"Burroughs, Edgar Rice - People That Time Forgot" - читать интересную книгу автора (Burroughs Edgar Rice)

never make love to them; I leave that to the numerous others
who do it infinitely better than I could hope to, and take my
pleasure out of girls' society in what seem to be more rational
ways--dancing, golfing, boating, riding, tennis, and the like.
Yet in the company of this half-naked little savage I found a
new pleasure that was entirely distinct from any that I ever
had experienced. When she touched me, I thrilled as I had
never before thrilled in contact with another woman. I could
not quite understand it, for I am sufficiently sophisticated
to know that this is a symptom of love and I certainly did not
love this filthy little barbarian with her broken, unkempt
nails and her skin so besmeared with mud and the green of
crushed foliage that it was difficult to say what color it
originally had been. But if she was outwardly uncouth, her
clear eyes and strong white, even teeth, her silvery laugh and
her queenly carriage, bespoke an innate fineness which dirt
could not quite successfully conceal.

The sun was low in the heavens when we came upon a little river
which emptied into a large bay at the foot of low cliffs.
Our journey so far had been beset with constant danger, as is
every journey in this frightful land. I have not bored you with
a recital of the wearying successions of attacks by the multitude
of creatures which were constantly crossing our path or
deliberately stalking us. We were always upon the alert; for
here, to paraphrase, eternal vigilance is indeed the price of life.

I had managed to progress a little in the acquisition of a
knowledge of her tongue, so that I knew many of the animals and
reptiles by their Caspakian names, and trees and ferns and grasses.
I knew the words for sea and river and cliff, for sky
and sun and cloud. Yes, I was getting along finely, and then
it occurred to me that I didn't know my companion's name; so I
pointed to myself and said, "Tom," and to her and raised my
eyebrows in interrogation. The girl ran her fingers into that mass
of hair and looked puzzled. I repeated the action a dozen times.

"Tom," she said finally in that clear, sweet, liquid voice. "Tom!"

I had never thought much of my name before; but when she spoke
it, it sounded to me for the first time in my life like a
mighty nice name, and then she brightened suddenly and tapped
her own breast and said: "Ajor!"

"Ajor!" I repeated, and she laughed and struck her palms together.

Well, we knew each other's names now, and that was some satisfaction.
I rather liked hers--Ajor! And she seemed to like mine, for she
repeated it.