewishingthemstraighter,ordeeper,orbrowner,orwiderset.Hisface,justasitwas,carriedtheimpact,howeverobliqueandslow-travelling,ofrealbeauty.

           "Iwantyoutogetdownoffthatbag,now.Howmanytimesdoyouwantmetotellyou?"Mr.McArdlesaid.

           "Stayexactlywhereyouare,darling,"saidMrs.McArdle,whoevidentlyhadalittletroublewithhersinusesearlyinthemorning.Hereyeswereopen,butonlyjust."Don’tmovethetiniestpartofaninch."Shewaslyingonherrightside,herface,onthepillow,turnedleft,towardTeddyandtheporthole,herbacktoherhusband.Hersecondsheetwasdrawntightoverherveryprobablynudebody,enclosingher,armsandall,uptothechin."Jumpupanddown,"shesaid,andclosedhereyes."CrushDaddy’sbag."

           "That’saJesus-brilliantthingtosay,"Mr.McArdlesaidquietly-steadily,addressingthebackofhiswife’shead."Ipaytwenty-twopoundsforabag,andIasktheboycivillynottostandonit,andyoutellhimtojumpupanddownonit.What’sthatsupposedtobe?Funny?"

           "Ifthatbagcan’tsupportaten-year-oldboy,who’sthirteenpoundsunderweightforhisage,Idon’twantitinmycabin,"Mrs.McArdlesaid,withoutopeninghereyes.

           "YouknowwhatI’dliketodo?"Mr.McArdlesaid."I’dliketokickyourgoddamheadopen."

           "Whydon’tyou?"