Читать книгу The Complete Works of F. Scott Fitzgerald онлайн

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“Well, I’m damned,” he said softly.

As Charley Hart came up the gravel path Michael noticed in a glance that he was unusually disheveled. His handsome face was drawn and tired, his clothes were out of press and he had the unmistakable look of needing a good night’s sleep.

He came up on the porch, saw Michael and smiled in a wan, embarrassed way.

“Hello, Michael.”

Neither of them made any move to shake hands but after a moment Charley collapsed abruptly into a chair.

“I’d like a glass of water,” he said huskily. “It’s hot as hell.”

Without a word Michael went into the house—returned with a glass of water which Charley drank in great noisy gulps.

“Thanks,” he said, gasping. “I thought I was going to pass away.”

He looked about him with eyes that only pretended to take in his surroundings.

“Nice little place you’ve got here,” he remarked; his eyes returned to Michael. “Do you want me to get out?”

“Why—no. Sit and rest if you want to. You look all in.”

“I am. Do you want to hear about it?”