"MacAvoy,.R.A.-.Black.Dragon.2.-.Twisting.The.Rope.e-txt" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dragon Stories)

He blinked sore eyes at her. "Well, it is my bedroom, Elen. He could scarcely
stage a sit-down in it."
Her gaze grew even more disbelieving. "Sure he couldn't! George would never be
so rude. I think he must believe you're carrying a gun."
At the reminder that this nicest room in the mediocre motel belonged to Long,
all the musicians rose also. But Mr. Long had walked from the space between the
beds back to the breakfast table, where he smiled graciously and sat down again,
showing no more signs of going dormant.
"I don't, Daddo," said Marty, edging away from him. "I don't fancy a nap at all.
I more fancy a walk, I think."
No one answered her. Relief was audible through the room as they realized the
awkward scene was over. "Ravel," said Elen Evans contemplatively, as she began
to strike octaves on the left row of strings. "I really prefer Debussy." She
plucked a great, rolling, unsettled chord along the length of the harp, top to
bottom.
Teddy spoke to the unhappy chord, rather than to
Elen's dispassionate words. "Don't be put off your center by that, Elen. I don't
think George feels very well. Inside himself. I see him as off balance. Harried
from within, you know. He needs some sort of adjustment."
Her face looked rather like Stan Laurel's, so blankly she gazed at him.
"Spiritual in nature, Teddy? Or chiropractic?"
"Either or both. Or nutritional. I wonder about his amino acidsЕ"
"I prefer past-life regression, myself."
"You have a marvelous gift of acceptance, Ted," said Martha appreciatively. "I
admit he pisses me off wonderfully, when he gets going like that. And he doesn't
even nip at my ego, as he does to yours."
"George doesn't really twist the screws in Teddy." Elen smiled like a madonna,
plucked an octave and winced at the sound. She uttered a quiet and very nasty
curse and twisted the big turning wrench once more. "Not as he does to Pat."
Ted blew on his ugly nail. "He isn't exactly wild over my guitar. I can hear his
teeth grinding every time I add a chord progression. But that's his problem, not
mine.
"And he really does care, you know. About the accuracy of what he's doing.
There's few enough who do."
Pсdraig ╙ S·illeabhсin glanced worriedly at Ted. "Do you thinkЕ Did I do wrong
in getting angry at him? Maybe I didn't understand enoughЕ"
"Getting angry doesn't help, that's for sure, Pсdraig," said Ted, putting his
hand on the Irishman's shoulder and shaking him in warm fraternal fashion. "But
I really feel with you in your reaction. It's really a gut-wrencher to keep your
balance when someone around has lost his. What's important now, though, is to
keep your channels open with the guy."
Pсdraig blinked. "ToЕ?"
Martha, who had been combing her hair in the mirror, stopped long enough to
laugh at his expression. "That's Californian, Pсdraig."
"Mellowtalk," added Long helpfully. "I believe he means you are to continue to
encourage conversation with St. IvesЧor possibly to dredge the mouth of his
harbor."
"Now there I'm willing to help," said Elen, with a wicked giggle.
Ted nodded left and right. "Okay, okay, you have my full permission to make fun
of me. Any time. Otherwise I'll start taking myself seriously."