Читать книгу Barry Loser and the Holiday of Doom - Jim Smith - Страница 53

Bunky looked at Nancy, then at me, like a dog trying to decide which one of us was its real owner.

‘Thing is . . .’ he said, fiddling with a drawing pin sticking out of the wall.

I peered into his face, which he was wrinkling up like a piece of bubblegum, and wished I’d told him about Plonkton over the phone after all.