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. I was about to swing left to the Causeway when Hazel
stopped me. "Uh? What, dear?"
"Your trousers."
"Is my fly open? No, it's not."
"We're going to cremate your trousers; it's too late for burial. And that
shirtjacket."
"I thought you were itchy to get to the Raffles?"
"I am but it will take me only five minutes to put you into a new siren
suit."
(Reasonable. My trousers were so dirty that I was beginning to risk being
cited as a menace to public health. And Hazel did know what I preferred for
everyday clothing, as I had explained to her that I would not wear shorts even
if every other adult male in Luna City was in shorts-as most of them were. I'm
not morbidly self-conscious about my missing foot ... but I do want full-length
trousers to conceal my prosthesis. It's my private problem; I do not choose to
exhibit it.)
"All right." I agreed. "But let's buy the one nearest the door."
Hazel did get us in and out in ten minutes, buying me three two-piece
rumpus suits all alike save for color. The price was right, as first she
dickered it down to an acceptable amount, then rolled double or nothing, and
won. She thanked the clerk and tipped him the price of a drink, then exited
looking cheerful.
She said to me, "You look smart, dear."
I thought so, too. Those three suits were lime green, powder pink, and
lavender
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