"Samuel R. Delany - Corona" - читать интересную книгу автора (Delaney Samuel R)

smarter than they are! I know. I've heard you think too-"

"Lee, I want you to tell me more about how you felt about this new
song-"

"You think I'll upset them because I'm so smart. You won't let me have
any friends!"

"What did you feel about the song, Lee?"

She caught her breath, holding it in, her lids batting, the muscle in the
back of her jaw leaping.

"What did you feel about the song; did you like it, or did you dislike
it?"

She let the air hiss through her lips. "There are three melodic motifs,"
she began at last. "They appear in descending order of rhythmic
intensity. There are more silences in the last melodic line. His music is
composed of silence as much as sound."

"Again, what did you feel? I'm trying to get at your emotional reaction,
don't you see?"

She looked at the window. She looked at Dr. Gross. Then she turned
toward the shelves. "There's a book here, a part in a book, that says it, I
guess, better than I can." She began working a volume from the half-
shelf of Nietzsche.

"What book?"

"Come here." She began to turn the pages. "I'll show you."

Dr. Gross got up from the desk. She met him beneath the window.

Dr. Gross took it and, frowning, read the title heading: " 'The Birth of
Tragedy from the Spirit of Music ... death lies only in these dissonant
tones-' "

Lee's head struck the book from his hand. She had leapt on him as
though he were a piece of furniture and she a small beast. When her
hand was not clutching his belt, shirt front, lapel, shoulder, it was
straining upward. He managed to grab her just as she grabbed the
window ledge.

Outside was a nine-story drop.

He held her by the ankle as she reeled in the sunlit frame. He yanked,
and she fell into his arms, shrieking, "Let me die! Oh, please! Let me
die!"