Испалец в колесе (сборник на русском и английском)

Mary Atkins pruned herselves in the mirrage running her hand wantanly through her large blond hair. Her tight dress was cut low revealingly three or four more blackheads carefully scrubbed on her chess. Business had been bad lately and what with the cost of limping. She hurriedly tucked in her gooseberries and opened the door. «No wonder business is bad» she remarked as she caught size of her hump in the hall mirror. «My warts are showing.» With a carefree yodel she slept into the street and caught a cab to her happy humping grounds. «That Sydnees's nothing but a pimple living on me thus» she thought «lazing about day in day off, and here's me plowing my train up and down like Soft Arthur and you know how soft Arthur.» She got off as uterus at Nats Cafe and took up her position. 'They'll never even see me in this fog' she muttered switching on her lamps. Just then a blasted Policemat walked by. «Blasted Policemat» she shouted, but luckily he was deaf. «Blasted deaf Policemat» she shouted. «Why don't yer gerra job!»

Little did she gnome that the infamous Jack the Nipple was only a few streets away. «I hope that blasted Jack the Nipple isn't only a few streets away,» she said, «he's not right in the heads.»

«How much lady» a voice shocked her from the doorways of Nats. Lucky for him there was a sale on so. they soon retched an agreament. A very high class genderman she thought as they walked quickly together down the now famous Carringto Average.

«I tell yer she whore a good woman Mr Womlbs sir» said Sydnees Aspinall.

«I quite believe you Mr Asterpoll, after all you knew her better than me and dear old buddy friend Whopper, but we are not here to discuss her merits good or otherwives, we are here, Mr Asronaute, to discover as much information as we can about the unfortunate and untidy death of Mary Atkins.» Womlbs looked the man in the face effortlessly.

«The name's Aspinall guvnor» said the wretched man.

«I'm deleware of your name Mr Astracan.» Womlbs said looking as if he was going to smash him.

«Well as long as you know,» said Aspinall wishing he'd gone to Safely Safely Sunday Trip. Womlbs took down the entrails from Aspinall as quickly as he could, I could see that they weren't on the same waveleg.

«The thing that puddles me Womlbs,» I said when we were alone, «is what happened to Oxo Whitney?» Womlbs looged at me intently, I could see that great mind was thinking as his tufted eyepencil knit toboggen, his strong jew jutted out, his nosepack flared, and the limes on his furheads wrinkled.

«That's a question Whopper.» he said and I marveled at his grammer. Next day Womlbs was up at the crack of dorchester, he didn't evening look at the moaning papers. As yewtree I fixed his breakfat of bogard, a gottle of geer, a slice of jewish bread, three eggs with little liars on, two rashes of bacon, a bowel of Rice Krustchovs, a fresh grapeful, mushrudes, some freed tomorrows, a basket of fruits, and a cup of teens.

«Breakfeet are ready» I showbody «It's on the table.» But to my supplies he'd already gone. «Blast the wicker basket yer grannie sleeps in.» I thought «Only kidding Shamrock» I said remembering his habit of hiding in the cupboard.

That day was an anxious one for me as I waited for news of my dear friend, I became fretful and couldn't finish my Kennomeat, it wasn't like Shamrock to leave me here all by my own, lonely; without him I was at large. I rang up a few close itamate friends but they didn't know either, even Inspectre Basil didn't know, and if anybody should know, Inspectre Basil should 'cause he's a Police. I was a week lately when I saw him again and I was shocked by his apeerless, he was a dishovelled rock. «My God Womlbs» I cried «My God, what on earth have you been?»

«All in good time Whopper» he trousered. «Wait till I get my breast back.»

I poked the fire and warmed his kippers, when he had mini-coopered he told me a story which to this day I can't remember.

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