Ira Levin - Rosemary's Baby

That night Rosemary awoke and found Guy sitting beside her smoking in the dark. She asked him what was the matter. „Nothing,“ he said. „A little insomnia, that’s all.“
Roman’s stories of old-time stars, Rosemary thought, might have depressed him by reminding him that his own career was lagging behind Henry Irving’s and Forbes-Whosit’s. His going back for more of the stories might have been a form of masochism.
She touched his arm and told him not to worry.
„About what?“
„About anything.“
„All right,“ he said, „I won‘t.“
„You’re the greatest,“ she said. „You know? You are. And it’s all going to come out right. You’re going to have to learn karate to get rid of the photographers.“
He smiled in the glow of his cigarette.
„Any day now,“ she said. „Something big. Something worthy of you.“
„I know,“ he said. „Go to sleep, honey.“
„Okay. Watch the cigarette.“
„I will.“
„Wake me if you can’t sleep.“
„Sure.“
„I love you.“
„I love you, Ro.“

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Mám tuhle knížku někde doma, řádně omatlanou a očtenou. Bojím se u ní pokaždý a taky si pokaždý říkám, jak je to skvěle napsaný, jak se to krásně stupňuje, jak tam autor nechává drobnosti, který zneklidňujou, nejdřív jen trošku, a pak dost. Opisovala jsem z ní dnes v knihovně, původně jsem myslela na jinou ukázku, ale nakonec tahle - chvilka uprostřed noci, kdy je všechno tak, jak má.
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