Читать книгу The Complete Works of F. Scott Fitzgerald онлайн

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… After a while a waitress spoke to him, a fat waitress with black-rimmed eye-glasses from which dangled a long black cord.

“Order, please!”

Her voice, he considered, was unnecessarily loud. He looked up resentfully.

“You wanna order or doncha?”

“Of course,” he protested.

“Well, I ast you three times. This ain’t no rest-room.”

He glanced at the big clock and discovered with a start that it was after two. He was down around Thirtieth Street somewhere, and after a moment he found and translated the

S’DLIHC

in a white semicircle of letters upon the glass front. The place was inhabited sparsely by three or four bleak and half-frozen night-hawks.

“Give me some bacon and eggs and coffee, please.”

The waitress bent upon him a last disgusted glance and, looking ludicrously intellectual in her corded glasses, hurried away.

God! Gloria’s kisses had been such flowers. He remembered as though it had been years ago the low freshness of her voice, the beautiful lines of her body shining through her clothes, her face lily-colored under the lamps of the street—under the lamps.