The Beautiful and Damned / Прекрасные и обреченные. Уровень 4

“What keeps you here today?” Anthony asked.

“I was at a tea-party. I missed my train to Philadelphia. And you?”

“Geraldine[14 - Geraldine – Джеральдина]. I told you about her.”

“Oh!”

“She called me about three and stayed till five. She’s so utterly stupid.”

Maury was silent.

Anthony had known her a month. He considered her amusing and rather liked the chaste and fairylike kisses she had given him on the third night of their acquaintance, when they had driven in a taxi through the Park. She had a shadowy aunt and uncle who shared with her an apartment. She familiar and intimate and restful.

“She gets her hair over her eyes some way and then blow it out,” he informed Maury; “and she likes to say ‘You cra-a-azy!’ when some one makes a remark that she does not understand. It fascinates me.”

Maury spoke.

“Remarkable that a person can comprehend so little and yet live in such a complex civilization.”

“Our Richard could write about her.”

“Anthony, surely you don’t think she’s worth writing about.”

“As much as anybody,” he answered, yawning. “You know I was thinking today that I have a great confidence in Dick. If he sticks to people and not to ideas, I believe he’ll be a big man.”

Anthony raised himself.

“He tries to go to life. So does every author except the very worst. The incident or character may be from life, but the writer usually interprets it in terms of the last book he read. For instance, suppose he meets a captain. He already knows how to set this sea captain on paper…Whose tea was it?”

“People named Abercrombie[15 - Abercrombie – Аберкромби].”

“Why did you stay late? Did you meet a girl?”

“Yes.”

“Did you really?” Anthony’s voice lifted in surprise.

“Yes. She seemed the youngest person there.”

“Not too young to make you miss a train.”

“Young enough. Beautiful child.”

Anthony chuckled.

“Oh, Maury, what do you mean by beautiful?”

Maury gazed helplessly into space.

“Well, I can’t describe her exactly – except to say that she was beautiful. She was tremendously alive.”

“What!”

“Mostly we talked about legs.”

“My God! Whose legs?”

“Hers. She talked a lot about hers.”

“What is she – a dancer?”

“No, she was a cousin of Dick’s.”

Anthony sat upright suddenly

“Her name is Gloria Gilbert!” he cried.

“Yes. Isn’t she remarkable?”

“I don’t know – but her father…”

“Well,” interrupted Maury, “her family may be as sad as professional mourners but I’m think that she’s a quite authentic and original character.”

“Go on, go on!” urged Anthony. “Soon as[16 - soon as – как только] Dick told me she didn’t have a brain in her head I knew she must be pretty good.”

“Did he say that?”

“Yes,” said Anthony with snorting laugh.

“Well, this girl talked about legs. She talked about skin too – her own skin. Always her own. And her tan”

“You sat enraptured by her voice?”

“No, by tan! I began thinking about tan. I began to think what color I turned about two years ago.”

Anthony was shaken with laughter.

“Oh, Maury!”

Maury sighed; rising he walked to the window and raised the shade.

“Snowing hard.”

Anthony, still laughing quietly to himself, made no answer.

“Another winter.” Maury’s voice from the window was almost a whisper. “We’re growing old, Anthony. I’m twenty-seven, by God! Three years to thirty, and then I’m a middle-aged man.”

Anthony was silent for a moment.