"I work, I have to sleep," Mr. Yunioshi shouted. "But always you are ringing mybell…"

Id been living in the house about a week when I noticed that the mailboxbelonging to Apt. 2 had a name-slot fitted with a curious card. Printed, ratherCartier-formal, it read: Miss Holiday Golightly; and, underneath, in the corner,Traveling. It nagged me like a tune: Miss Holiday Golightly, Traveling.

"Oh, dont be angry, you dear litwww.99lib.nettle man: I wont do it again. And if you promisenot to be angry" -- her voice was coming nearer, she was climbing the stairs -- "Imight let you take those pictures we mentioned."

Two men came into the bar, and it seemed the moment to leave. Joe Bell followedme to the door. He caught my wrist again. "Do you believe it?"

"When?" he said.

The girl laughed. "Sometime," she answered, slurring th９9ｌib.neｔe word.

"I mean about Africa."

"That you didnt want to touch her?"

One night, it was long past twelve, I woke up at the sound of Mr. Yunioshi callingdown the stairs. Since he lived on the top floor, his voice fell through the wholehouse, exasperated and stern. "Miss Golightly! I must protest!"

By now Id left my bed and opened the door an inch. I could hear Mr. Yunioshissilence: hear, because it was accompanied by 九九藏书网an audible change of breath.

At that moment I couldnt seem to remember the story, only the image of herriding away on a horse. "Anyway, shes gone."

Outside, the rain had stopped, there was only a mist of it in the air, so I turnedthe corner and walked along the street where the brownstone stands. It is a streetwith trees that in the summer make cool patterns on the pavement; but now theleaves were yellowed and mostly down, and the rain had ma藏书网de them slippery, theyskidded underfoot. The brownstone is midway in the block, next to a church where ablue tower-clock tolls the hours. It has been sleeked up since my day; a smart blackdoor has replaced the old frosted glass, and gray elegant shutters frame thewindows. No one I remember still lives there except Madame Sapphia Spanella, ahusky coloratura who every afternoon went roller-skating in Central Park. I knowshes still there because I went up the stｈｔtｐ://ｗｗｗ.９９ｌｉb.neｔeps and looked at the mailboxes. It was oneof these mailboxes that had first made me aware of Holly Golightly.

"You cannot go on ringing my bell. You must please, please have yourself a keymade."

The voice that came back, welling up from the bottom of the stairs, was sillyyoungand self-amused. "Oh, darling, I am sorry. I lost the goddamn key."

"But I lose them all."

"Yeah," he said, opening the door. "Just gone."