Читать книгу The Favourite Game - Leonard Cohen - Страница 15
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ОглавлениеHis father decided to rise from his chair.
‘I’m speaking to you, Lawrence!’
‘Your father’s speaking to you, Lawrence,’ his mother interpreted.
Breavman attempted one last desperate pantomime.
‘Listen to your father breathing.’
The elder Breavman calculated the expense of energy, accepted the risk, drove the back of his hand across his son’s face.
His lips were not too swollen to practise ‘Old Black Joe.’
They said she’d live. But he didn’t give it up. He’d be one extra.
