Цитата #752 из книги «"Этаж смерти" with W_cat»

“The injuries?” I said. “Sounded pretty unpleasant.”

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“Why can’t you tell anybody?” I asked him.

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“Maybe,” I said. “Why don’t you just call it up and see who answers?”

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“Because he’s dead,” I said. “I’m very sorry.”

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She was inside, flustered, chattering away like a kid going on vacation. Making lists out loud. Some kind of a mechanism to burn off the panic she was feeling. On Friday she’d been a rich idle woman married to a banker. Now on Monday a stranger who said the banker was dead was telling her to hurry up and run for her life.

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