Автостопом по галактике

Chapter 7

           

           "Ahyes,Vogonity(sorry)ofthepoet’scompassionatesoul,"Arthurfelthewasonahomestretchnow,"whichcontrivesthroughthemediumoftheversestructuretosublimatethis,transcendthat,andcometotermswiththefundamentaldichotomiesoftheother,"(hewasreachingatriumphantcrescendo…)"andoneisleftwithaprofoundandvividinsightinto…into…er…"(…whichsuddenlygaveoutonhim.)Fordleapedinwiththecoupdegrace:

           "Intowhateveritwasthepoemwasabout!"heyelled.Outofthecornerofhismouth:"Welldone,Arthur,thatwasverygood."

           TheVogonperusedthem.Foramomenthisembitteredracialsoulhadbeentouched,buthethoughtno—toolittletoolate.Hisvoicetookonthequalityofacatsnaggingbrushednylon.

           "Sowhatyou’resayingisthatIwritepoetrybecauseunderneathmymeancallousheartlessexteriorIreallyjustwanttobeloved,"hesaid.Hepaused."Isthatright?"

           Fordlaughedanervouslaugh."WellImeanyes,"hesaid,"don’tweall,deepdown,youknow…er…"

           TheVogonstoodup.

           "No,wellyou’recompletelywrong,"hesaid,"Ijustwritepoetrytothrowmymeancallousheartlessexteriorintosharprelief.I’mgoingtothrowyouofftheshipanyway.Guard!Taketheprisonerstonumberthreeairlockandthrowthemout!"

           "What?"shoutedFord.

           AhugeyoungVogonguardsteppedforwardandyankedthemoutoftheirstrapswithhishugeblubberyarms.

           "Youcan’tthrowusintospace,"yelledFord,"we’retryingtowriteabook."

           "Resistanceisuseless!"shoutedtheVogonguardbackathim.

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