There were cars in front of the house. Four of them. Clifford Oslow cu перевод - There were cars in front of the house. Four of them. Clifford Oslow cu русский как сказать

There were cars in front of the hou

There were cars in front of the house. Four of them. Clifford Oslow cut across the lawn and headed for the back steps. But not soon enough. The door of a big red car opened and a woman came rushing after him. She was a little person, smaller even than Clifford himself. But she was fast. She reached him just as he was getting through the hedge.
"You're Mr. Oslow, aren't you?" she said. She pulled out a little book and a pencil and held them under his nose. "I've been trying to get her autograph all week," she explained. "I want you to get it f or me. Just drop the book in a mail-box. It's stamped and the address is on it."
And then she was gone and Clifford was standing there holding the book and pencil in his hand.
He put the autographbook in his pocket and hurried up the steps.
There was a lot of noise coming f rom the living-room. Several male voices, a strange woman's voice breaking through now and then, rising above the noise. And Julia's voice, rising above the noise, clear and kindly and very sure.
"Yes," she was saying. And, "I'm very glad." And, "People have been very generous to me."
She sounded tired.
Clif f ord leaned against the wall while he finished the sandwich and the beer. He left the empty bottle on the table, turned off the kitchen light and pushed easily on the hall door.
A man grabbed him by the arm and pushed him along the hall and into the parlor . «Here he is,» somebody shouted. "Here's Mr. Oslow!"
There were a half-a-dozen people there, all with notebooks and busy pens. Julia was in the big chair by the fireplace, looking plumper than usual in her new green dress.
She smiled at him affectionately but, it seemed to him, a little distantly. He'd noticed that breach in herglance many times lately. He hoped that it wasn't superiority, but he was afraid that it was.
"Hello, Clifford," she said.
"Hello, Julia," he answered.
He didn't get a chance to go over and kiss her. A reporter had him right against the wall. How did itseem to go to bed a teller' at the Gas Company and to wake up the husband of a best-selling novelist? Excellent, he told them. Was he going to give up his job?No, he wasn't. Had he heard the news that "Welcome Tomorrow" was going to be translated into Turkish? No, he hadn't.
And then the woman came over. The one whose voice he'd heard back in the kitchen where he wished he'd stayed.
"How", she inquired briskly, "did you like the story?"
Clifford didn't answer immediately. He just looked at the woman. Everyone became very quiet. And everyone looked at him. The woman repeated the question. Clifford knew what he wanted to say. "I liked it very much," he wanted to say and then run. But theywouldn't let him run. They'd make him stay. And ask him more questions. Which he couldn't answer.
"I haven't," he mumbled, "had an opportunity to read it yet. But I'm going to," he promised. And then came a sudden inspiration. "I'm going to read it now!" There was a copy on the desk by the door. Clifford grabbed it and raced for the front stairs.
Before he reached the second flight, though, he could hear the woman's voice on the hall phone. "At last", she was saying, "we have discovered aї adult American who has not read "Welcome Tomorrow". He is, of all people, Clifford Oslow, white, 43, a native ,of this city and the husband of..."
On the second floor Clifford reached his study, turned on the light over the table and dropped into the chair before it.
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There were cars in front of the house. Four of them. Clifford Oslow cut across the lawn and headed for the back steps. But not soon enough. The door of a big red car opened and a woman came rushing after him. She was a little person, smaller even than Clifford himself. But she was fast. She reached him just as he was getting through the hedge. "You're Mr. Oslow, aren't you?" she said. She pulled out a little book and a pencil and held them under his nose. "I've been trying to get her autograph all week," she explained. "I want you to get it f or me. Just drop the book in a mail-box. It's stamped and the address is on it." And then she was gone and Clifford was standing there holding the book and pencil in his hand. He put the autographbook in his pocket and hurried up the steps. There was a lot of noise coming f rom the living-room. Several male voices, a strange woman's voice breaking through now and then, rising above the noise. And Julia's voice, rising above the noise, clear and kindly and very sure. "Yes," she was saying. And, "I'm very glad." And, "People have been very generous to me." She sounded tired. Clif f ord leaned against the wall while he finished the sandwich and the beer. He left the empty bottle on the table, turned off the kitchen light and pushed easily on the hall door. A man grabbed him by the arm and pushed him along the hall and into the parlor . «Here he is,» somebody shouted. "Here's Mr. Oslow!" There were a half-a-dozen people there, all with notebooks and busy pens. Julia was in the big chair by the fireplace, looking plumper than usual in her new green dress. She smiled at him affectionately but, it seemed to him, a little distantly. He'd noticed that breach in herglance many times lately. He hoped that it wasn't superiority, but he was afraid that it was. "Hello, Clifford," she said. "Hello, Julia," he answered. He didn't get a chance to go over and kiss her. A reporter had him right against the wall. How did itseem to go to bed a teller' at the Gas Company and to wake up the husband of a best-selling novelist? Excellent, he told them. Was he going to give up his job?No, he wasn't. Had he heard the news that "Welcome Tomorrow" was going to be translated into Turkish? No, he hadn't. And then the woman came over. The one whose voice he'd heard back in the kitchen where he wished he'd stayed. "How", she inquired briskly, "did you like the story?" Clifford didn't answer immediately. He just looked at the woman. Everyone became very quiet. And everyone looked at him. The woman repeated the question. Clifford knew what he wanted to say. "I liked it very much," he wanted to say and then run. But theywouldn't let him run. They'd make him stay. And ask him more questions. Which he couldn't answer. "I haven't," he mumbled, "had an opportunity to read it yet. But I'm going to," he promised. And then came a sudden inspiration. "I'm going to read it now!" There was a copy on the desk by the door. Clifford grabbed it and raced for the front stairs. Before he reached the second flight, though, he could hear the woman's voice on the hall phone. "At last", she was saying, "we have discovered aї adult American who has not read "Welcome Tomorrow". He is, of all people, Clifford Oslow, white, 43, a native ,of this city and the husband of..." On the second floor Clifford reached his study, turned on the light over the table and dropped into the chair before it.
