Сияние

Conversations at the Party

           Ifitoffendedhersheconcealeditwell;shesnuggledevenclosertohim.

           "Nothingfunny,honey,"hesaid,andgiggledagain.

           "Ilikeyou,"shewhispered,andhethoughtthatherscentwaslikelilies,secretandhiddenincracksfurredwithgreenmoss-placeswheresunshineisshortandshadowslong.

           "Ilikeyou,too."

           "Wecouldgoupstairs,ifyouwant.I’msupposedtobewithHarry,buthe’llnevernotice.He’stoobusyteasingpoorRoger."

           Thenumberended.Therewasaspatterofapplauseandthenthebandswunginto"MoodIndigo"withscarcelyapause.

           JacklookedoverherbareshoulderandsawDerwentstandingbytherefreshmenttable.Thegirlinthesarongwaswithhim.Therewerebottlesofchampagneinicebucketsrangedalongthewhitelawncoveringthetable,andDerwentheldafoamingbottleinhishand.Aknotofpeoplehadgathered,laughing.InfrontofDerwentandthegirlinthesarong,Rogercaperedgrotesquelyonallfours,histaildragginglimplybehindhim.Hewasbarking.

           "Speak,boy,speak!"HarryDerwentcried.

           "Rowf!Rowf!"Rogerresponded.Everyoneclapped;afewofthemenwhistled.

           "Nowsitup.Situp,doggy!"

           Rogerclambereduponhishaunches.Themuzzleofhismaskwasfrozeninitseternalsnarl.Insidetheeyeholes,Roger’seyesrolledwithfrantic,sweatyhilarity.Heheldhisarmsout,danglingthepaws.

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