)?"
"Good of you (мило с вашей стороны)."
"Ever since I was a boy (с тех самых пор, как я был мальчиком), I've thought you the greatest novelist of our century (я считал, что вы величайший романист нашего века)."
reconstruct ['ri:kqns'trAkt], prove [pru:v], explain [Iks'pleIn], embarrass [Im'bxrqs], handkerchief ['hxNkqtSi:f], engage [In'geIG], propaganda [prOpq'gxndq], purpose ['pq:pqs], natural ['nxtS(q)r(q)l], tonsure ['tOnSq], mutilated ['mju:tIleItId], obscure [qb'skjuq], novelist ['nOv(q)lIst]
WHAT HAPPENED next I didn't hear from Paine but from Martins a long time afterwards, reconstructing the chain of events that did indeed—though not quite in the way he had expected—prove me to be a fool. Paine simply saw him to the head porter's desk and explained there, "This gentleman came in on the plane from London. Colonel Сalloway says he's to have a room." Having made that clear, he said, "Good evening, sir," and left. He was probably a bit embarrassed by Martins' bleeding lip.
"Had you already got a reservation, sir?" the porter asked.
"No. No, I don't think so," Martins said in a muffled voice holding his handkerchief to his mouth.
"I thought perhaps you might be Mr. Dexter. We had a room reserved for a week for Mr. Dexter."
Martins said, "Oh, I am Mr. Dexter." He told me later that it occurred to him that Lime might have engaged him a room in that name because perhaps it was Buck Dexter and not Rollo Martins who was to be used for propaganda purposes. A voice said at his elbow, "I'm so sorry you were not met at the plane, Mr. Dexter. My name's Crabbin."
The speaker was a stout middle-aged young man with a natural tonsure and one of the thickest pairs of horn-rimmed glasses that Martins had ever seen.
He went apologetically on, "One of our chaps happened to ring up Frankfurt and heard you were on the plane. H. Q. made one of their usual foolish mistakes and wired you were not coming. Something about Sweden but the cable was badly mutilated. Directly I heard from Frankfurt I tried to meet the plane, but I just missed you. You got my note?"
Martins held his handkerchief to his mouth and said obscurely, "Yes. Yes?"
"May I say at once, Mr. Dexter, how excited I am to meet you?"
"Good of you."
"Ever since I was a boy, I've thought you the greatest novelist of our century."
Martins winced (Мартинс поморщился; to wince — вздрагивать, морщиться /от боли/)! It was painful opening his mouth to protest (было болезненно открыть свой рот, чтобы протестовать). He took an angry look instead (он бросил: «взял» сердитый взгляд вместо этого) at Mr. Crabbin (на мистера Крэббина), but it was impossible to suspect that young man of a practical joke (но было невозможно заподозрить этого молодого человека в розыгрыше;