Читать книгу The Complete Works of F. Scott Fitzgerald онлайн

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He stood up suddenly.

“There’s no use,” he said. “I seem to have made you hate me, and that’s the end. There’s no use saying any more.”

He stared down the hill with haunted eyes.

“I shouldn’t have talked to you here,” he cried. “There’s no luck here for me. Once before I lost something I wanted, not a hundred yards from this hill. And now I’ve lost you.”

“What was it you lost,” demanded Milly bitterly. “Another girl?”

“There’s never been any other girl but you.”

“What was it then?”

He hesitated.

“I told you I was wounded,” he said. “I was. For two months I didn’t know I was alive. But the worst of it was that some dirty sneak thief had been through my pockets, and I guess he got the credit for a copy of German orders that I’d just brought in. He took a gold watch too. I’d pinched them both off the body of a German officer out between the lines.”

Mr. and Mrs. William Driscoll were married the following spring and started off on their honeymoon in a car that was much larger than the King of England’s. There were two dozen vacant places in it, so they gave many rides to tired pedestrians along the white poplar-lined roads of France. The wayfarers, however, always sat in the back seat as the conversation in front was not for profane ears. The tour progressed through Lyons, Avignon, Bordeaux, and smaller places not in the guidebook.