Читать книгу The Complete Works of F. Scott Fitzgerald онлайн

844 страница из 1457

“How old are you?” This very suddenly.

“I’m twenty-one, Mrs. Whitney.”

“Ah—and you’re from Cleveland?”

This was in what was surely a series of articulate barks.

“Yes, Mrs. Whitney.”

“Ah——”

Myra was not certain whether this last ejaculation was conversation or merely a groan, so she did not answer.

“You’ll excuse me if I don’t appear downstairs,” continued Mrs. Whitney; “but when we’re in the East I seldom leave this room and my dear little doggies.”

Myra nodded and a conventional health question was trembling on her lips when she caught Knowleton’s warning glance and checked it.

“Well,” said Mrs. Whitney with an air of finality, “you seem like a very nice girl. Come in again.”

“Good-night, Mother,” said Knowleton.

“’Night!” barked Mrs. Whitney drowsily, and her eyes sealed gradually up as her head receded back again into the cushions.

Knowleton held open the door and Myra feeling a bit blank left the room. As they walked down the corridor she heard a burst of furious sound behind them; the noise of the closing door had again roused the poodle dogs.