«A Clockwork Orange»

Загрузить книгу на мобильный телефон.

We all went smecking into the room
with a light on, and there was this devotchka sort of cowering, a young
pretty bit of sharp with real horrorshow groodies on her, and with her was
this chelloveck who was her moodge, youngish too with horn-rimmed otchkies
on him, and on a table was a typewriter and all papers scattered everywhere,
but there was one little pile of paper like that must have been what he'd
already typed, so here was another intelligent type bookman type like that
we'd fillied with some hours back, but this one was a writer not a reader.
Anyway, he said:
"What is this? Who are you? How dare you enter my house without
permission." And all the time his goloss was trembling and his rookers too.
So I said:
"Never fear. If fear thou hast in thy heart, O brother, pray banish it
forthwith." Then Georgie and Pete went out to find the kitchen, while old
Dim waited for orders, standing next to me with his rot wide open. "What is
this, then?" I said, picking up the pile like of typing from off of the
table, and the horn-rimmed moodge said, dithering:
"That's just what I want to know. What is this? What do you want? Get
out at once before I throw you out." So poor old Dim, masked like Peebee
Shelley, had a good loud smeck at that, roaring like some animal.
"It's a book," I said. "It's a book what you are writing." I made the
old goloss very coarse. "I have always had the strongest admiration for them
as can write books." Then I looked at its top sheet, and there was the
name--A C L O C K W O R K O R A N G E--and I said: "That's a fair gloopy
title. Who ever heard of a clockwork orange?" Then I read a malenky bit out
loud in a sort of very high type preaching goloss: "--The attempt to impose
upon man, a creature of growth and capable of sweetness, to ooze juicily at
the last round the bearded lips of God, to attempt to impose, I say, laws
and conditions appropriate to a mechanical creation, against this I raise my
sword-pen--" Dim made the old lip-music at that and I had to smeck myself.
Then I started to tear up the sheets and scatter the bits over the floor,
and this writer moodge went sort of bezoomny and made for me with his
zoobies clenched and showing yellow and his nails ready for me like claws.
So that was old Dim's cue and he went grinning and going er er and a a a for
this veck's dithering rot, crack crack, first left fistie then right, so
that our dear old droog the red--red vino on tap and the same in all places,
like it's put out by the same big firm--started to pour and spot the nice
clean carpet and the bits of this book that I was still ripping away at,
razrez razrez. All this time this devotchka, his loving and faithful wife,
just stood like froze by the fireplace, and then she started letting out
little malenky creeches, like in time to the like music of old Dim's fisty
work.