Загадочная история Бенджамина Баттона / The Curious Case of Benjamin Button

It was a gorgeous evening. It was almost impossible not to be affected by the beauty of the sky—almost.

“There’s a great future in our business,” Roger Button was saying. He was not a romantic man—his aesthetic sense was rudimentary.

“But old fellows like me can’t learn new tricks,” he continued. “It’s you youngsters with energy and vitality that have the great future before you.”

They pulled up behind a handsome carriage whose passengers were disembarking at the door. A lady got out, then an elderly gentleman, then another beautiful young lady.

Blood rose into Benjamin’s cheeks and there was a steady thumping in his ears. It was first love. The girl was slender and frail[11 - the girl was slender and frail—девочка была стройная и хрупкая], with hair that was ashen under the moon and honey-coloured under the gas lamps of the porch.

Roger Button leaned over to his son. “That,” he said, “is young Hildegarde Moncrief, the daughter of General Moncrief.

Benjamin nodded coldly. “Dad, you might introduce me to her.”

They approached a group, of which Miss Moncrief was the centre. She curtsied low before Benjamin. Yes, he might have a dance. He thanked her and walked away.

The interval until the time for his turn seemed interminable. He stood close to the wall silent, watching with murderous eyes the young men of Baltimore as they surrounded Hildegarde Moncrief. Their curling brown whiskers made him feel sick.

But when his own time came and he drifted with her to the music of the latest waltz from Paris, his jealousies and anxieties melted like snow.

“You and your brother got here just as we did, didn’t you?” asked

Hildegarde, looking up at him with her bright blue eyes.

Benjamin hesitated. If she took him for his father’s brother, would it be best to tell her the truth? He remembered his experience at Yale, so he decided against it. It would be rude to contradict a lady.

“I like men of your age,” Hildegarde told him. “Young boys are so idiotic. They tell me how much champagne they drink at college, and how much money they lose playing cards. Men of your age know how to appreciate women.”

Benjamin was about to propose to her, with an effort he choked back the impulse.

“You’re just the romantic age,” she continued—”fifty.