"Brenchley, Chaz - The Keys To D'esperance" - читать интересную книгу автора (Benchley Chaz)

after all. No need for anything more, perhaps, now that he'd seen the
house. He could run down the slope before him, twenty yards at a good
flying sprint and he'd be too fast to stop. And so the plunge into cold
cold water and the weight of his pack, the saturated blankets, even the
keys helping to drag him down...

But this side of all that water, on the verge of unkept grass between trees
and lake stood a building, a small lodge perhaps, though its weight of
stone and its leaded dome spoke of higher ambition. Ivy-clad and strange,
seemingly unwindowed and halfway at least to a folly, it must look splendid
from the house, one last positive touch of man against the dark rise of the
wood. And it would be a shame not to have set foot in any part of
D'Espщrance, all this way for no more than a glimpse; shame too to go on an
impulse, on a sudden whim, seizing an unexpected opportunity. No, let it at
least be a decision well thought through, weighed carefully and found
correct. Nothing hasty, no abrupt leap into glory or oblivion. He needed to
be sure of his own motives, to feel the balance of his mind undisturbed;
there must be no question but that it was a rational deed, in response to
an untenable situation.

So no, he didn't take the chance to run. He walked carefully down the steep
slope and turned to parallel the lake's edge as soon as the ground was
level, skirting the last of the trees, keeping as far from the water as he
could. Looking across to the further shore, where the gardens' gravel walks
ended in a stone balustrade and a set of steps leading down into the lake,
he saw a man he thought might have been his father. Blindfold and
blundering in the bright dry light, the man teetered on the steps' edge, on
the rim of falling; and then there was dazzle burning on the water as a
soft breeze rippled the sun, and when his eyes had cleared he could no
longer see the man.

-------------------

It is a truism that anything seems larger as you get closer, that you lose
perspective; but here he thought it was the other way, that his eyes had
made him think the lodge small because they couldn't credit the house with
being so very large. It must be so, although he wasn't looking at the house
now to make comparisons. This near, the lodge took everything. Squat and
massive it sat below its dome and drew him, dragged him forward; he thought
that it was so dense it made its own gravity, and that he was trapped now,
no way out.

The lodge had double doors that faced the water, too close for his liking,
only three low steps and half a dozen flagstones between them. In echo of
the house, there was a small pediment above the high doors, with columns to
support it in a classic portico. Still no proper windows. He could see a
thin run of glass at the cupola's foot, between lead and stone; but even
with that, even at this season with the sun low enough to strike through
the doorway at the height of the day, it was going to be dark in there.