Девять рассказов

           HelookedobliquelydownatTeddy,andsmiled."Howareyouandtheweather?"heasked.Hissmilewasnotunpersonable,butitwassocial,orconversational,andrelatedback,howeverindirectly,tohisownego."Theweathereverbotheryououtofallsensibleproportion?"heasked,smiling.

           "Idon’ttakeittoopersonal,ifthat’swhatyoumean,"Teddysaid.

           Theyoungmanlaughed,lettinghisheadgoback."Wonderful,"hesaid."Myname,incidentally,isBobNicholson.Idon’tknowifwequitegotaroundtothatinthegym.Iknowyourname,ofcourse."

           Teddyshiftedhisweightovertoonehipandstashedhisnotebookinthesidepocketofhisshorts.

           "Iwaswatchingyouwrite—fromwayupthere,"Nicholsonsaid,narratively,pointing."GoodLord.YouwereworkingawaylikealittleTrojan."

           Teddylookedathim."Iwaswritingsomethinginmynotebook."

           Nicholsonnodded,smiling."HowwasEurope?"heaskedconversationally."Didyouenjoyit?"

           "Yes,verymuch,thankyou."

           "Wherealldidyougo?"

           Teddysuddenlyreachedforwardandscratchedthecalfofhisleg."Well,itwouldtakemetoomuchtimetonamealltheplaces,becausewetookourcaranddrovefairlygreatdistances."Hesatback."MymotherandIweremostlyinEdinburgh,Scotland,andOxford,England,though.IthinkItoldyouinthegymIhadtobeinterviewedatboththoseplaces.MostlytheUniversityofEdinburgh."

           "No,Idon’tbelieveyoudid,"Nicholsonsaid."Iwaswonderingifyou’ddoneanythinglikethat.How’ditgo?Theygrillyou?"

           "Ibegyourpardon?"Teddysaid.