Марсианские хроники

           Shechimedherlaughateveryjoke,shetossedsaladsneatly,neveroncepausingforbreath.Andthebonysonandcurveddaughterswerebrilliantlywitty,liketheirfather,tellingofthelongyearsandtheirsecretlife,whiletheirfathernoddedproudlytoeach.

           Williamsonslippedoffdownthehill.

           "Where’shegoing?"askedHathaway.

           "Checkingtherocket,"saidWilder."But,asIwassaying,Hathaway,there’snothingonJupiter,nothingatallformen.ThatincludesSaturnandPluto."Wildertalkedmechanically,nothearinghiswords,thinkingonlyofWilliamsonrunningdownthehillandclimbingbacktotellwhathehadfound.

           "Thanks."MargueriteHathawaywasfillinghiswaterglass.Impulsivelyhetouchedherarm.Shedidnotevenmind.Herfleshwaswarmandsoft.

           Hathaway,acrossthetable,pausedseveraltimes,touchedhischestwithhisfingers,painfully,thenwentonlisteningtothemurmuringtalkandsuddenloudchattering,glancingnowandagainwithconcernatWilder,whodidnotseemtolikechewinghisgingerbread.

           Williamsonreturned.Hesatpickingathisfooduntilthecaptainwhisperedasidetohim,"Well?"

           "Ifoundit,sir."

           "And?"

           Williamson’scheekswerewhite.Hekepthiseyesonthelaughingpeople.Thedaughtersweresmilinggravelyandthesonwastellingajoke.Williamsonsaid,"Iwentintothegraveyard."

           "Thefourcrosseswerethere?"

           "Thefourcrosseswerethere,sir.Thenameswerestillonthem.Iwrotethemdowntobesure."