A Sad Song Singing. Thomas B. Dewey
here alone all day, will it be all right if I play my guitar a little?”
“Sure.”
“Because I can get pretty lonely, just sitting around. But if I can play the guitar—”
“You can absolutely play the guitar as much as you want to.”
“All right,” she said.
She got up, holding the long robe off the floor, and started away. Then she came back, leaned over the bed and kissed me on the mouth, quickly, without warning.
“Thanks, Mac,” she said. “I’m sorry I cried.”
“Don’t be worrying about that,” I said. “Crying’s good for you, as long as you can stop when you have to.”
“Good night, Mac…”
She started off, then returned once more.
“Listen—you said something about—only two things are certain in life. What are they?”
“Oh—that’s an old cliché.”
“But what are the two things?”
“Death and taxes.”
“Death and taxes,” she said thoughtfully. “Death and taxes—I like that.”
“You’re among the few,” I said.
“Okay—‘night, now,” she said.
She waved her hand and ran into her own room, leaving the door open. I had the distinct impression that she went to bed happy because of death and taxes.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.