Марсианские хроники

           Helookedintotheirfacesastheydartedpastandhefollowedeverymoveoftheiryouthfulhandsandeveryexpressionoftheirwrinklelessfaces.Hesatuponachairthesonbrought."Howoldareyou,John?"

           Thesonreplied,"Twenty-three."

           Wildershiftedhissilverwareclumsily.Hisfacewassuddenlypale.Themannexttohimwhispered,"CaptainWilder,thatcan’tberight."

           Thesonmovedawaytobringmorechairs.

           "What’sthat,Williamson?"

           "I’mforty-threemyself,Captain.IwasinschoolthesametimeasyoungJohnHathawaythere,twentyyearsago.Hesayshe’sonlytwenty-threenow;heonlylookstwenty-three.Butthat’swrong.Heshouldbeforty-two,atleast.What’sitmean,sir?"

           "Idon’tknow."

           "Youlookkindofsick,sir."

           "Idon’tfeelwell.Thedaughters,too,Isawthemtwentyyearsorsoago;theyhaven’tchanged,notawrinkle.Willyoudomeafavor?Iwantyoutorunanerrand,Williamson.I’lltellyouwheretogoandwhattocheck.Lateinthebreakfast,slipaway.Itshouldtakeyouonlytenminutes.Theplaceisn’tfarfromhere.Isawitfromtherocketaswelanded."

           "Here!Whatareyoutalkingaboutsoseriously?"Mrs.Hathawayladledquickspoonsofsoupintotheirbowls."Smilenow;we’realltogether,thetrip’sover,andit’slikehome!"

           "Yes."CaptainWilderlaughed."YoucertainlylookverywellandyoungMrs.Hathaway!"

           "Isn’tthatlikeaman!"

           Hewatchedherdriftaway,driftwithherpinkfacewarm,smoothasanapple,unwrinkledandcolorful.