Читать книгу Five Quarters of the Orange / Пять четвертинок апельсина онлайн

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The whole performance lasted five minutes, by which time my bolets were burnt and my ears ringing painfully, and my temper risen to the melting point. There was no time to complain again to the owner of the Snack-Wagon, though I promised myself that I would as soon as my customers left. By then, however, the wagon had closed, and though I thumped furiously against the shutters, no one answered.

The next day the music was playing again.

I ignored it for as long as I could, then stamped off to complain. There were even more people than before, and a number of them, recognizing me, made insolent comments as I pushed my way through the little crowd. Too angry to be polite today, I glared up at the Snack-Wagon’s owner and spat:

“I thought we had an agreement!”

He gave me a smile as wide and as gleaming as a barn door. Inquiringly:

“Madame?”

But I was in no mood to be cajoled.

“Don’t go trying to pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. I want the music off, right now!”

Polite as always, and now looking slightly hurt at my ferocious attack, he switched the music off.