Uncle Einar
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«I refuse,» he said. «And that takes but a _second_.»
«I've worked all morning,» she said, holding to her slender back, «and you won't help? It's drumming for a rain.»
«Let it rain,» he cried, morosely. «I'll not be pierced by lightning just to air your clothes.»
«But you're so quick at it.»
«Again, I refuse.» His vast tarpaulin wings hummed nervously behind his indignant back.
She gave him a slender rope on which were tied four dozen fresh-washed clothes. He turned it in his fingers with distaste. «So it's come to this,» he muttered, bitterly. «To this, to this, to this.» He almost wept angry and acid tears.
«Don't cry; you'll wet them down again,» she said. «Jump up, now, run them about.»
«Run them about.» His voice was hollow, deep, and terribly wounded. «I say: let it thunder, let it pour!»
«If it was a nice, sunny day I wouldn't ask,» she said, reasonably. «All my washing gone for nothing if you don't. They'll hang about the house―»
- Жанр
- Классическая проза
- Год написания
- 1947
- Язык
- en
- Размер FB2
- 17,0 КБ
- Добавлена