"A fellow called Lime (парня по имени Лайм)," I said, and was astonished to see the tears start to this stranger's eyes (и был поражен увидеть, как слезы подступают к глазам этого незнакомца;
Martins stood there, till the end, close beside me (Мартинс стоял там, до конца, близко рядом со мной). He said to me later that as an old friend he didn't want to intrude (он сказал мне позднее, что, будучи старым другом /Лайма/, он не хотел навязываться) on these newer ones (этим более новым /друзьям/)—Lime's death belonged to them (смерть Лайма принадлежала им), let them have it (пусть она и будет у них). He was under the sentimental illusion (он питал сентиментальную иллюзию: «был под сентиментальной иллюзией») that Lime's life (что жизнь Лайма)—twenty years of it anyway (двадцать лет из нее во всяком случае)—belonged to him (принадлежала ему). As soon as the affair was over (как только дело было закончено;
shovel [SAvl], private ['praIvIt], business ['bIznqs], patient ['peIS(q)nt], suit [sju:t], obvious ['ObvIqs], companion [kqm'pxnjqn], astonish [q'stOnIS], genuine ['GenjuIn], except [Ik'sept], intrude [In'tru:d], sentimental [sentI'mentl], illusion [I'lu:Z(q)n], religious [rI'lIGqs], affair [q'feq], impatient [Im'peIS(q)nt], surround [sq'raund], entangle [In'txNgl], attempt [q'tempt]
It was just chance that they found the funeral in time—one patch in the enormous park where the snow had been shovelled aside and a tiny group were gathered, apparently bent on some very private business. A priest had finished speaking, his words coming secretively through the thin patient snow, and a coffin was on the point of being lowered into the ground. Two men in lounge suits stood at the graveside; one carried a wreath that he obviously had forgotten to drop on to the coffin, for his companion nudged his elbow so that he came to with a start and dropped the flowers. A girl stood a little way away with her hands over her face, and I stood twenty yards away by another grave watching with relief the last of Lime and noticing carefully who was there—just a man in a mackintosh I was to Martins. He came up to me and said, "Could you tell me who they are burying?"
"A fellow called Lime," I said, and was astonished to see the tears start to this stranger's eyes: he didn't look like a man who wept, nor was Lime the kind of man whom I thought likely to have mourners—genuine mourners with genuine tears. There was the girl of course, but one excepts women from all such generalisations.