Читать книгу The Complete Works of F. Scott Fitzgerald онлайн

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But at the din the somnolent fat lady’s eyes trembled open and in a low husky voice that was in itself oddly like a bark she snapped out: “Hush that racket!” and the clatter instantly ceased. The two or three poodles round the fire turned their silky eyes on each other reproachfully, and lying down with little sighs faded out on the white Angora rug; the tousled ball on the lady’s lap dug his nose into the crook of an elbow and went back to sleep, and except for the patches of white wool scattered about the room Myra would have thought it all a dream.

“Mother,” said Knowleton after an instant’s pause, “this is Myra.”

From the lady’s lips flooded one low husky word: “Myra?”

“She’s visiting us, I told you.”

Mrs. Whitney raised a large arm and passed her hand across her forehead wearily.

“Child!” she said—and Myra started, for again the voice was like a low sort of growl—“you want to marry my son Knowleton?”

Myra felt that this was putting the tonneau before the radiator, but she nodded. “Yes, Mrs. Whitney.”