Испалец в колесе (сборник на русском и английском)

Mary Atkins pruned herselves in the mirage, running her hand wantanly through her large blond hair. Her tight dress was cut low revealingly three or four blackheads, carefully scrubbed on her chess. She addled the final touches to her makeup and fixed her teeth firmly in her head. «He's going to want me tonight» she thought and pictured his hamsome black curly face and jaundice. She looked at her clocks impatiently and went to the window, then leapt into her favorite armchurch, picking up the paper she glassed at the headlines. «MORE NEGOES IN THE CONGO» it read, and there was, but it was the Stop Press which corked her eye. «JACK THE NIPPLE STRIKE AGAIN.» She went cold all over, it was Sydnees and he'd left the door open.

«Hello lover» he said slapping her on the butter.

«Oh you did give me a start Sydnees» she shrieked laughing arf arfily.

«I always do my love» he replied jumping on all fours. She joined him and they galloffed quickly downstairs into a harrased cab. «Follow that calf» yelped Sydnees pointing a rude fingure.

«White hole mate!» said the scabbie.

«Why are we bellowing that card Sydnees?» inquired Mary fashionably.

«He might know where the party» explained Sydnees.

«Oh I see» said Mary looking up at him as if to say.

The journey parssed pleasantly enough with Sydnees and Mary pointing out places of interest to the scab driver; such as Buckinghell Parcel, the Horses of Parliamint, the Chasing of the Guards. One place of particularge interest was the Statue of Eric in Picanniny Surplass.

«They say that if you stand there long enough you'll meet a friend» said Sydnees knowingly, «that's if your not run over.»

«God Save the Queens» shouted the scabbie as they passed the Parcel for maybe the fourth time.

«Jack the Nipple» said Womlbs puffing deeply on his wife, «is not only a vicious murderer but a sex meany of the lowest orgy.» Then my steamed collic relit his pig and walkered to the windy of his famous flat in Bugger St in London where it all happened. I pondled on his statemouth for a mormon then turding sharply I said. «But how do you know Womlbs?»

«Alibabba my dead Whopper, I have seen the film» I knew him toby right for I had only read the comic.

That evenig we had an unexpeckled visitor, Inspectre Basil, I knew him by his tell-tale unicorn.

«Ah Inspectre Basil mon cher amie» said Womlbs spotting him at once. «What brings you to our humble rich establishment?»

«I come on behave of thousands» the Inspectre said sitting quietly on his operation.

«I feel l know why you are here Basil» said Womlbs eyeing he leg. «It's about Jock the Cripple is it not?» The Jnspectre smiled smiling.

«How did you guess?» I inquired all puzzle.

«Alecguiness my deep Whopper, the mud on the Inspectre's left, and also the buttock on his waistbox is misting.»

The Inspectre looked astoundagast and fidgeted nervously from one fat to the other. «You neville sieze to amass me Mr Womlbs.»

«A drink genitalmen» I ventured, «before we get down to the businose in hand in hand?» They both knotted in egremont and I went to the cocky cabinet. «What would you prepare Basil, Bordom '83 or?»

«I'd rather have rather have rather» said the Inspectre who was a gourmless. After a drink and a few sam leeches Womlbs got up and paced the floor up and down up and down pacing.

«Why are you pacing the floor up and down up and down pacing dear Womlbs» I inquiet.

«I'm thinking alowed my deaf Whopper.» I looked over at the Inspectre and knew that he couldn't hear him either.

«Guess who's out of jail Mr Womlbs» the Inspectre said subbenly. Womlbs looked at me knowingly.

«Eric Morley?» I asked, they shook their heaths. «Oxo Whitney?» I quart, again they shoot their heaps. «Rygo Hargraves?» I wimpied.

«No my dear Whopper, OXO WHITNEY!» shouted Womlbs leaping to his foot. I loked at him admiring this great man all the morphia.

Meanwire in a ghasly lit street in Chelthea, a darkly clocked man with a fearful weapon, creeped about serging for revenge on the women of the streets for giving him the dreadfoot V.D. (Valentine Dyall). «I'll kill them all womb by womb» he muffled between scenes. He was like a black shadow or negro on that dumb foggy night as he furtively looked for his neck victim. His minds wandered back to his childhook, remembering a vague thing or two like his mother and farmer and how they had beaten him for eating his sister. «I'm demented» he said checking his dictionary, «I should bean at home on a knife like these.» He turned into a dim darky and spotted a light.