Читать книгу The Complete Works of F. Scott Fitzgerald онлайн

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“Alice!” he said huskily.

She drew a long breath and pushed herself away from him.

“I’ve come back here,” he muttered unsteadily, “and find you waiting in this room where we used to sit, just as if I’d never been away.”

“I only dropped in for a minute,” she said, as if that was the most important thing in the world. “And now, naturally, I’m going to cry.”

“Don’t cry.”

“I’ve got to cry. You don’t think”—she smiled through wet eyes—“you don’t think that things like this hap—happen to a person every day.”

John Jackson walked in wild excitement to the window and threw it open to the afternoon.

“What were you doing here?” he cried, turning around. “Did you just come by accident today?”

“I come every week. I bring the children sometimes, but usually I come alone.”

“The children!” he exclaimed. “Have you got children?”

She nodded.

“I’ve been married for years and years.”

They stood there looking at each other for a moment; then they both laughed and glanced away.

“I kissed you,” she said.

“Are you sorry?”