{"id":"01KG6FVJ7BYZESFAAH4TBH9PSA","cid":"bafkreib2tyvaftfln7wwkwcfx23rdji5ps4fd32ht6n6gqfvg3uuhfijsm","type":"chunk","properties":{"end_line":2982,"extracted_at":"2026-01-30T03:41:20.744Z","extracted_by":"structure-extraction-lambda","label":"Chunk 3","source_file":"01KG6FT59BXAZ3C5HRJ6SW8F58","start_line":2928,"text":"anxious as hell to see it, too. But I didn't enjoy it much. I just don't see what's so\nmarvelous about Sir Laurence Olivier, that's all. He has a terrific voice, and he's a helluva\nhandsome guy, and he's very nice to watch when he's walking or dueling or something,\nbut he wasn't at all the way D.B. said Hamlet was. He was too much like a goddam\ngeneral, instead of a sad, screwed-up type guy. The best part in the whole picture was\nwhen old Ophelia's brother--the one that gets in the duel with Hamlet at the very end--\nwas going away and his father was giving him a lot of advice. While the father kept\ngiving him a lot of advice, old Ophelia was sort of horsing around with her brother,\ntaking his dagger out of the holster, and teasing him and all while he was trying to look\ninterested in the bull his father was shooting. That was nice. I got a big bang out of that.\nBut you don't see that kind of stuff much. The only thing old Phoebe liked was when\nHamlet patted this dog on the head. She thought that was funny and nice, and it was.\nWhat I'll have to do is, I'll have to read that play. The trouble with me is, I always have to\nread that stuff by myself. If an actor acts it out, I hardly listen. I keep worrying about\nwhether he's going to do something phony every minute.\nAfter I got the tickets to the Lunts' show, I took a cab up to the park. I should've\ntaken a subway or something, because I was getting slightly low on dough, but I wanted\nto get off that damn Broadway as fast as I could.\nIt was lousy in the park. It wasn't too cold, but the sun still wasn't out, and there\ndidn't look like there was anything in the park except dog crap and globs of spit and cigar\nbutts from old men, and the benches all looked like they'd be wet if you sat down on\n\n\nthem. It made you depressed, and every once in a while, for no reason, you got goose\nflesh while you walked. It didn't seem at all like Christmas was coming soon. It didn't\nseem like anything was coming. But I kept walking over to the Mall anyway, because\nthat's where Phoebe usually goes when she's in the park. She likes to skate near the\nbandstand. It's funny. That's the same place I used to like to skate when I was a kid.\nWhen I got there, though, I didn't see her around anywhere. There were a few kids\naround, skating and all, and two boys were playing Flys Up with a soft ball, but no\nPhoebe. I saw one kid about her age, though, sitting on a bench all by herself, tightening\nher skate. I thought maybe she might know Phoebe and could tell me where she was or\nsomething, so I went over and sat down next to her and asked her, \"Do you know Phoebe\nCaulfield, by any chance?\"\n\"Who?\" she said. All she had on was jeans and about twenty sweaters. You could\ntell her mother made them for her, because they were lumpy as hell.\n\"Phoebe Caulfield. She lives on Seventy-first Street. She's in the fourth grade,\nover at--\"\n\"You know Phoebe?\"\n\"Yeah, I'm her brother. You know where she is?\"\n\"She's in Miss Callon's class, isn't she?\" the kid said.\n\"I don't know. Yes, I think she is.\"\n\"She's prob'ly in the museum, then. We went last Saturday,\" the kid said.\n\"Which museum?\" I asked her.\nShe shrugged her shoulders, sort of. \"I don't know,\" she said. \"The museum.\"\n\"I know, but the one where the pictures are, or the one where the Indians are?\"\n\"The one where the Indians.\"\n\"Thanks a lot,\" I said. I got up and started to go, but then I suddenly remembered\nit was Sunday. \"This is Sunday,\" I told the kid.\nShe looked up at me. \"Oh. Then she isn't.\"\nShe was having a helluva time tightening her skate. She didn't have any gloves on\nor anything and her hands were all red and cold. I gave her a hand with it. Boy, I hadn't\nhad a skate key in my hand for years. It didn't feel funny, though. You could put a skate\nkey in my hand fifty years from now, in pitch dark, and I'd still know what it is. She\nthanked me and all when I had it tightened for her. She was a very nice, polite little kid.","title":"Chunk 3"},"relationships":[{"peer":"01KG6FV1MQGZTR8V97C5G417T5","peer_type":"chapter","predicate":"in"},{"peer":"01KG6FT59BXAZ3C5HRJ6SW8F58","peer_type":"file","predicate":"extractedFrom"},{"peer":"01KFF1K6A8V452X8SQKY55DD16","peer_type":"collection","predicate":"collection"},{"peer":"01KG6FVJ78AJEHGQKCQWB3KXHJ","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"prev"},{"peer":"01KG6FVJVQF4N89BM3CQNEBZSN","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"next"}],"ver":2,"created_at":"2026-01-30T03:41:24.587Z","ts":"2026-01-30T03:41:30.479Z","edited_by":{"method":"manual","user_id":"01KFF0H3YRP9ZSM033AM0QJ47H"}}