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Потерянный уикэнд

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anymore, he hasn't.
I went over the apartment with a fine-toothed comb.
The places he can figure out!
Who is it? WHO IS IT?
Mrs. Foley. Come to clean up.
Well, not today. Does it have to be today?
I ought to change the sheets,
and it's my day to vacuum.
-Come on Monday.
-All right, Mr. Birnam. Is your brother in?
No, he isn't
What about my money? Didn't he leave my money?
-What money?
-My ten dollars. Didn't he leave it?
-Probably. And where would he leave it?
-In the kitchen.
-Where in the kitchen?
-In the sugar bowl.
Just a minute.
I'm sorry, Mrs. Foley.
It isn't there. He must have forgotten.
Oh, Putt! I wanted to do some shopping.
-You'll get it Monday.
-All right Mr. Birnam.
-Two bottles of rye.
-I'm sorry, Mr. Birnam.
What are you sorry about?
Your brother was in. He said he's not going to pay
for you anymore. That was the last time.
-Two bottles of rye.
-What brand?
You know what brand, Mr. Brophy. The cheapest.
None of that twelve year old,
aged-in-the-wood chichi. Not for me.
Liquor is all one, anyway.
-You want a bag?
-Yes, I want a bag.
Your brother said not to sell you anything
even if you did have the money to pay for it...
but I can't stop anybody, can I?
Not unless you're a minor.
I'm not a minor...
Mr. Brophy and just to ease your conscience,
I'm buying this to refill my cigarette lighter.
Yes, sir. Thank you.
-Good afternoon, Mrs. Deveridge.
-Hello, Mr. Birnam.
That's that nice young man who drinks.
How is my very good friend, Nat, today?
Yes, Mr. Birnam.
This being an espeically fine afternoon,
I have decided to ask for your hand in marriage.
-Look, Mr. Birnam...
-If that were to be your attitude, Nat...
I shall have to drown my sorrows
in a jigger of rye. Just one, that's all.
-Can't be done, Mr. Birnam.
-Can't?
Let me guess why.
My brother was here, undermining my financial structure.
I didn't tell him nothing about the wrist watch
you left here, or your cuff links.
Today, you'll be glad to know,
we can barter on a cash basis.
-One straight rye.
-That was the idea.
Don't wipe it away, Nat.
Let me have my little vicious circle.
You know the circle is the perfect geometric figure.
No end, no beginning...
-What time is it?
-Quarter of four.
Good. We have the whole afternoon together.
Will you let me know when it's a quarter of six.
It's very important.
I'm going to the country for a weekend with my brother.
You better take this along, Don. It's going to be cold on the farm.
Hello, Mr. Birnam.
Happy to have you back with the organization.
Hello, Gloria.
I wish I could take you along, Nat.
You...and all that goes with you.
Not that I'm cutting myself off from civilization altogether.
Now of course there arises the problem
of transportation into the country.
How to smuggle these two time bombs past the royal guard.
I'll roll one bottle in a copy of the Saturday Evening Post,
so my brother can discover it like that.
And I want him to discover it,
because that'll set his mind at ease.
The other bottle...Come here.
That one I'm tucking into my brother's suitcase.
He shall transport it himself,
without knowing it, of course.
Then, while he's greeting the caretaker,
I'll slide it out
and hide it in a hollow of the old apple tree.
Aw, Mr. Birnam, why don't you lay off
the stuff for a while?
Well, I may never touch it
while I'm there. Not a drop.
What you don't understand, all you you...
is that I've got to know it's around.
That I can have it if I need it. .
I can't be cut off completely. That's the devil.
That's what drives you crazy
Yeah. I know. I know a lot of guys like that.
They take a bottle and put it on the shelf.
All they want is just to look at it.
They won't even carry a corkscrew along,
just to make sure.
Then, all of a sudden...
they grab the bottle and bite off the neck.
Nat, one more reproving word
and I shall consult our lawyer about a divorce.
Now don't forget, quarter of six.
My
Потерянный уикэнд Потерянный уикэнд

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