دانلود رمان انگلیسی “خانه دار قمری”

In a room packed to the gills with New York mucky-mucks—Truman Capote was tucked into a corner of the couch; Arthur Miller, sans Marilyn, stood smoking by the window—I had my attention fixed on a waitress. I hadn’t noticed her peeping at me until Joe and I went to stand at the fireplace beside Harry and Glenys. Scanning the party guests, I landed on her and froze, the champagne glass cold in my clammy palm. Harry began delivering his toast beside me, but I didn’t hear a word. Joe’s hand rested, warm and firm, at the small of my back. The waitress stood apart from the crowd, tall and slim, holding her empty tray against her thighs. She wore the typical uniform: black blouse, black pencil skirt, tawny hair pulled into a chignon. Her eyes were narrowed in my direction. I knew her name: Beverly.