"Eddings, David - Regina's Song V2.0" - читать интересную книгу автора (Eddings David)job."
"It's full-time, isn't it?" I replied. "Of course it is," he replied sardonically. "A guy who works by the hour paces himself to make the job fit the time. If you bear down, I'll bet you could finish up in four or five hours a night, and if it starts to pile up, you could clear away the leftovers on Saturday." "And if you're really serious about getting an education, you can live at home and commute to the university," my mom added. "Your dad and I can't send you to Harvard, but we can give you a place to live and regular meals. That way, you won't have to rent an apartment or buy groceries." "Our big brother's going to get away from us after all," one of the twins lamented in mock sorrow. "Nothing lasts forever, Twink," I told her. "Who's going to tie our little shoes?" the other twin said. "Or glove our little hands?" the first girl added. "You'll both survive," I told them. "Be brave and strong and true, and you'll get by." They stuck their tongues out at me in perfect unison. "This is going to crowd you, Mark," Les warned me. "You won't have very much free time. Don't make the same mistake I made when I went there. I managed to party my way onto the flunk-out list in just two years.Ф to a bunch of half-drunk guys ranting about who's going to make it to the Rose Bowl doesn't thrill me. We can give the university a try I guess, and if it doesn't work out-ah, well." I filled in the gaps on my transcript that summer, and on a bright September morning, I drove down to the University of Washington to register. After I'd plodded through all the bureaucratic nonsense, I wandered the beaten paths to knowledge for a while-long beaten paths, I might add, since the campus measures about a mile in every direction. I finally found Padelford Hall, home of the English Department. After I'd located my classrooms, I drove back to Everett to get to work. I took a stab at the "full-bore" business the boss had mentioned, and I found that he was right. I cleared everything away in just under five hours. That made me feel better. Classes began the following Monday, and my first class, American Literature, started at eight-thirty. There was a kind of stricken silence in the classroom when the instructor entered. "It's Conrad!" I heard a strangled whisper just behind me. "Good morning, ladies and gentlemen," the white- haired professor said crisply. "Your regularly scheduled |
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