"I mean you didn't really know Walt," said Eloise at a quarter of five, lying on her back on the floor, a drink balanced upright on her small-breasted chest. "He was the only boy I ever knew that could make me laugh. I mean really laugh." She looked over at Mary Jane. "You remember that night--our last year--when that crazy Louise Hermanson busted in the room wearing that black brassiere she bought in Chicago?"
Mary Jane giggled. She was lying on her stomach on the couch, her chin on the armrest, facing Eloise. Her drink was on the floor, within reach.
"Well, he could make me laugh that way," Eloise said. "He could do it when he talked to me. He could do it over the phone. He could even do it in a letter. And the best thing about it was that he didn't even try to be funny--he just was funny." She turned her head slightly toward Mary Jane. "Hey, how 'bout throwing me a cigarette?"
Mary Jane giggled. She was lying on her stomach on the couch, her chin on the armrest, facing Eloise. Her drink was on the floor, within reach.
"Well, he could make me laugh that way," Eloise said. "He could do it when he talked to me. He could do it over the phone. He could even do it in a letter. And the best thing about it was that he didn't even try to be funny--he just was funny." She turned her head slightly toward Mary Jane. "Hey, how 'bout throwing me a cigarette?"
J. D. Salinger - Nueve Cuentos ("Uncle Wiggily in Connecticut")
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