Над пропастью во ржи

           "Itmaybethekindwhere,attheageofthirty,yousitinsomebarhatingeverybodywhocomesinlookingasifhemighthaveplayedfootballincollege.Thenagain,youmaypickupjustenougheducationtohatepeoplewhosay,‘It’sasecretbetweenheandI.’Oryoumayendupinsomebusinessoffice,throwingpaperclipsattheneareststenographer.Ijustdon’tknow.ButdoyouknowwhatI’mdrivingat,atall?"

           "Yes.Sure,"Isaid.Idid,too."Butyou’rewrongaboutthathatingbusiness.Imeanabouthatingfootballplayersandall.Youreallyare.Idon’thatetoomanyguys.

           WhatImaydo,Imayhatethemforalittlewhile,likethisguyStradlaterIknewatPencey,andthisotherboy,RobertAckley.Ihatedthemonceinawhile—Iadmitit—butitdoesn’tlasttoolong,iswhatImean.Afterawhile,ifIdidn’tseethem,iftheydidn’tcomeintheroom,orifIdidn’tseetheminthediningroomforacoupleofmeals,Isortofmissedthem.ImeanIsortofmissedthem."

           Mr.Antolinididn’tsayanythingforawhile.Hegotupandgotanotherhunkoficeandputitinhisdrink,thenhesatdownagain.Youcouldtellhewasthinking.Ikeptwishing,though,thathe’dcontinuetheconversationinthemorning,insteadofnow,buthewashot.Peoplearemostlyhottohaveadiscussionwhenyou’renot.

           "Allright.Listentomeaminutenow...ImaynotwordthisasmemorablyasI’dliketo,butI’llwriteyoualetteraboutitinadayortwo.Thenyoucangetitallstraight.Butlistennow,anyway."Hestartedconcentratingagain.Thenhesaid,"ThisfallIthinkyou’reridingfor—it’saspecialkindoffall,ahorriblekind.