“Read!” she demands again, climbing the bench in the waiting room with surprising agility.
Ove reluctantly sits about a yard away on the bench.
The three-year-old sighs impatiently and disappears from sight,
her head reappearing seconds later under his arm with her hands leaning against his knee for support
and her nose pressed against the colorful pictures in the book.
“Once upon a time there was a little train,” reads Ove, with all the enthusiasm of someone reciting a tax statement.
Then he turns the page. The three-year-old stops him and goes back. The seven-year-old shakes her head tiredly.
“You have to say what happens on that page as well. And do voices,” she says.
Ove stares at her. “What bloo—” He clears his throat midsentence. “What voices?” he corrects himself.
“Fairy-tale voices,” replies the seven-year-old. “You swored,” the three-year-old announces with glee.
“Did not,” says Ove. “Yes,” says the three-year-old. “We’re not doing any bloo—we’re not doing any voices!”
“Maybe you’re no good at reading stories,” notes the seven-year-old.
전체재생
다음페이지
문장검색