Девять рассказов

           MrsSnelllitacigarette,thenbroughtherteacuptoherlips,butimmediatelysetitdowninitssaucer."Ifthisdon’thurryupandcooloff,I’mgonnamissmybus."ShelookedoveratSandra,whowasstaring,oppressedly,inthegeneraldirectionofthecoppersauce-panslinedagainstthewall."Stopworryinaboutit,"Mrs.Snellordered."Whatgood’sitgonnadotoworryaboutit?Eitherhetellsherorhedon’t.That’sall.Whatgood’sworryin’gonnado?"

           "I’mnotworryin’aboutit,"Sandraresponded."ThelastthingI’mgonnadoisworryaboutit.Only,itdrivesyaloony,thewaythatkidgoespussyfootin’allaroundthehouse.Yacan’thearhim,yaknow.Imeannobodycanhearhim,yaknow.JusttheotherdayIwasshellin’beans-rightatthisheretable-andIalmoststeppedonhishand.Hewassittin’rightunderthetable."

           "Well.Iwouldn’tworryaboutit."

           "Imeanyagottaweigheverywordyasayaroundhim,"Sandrasaid."Itdrivesyaloony."

           "Istillcan’tdrinkthis,"Mrs.Snellsaid."...That’sterrible.Whenyagottaweigheverywordyasayandall."

           "Itdrivesyaloony!Imeanit.HalfthetimeI’mhalfloony."Sandrabrushedsomeimaginarycrumbsoffherlap,andsnorted."Afour-year-oldkid!"

           "He’skindofagood-lookin’kid,"saidMrs.Snell."Thembigbrowneyesandall."

           Sandrasnortedagain."He’sgonnahaveanosejustlikethefather."Sheraisedhercupanddrankfromitwithoutanydifficulty."Idon’tknowwhattheywannastayuphereallOctoberfor,"shesaidmalcontentedly,loweringhercup.