Девять рассказов
Down at the Dinghy
"Imeannoneof’emevengoanywheresnearthewaternow.Shedon’tgoin,hedon’tgoin,thekiddon’tgoin.Nobodygoesinnow.Theydon’teventakethatcrazyboatoutnomore.Idon’tknowwhattheythrewgoodmoneyawayonitfor."
"Idon’tknowhowyoucandrinkyours.Ican’tevendrinkmine."
Sandrastaredrancorouslyattheoppositewall."I’llbesogladdagetbackathecity.I’mnotfoolin’.Ihatethiscrazyplace."ShegaveMrs.Snellahostileglance."It’sallrightforyou,youlivehereallyearround.Yougotyoursociallifehereandall.Youdon’tcare."
"I’mgonnadrinkthisifitkillsme,"Mrs.Snellsaid,lookingattheclockovertheelectricstove.
"Whatwouldyoudoifyouwereinmyshoes?"Sandraaskedabruptly."Imeanwhatwouldyoudo?Teliatruth."
ThiswasthesortofquestionMrs.Snellslippedintoasifitwereanerminecoat.Sheatonceletgoherteacup."Well,inthefirstplace,"shesaid,"Iwouldn’tworryaboutit.WhatI’ddo,I’dlookaroundforanother-"
"I’mnotworriedaboutit,"Sandrainterrupted.
"Iknowthat,butwhatI’ddo,I’djustgetme-"
TheswingingdooropenedfromthediningroomandBooBooTannenbaum,theladyofthehouse,cameintothekitchen.Shewasasmall,almosthiplessgirloftwenty-five,withstyleless,color,less,brittlehairpushedbackbehindherears,whichwereverylarge.Shewasdressedinknee-lengthjeans,ablackturtleneckpullover,andsocksandloafers.