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Результаты (русский) 2:[копия]
Скопировано!
Существовали автомобилей в передней части дома. Четыре из них. Clifford Oslow пересекала лужайку и направился шаги назад. Но не достаточно скоро. Дверь большой красной машине открылась , и женщина , прибежал вслед за ним. Она была немного человек, меньше , чем даже сам Клиффорд. Но она была быстро. Она дошла до него так же , как он получал через изгороди.
"Вы мистер Oslow, не ​​так ли?" она сказала. Она достала маленькую книжку и карандаш и держал их под нос. "Я пытался получить ее автограф всю неделю," объяснила она. "Я хочу , чтобы вы это F или меня. Просто поместите книгу в почтовый ящик. Это штампованные и адрес на нем."
А потом она ушла и Клиффорд стоял держа книгу и карандаш в его руке.
Он положил автографкнига в карман и поспешил вверх по ступенькам.
был много шума наступающем F Rom в гостиную. Несколько голосов мужского пола, голос незнакомой женщиной в прорыве сейчас и потом, поднимаясь над шумом. И голос Джулии, возвышающейся над шумом, ясно и любезно и очень точно.
"Да," она говорит. И, "я очень рад." И, "Люди были очень щедры ко мне."
Ее голос звучал усталым.
Клиф е ога прислонился к стене , пока он закончил бутерброд и пиво. Он оставил пустую бутылку на стол, выключил кухонный свет и легко толкнул в дверь зала.
Человек схватил его за руку и толкнул его по коридору и в комнату. «Вот он» , кто - то крикнул. "Вот г - н Oslow!"
Были полтора-десятка людей там, все с блокнотами и ручками занятых. Джулия была в большом кресле у камина, глядя пополнела , чем обычно , в своем новом зеленом платье.
Она улыбнулась ему ласково , но, как ему казалось, немного отстраненно. Он заметил , что брешь в herglance много раз в последнее время. Он выразил надежду , что это не превосходство, но он боялся , что это было.
"Здравствуйте, Клиффорд," сказала она.
"Привет, Джулия," ответил он.
Он не получил шанс поехать снова и поцеловать ее. Репортер был его прямо к стене. Как itseem ложиться спать кассира "в газовой компании и разбудить мужа бестселлером романиста? Отлично, сказал он им. Был ли он собирается бросить свою работу? Нет, он не был. Если бы он услышал новость , что «Добро пожаловать завтра» будет переведен на турецкий язык ? Нет, у него не было.
А потом женщина подошла. Тот , чей голос он слышал еще в кухне , где он хотел бы он остался.
"Как", спросила она бодро, "вам понравился рассказ?"
Клиффорд не сразу ответил. Он просто посмотрел на женщину. Все стало очень тихо. И все смотрели на него. Женщина повторила вопрос. Клиффорд знал , что он хотел сказать. "Я это очень понравилось" , он хотел сказать , а затем запустить. Но theywouldn't пусть бежать. Они заставить его остаться. И задать ему несколько вопросов. Который он не мог ответить.
"Я не," пробормотал он, "имел возможность прочитать его еще. Но я буду," пообещал он. А потом внезапно вдохновение. "Я буду читать это сейчас!" Был копия на столе у двери. Clifford схватил его и бросился к парадной лестнице.
Перед тем как он достиг второй полет, хотя, он мог слышать голос женщины по залу телефона. "Наконец -то ", она говорит, "мы обнаружили aї взрослый американец , который не читал" Welcome Завтра ". Он, из всех людей, Clifford Oslow, белый, 43, родом, из этого города и муж. .. "
на втором этаже Clifford достиг своего кабинета, включил свет над столом и опустился в кресло перед ним.
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