Крестный отец

           Justshortofthegroveshepoised,startled,hereyeshavingcaughtthealiencolorofthemen’sshirts.Shestoodthereuponhertoespoisedlikeadeertorun.Shewasveryclosenow,closeenoughforthementoseeeveryfeatureofherface.

           Shewasallovals—oval-shapedeyes,thebonesofherface,thecontourofherbrow.Herskinwasanexquisitedarkcreaminessandhereyes,enormous,darkvioletorbrownbutdarkwithlongheavylashesshadowedherlovelyface.Hermouthwasrichwithoutbeinggross,sweetwithoutbeingweakanddyeddarkredwiththejuiceofthegrapes.ShewassoincrediblylovelythatFabrizziomurmured,"JesusChrist,takemysoul,I’mdying,"asajoke,butthewordscameoutalittletoohoarsely.Asifshehadheardhim,thegirlcamedownoffhertoesandwhirledawayfromthemand.fledbacktoherpursuers.Herhaunchesmovedlikeananimal’sbeneaththetightprintofherdress;aspaganandasinnocentlylustful.Whenshereachedherfriendsshewhirledaroundagainandherfacewaslikeadarkhollowagainstthefieldofbrightflowers.Sheextendedanarm,thehandfullofgrapespointedtowardthegrove.Thegirlsfledlaughing,withtheblack-clad,stoutmatronsscoldingthemon.

           AsforMichaelCorleone,hefoundhimselfstanding,hisheartpoundinginhischest;hefeltalittledizzy.Thebloodwassurgingthroughhisbody,throughallitsextremitiesandpoundingagainstthetipsofhisfingers,thetipsofhistoes.