The Complete Novels of F. Scott Fitzgerald (Unabridged). Фрэнсис Скотт Фицджеральд
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Название: The Complete Novels of F. Scott Fitzgerald (Unabridged)
Автор: Фрэнсис Скотт Фицджеральд
Издательство: Bookwire
Жанр: Языкознание
isbn: 9788027236084
isbn:
The girl sips her poison
The bird flies away the girl dies.”
He: (Laughing) No, not that kind.
She: (Suddenly) I like you.
He: Don’t.
She: Modest too——
He: I’m afraid of you. I’m always afraid of a girl—until I’ve kissed her.
She: (Emphatically) My dear boy, the war is over.
He: So I’ll always be afraid of you.
She: (Rather sadly) I suppose you will.
(A slight hesitation on both their parts.)
He: (After due consideration) Listen. This is a frightful thing to ask.
She: (Knowing what’s coming) After five minutes.
He: But will you—kiss me? Or are you afraid?
She: I’m never afraid—but your reasons are so poor.
He: Rosalind, I really want to kiss you.
She: So do I.
(They kiss—definitely and thoroughly.)
He: (After a breathless second) Well, is your curiosity satisfied?
She: Is yours?
He: No, it’s only aroused.
(He looks it.)
She: (Dreamily) I’ve kissed dozens of men. I suppose I’ll kiss dozens more.
He: (Abstractedly) Yes, I suppose you could—like that.
She: Most people like the way I kiss.
He: (Remembering himself) Good Lord, yes. Kiss me once more, Rosalind.
She: No—my curiosity is generally satisfied at one.
He: (Discouraged) Is that a rule?
She: I make rules to fit the cases.
He: You and I are somewhat alike—except that I’m years older in experience.
She: How old are you?
He: Almost twenty-three. You?
She: Nineteen—just.
He: I suppose you’re the product of a fashionable school.
She: No—I’m fairly raw material. I was expelled from Spence—I’ve forgotten why.
He: What’s your general trend?
She: Oh, I’m bright, quite selfish, emotional when aroused, fond of admiration——
He: (Suddenly) I don’t want to fall in love with you——
She: (Raising her eyebrows) Nobody asked you to.
He: (Continuing coldly) But I probably will. I love your mouth.
She: Hush! Please don’t fall in love with my mouth—hair, eyes, shoulders, slippers—but not my mouth. Everybody falls in love with my mouth.
He: It’s quite beautiful.
She: It’s too small.
He: No it isn’t—let’s see.
(He kisses her again with the same thoroughness.)
She: (Rather moved) Say something sweet.
He: (Frightened) Lord help me.
She: (Drawing away) Well, don’t—if it’s so hard.
He: Shall we pretend? So soon?
She: We haven’t the same standards of time as other people.
He: Already it’s—other people.
She: Let’s pretend.
He: No—I can’t—it’s sentiment.
She: You’re not sentimental?
He: No, I’m romantic—a sentimental person thinks things will last—a romantic person hopes against hope that they won’t. Sentiment is emotional.
She: And you’re not? (With her eyes half-closed.) You probably flatter yourself that that’s a superior attitude.
He: Well—Rosalind, Rosalind, don’t argue—kiss me again.
She: (Quite chilly now) No—I have no desire to kiss you.
He: (Openly taken aback) You wanted to kiss me a minute ago.
She: This is now.
He: I’d better go.
She: I suppose so.
(He goes toward the door.)
She: Oh!
(He turns.)
She: (Laughing) Score—Home Team: One hundred—Opponents: Zero.
(He starts back.)
She: (Quickly) Rain—no game.
(He goes out.)
(She goes quietly to the chiffonier, takes out a cigarette-case and hides it in the side drawer of a desk. Her mother enters, note-book in hand.) Mrs. Connage: Good—I’ve been wanting to speak to you alone before we go down-stairs.
Rosalind: Heavens! you frighten me!
Mrs. Connage: Rosalind, you’ve been a very expensive proposition.
Rosalind: (Resignedly) Yes.
Mrs. Connage: And you know your father hasn’t what he once had.
Rosalind: (Making a wry face) Oh, please don’t talk about money.
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