7 shorts stories more by O. Henry. Книга для чтения на английском языке

“I’d love to go, Mr. Farrington. Coney will be all right, although we did live here |хотя мы и жили| with rich people for a week.”

They could hear the night noises of the hot city. Inside the Hotel Lotus it was cool. The waiter stood near, ready to get anything they asked for.

Madame Beaumont started up to her room for the last time.

And he said, “Forget that ‘Harold Farrington,’ will you? McManus is the name—James McManus. Some call me Jimmy.”

“Good night, Jimmy,” said Madame.

The Count |Граф| and the Wedding Guest

Andy Donovan had his dinner each evening in the house on Second Avenue where he lived in a furnished room |в арендованной меблированной комнате|. One evening at dinner he met a new guest, a young lady, Miss Conway.

Miss Conway was small and quiet. She was wearing a plain brown dress. She seemed interested in very little |мало что ее интересовало| except her dinner, and her dinner did not interest her very much. She looked up at Mr. Donovan and spoke his name, and then began to eat again.

Mr. Donovan had a smile that everyone liked. He smiled at her and then thought no more |и больше не думал| about her.

Two weeks later Andy was sitting outside the house enjoying the cool evening. He heard a movement behind him. He turned his head, and could not turn it back |отвернуться| again.

Coming out of the door was Miss Conway. She was wearing a night-black dress of soft, thin cloth. Her hat was black. She was putting black gloves on her hands. There was no white and no color |Не было ни белого, ни какого-либо другого цвета| anywhere about her. All black. Someone in her family had died. Mr. Donovan was certain |был уверен| about that.

Her rich golden hair lay soft and thick at the back of her neck. Her face was not really pretty, but her large gray eyes made it almost beautiful. She looked up into the sky with an expression of sadness.

All black, readers. Think of her. All black, and that golden hair, and looking sadly far away.

Mr. Donovan suddenly decided to think about Miss Conway. He stood up.

“It’s a fine, clear evening |Какой прекрасный и безоблачный вечер|, Miss Conway,” he said.

“It is to them with the heart to enjoy it |Лишь для тех, кто может ему радоваться|, Mr. Donovan,” said Miss Conway. She took a deep slow breath.

“I hope no one—no one of your family—has died?”

“Death has taken |Смерть забрала|,” said Miss Conway, “not one of my family, but one who—I must not speak of my troubles to you, Mr. Donovan.”

“Why not, Miss Conway? Perhaps I could understand.”

Miss Conway smiled a little smile. And oh, her face was sadder than when she was not smiling.

“Laugh and the world laughs with you,” she said. “But the world is not interested in sadness. I have learned that, Mr. Donovan. I have no friends in this city. But you have been kind to me. Thank you for it.”

He had done nothing except offer her the salt at dinner |Он не сделал ничего доброго в ее отношении, кроме как предложил ей соль за ужином|.

“It’s not easy to be alone in New York,” said Mr. Donovan. “But when New York is friendly, it’s very friendly. Shall we take a little walk in the park? It might be good for you.”

“Thanks, Mr. Donovan. I would enjoy it. But I don’t want my sadness to make you sad.”

They went through the open gates of the park and found a quiet seat.

“We were going to be married |Мы собирались пожениться| soon,” said Miss Conway. “He was a real Count. He had land and a big house in Italy. Count Fernando Mazzini was his name. My father didn’t want me to marry him. Once we ran away |убежали| to get married, and my father followed and took me home. I was afraid they were going to fight |собирались драться|.

“But then my father agreed. Fernando went to Italy to make everything ready for me. My father’s |was| very proud. Fernando wanted to give me several thousand dollars for new clothes, and my father said no. When Fernando went away, I came to the city. I work in a shop.

“Three days ago I had a letter from Italy. It said that Fernando had been killed |был убит|.