"MacAvoy,.R.A.-.Tea.With.The.Black.Dragon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dragon Stories)

jaded, then why were Mr. Longs attentions so pleasant?

"Thar Ci'onn! How wonderful," he laughed.

"Oh. You mustn't call my bluff. I speak very little
Irish, though I'm taking lessons with a Meath man. He
says although my spirit is willing, my accent is very bad.
But then music is international, and with a fiddle under
my chin I can't talk anyway."

She heard her voice echo through the empty dining
room. "And I guess that's the only time I don't. But Mr.
Long, I have to ask. Where are you from?"

He glanced into his teacup, then met her blue eyes
again. He did not seem offended. "I was born in China,"
he said. "But I am not entirelyЧChinese." Gripping the
teapot around its portly middle, he freshened her cup.

"What is the name of your ensemble?"

"It's called Linnet's Wings, after a poem by Yeats." She
sighed. "Actually, it's a poem Yeats hated ..."

"I know it," said Mr. Long. " 'There midnight's all a
glimmer, and noon a purple glow, and evening full of the
linnet's wings.' He had schoolchildren prattling that into
his ears for twenty years, so his distaste may be
understood."

"I've never been to Innisfree," brooded Martha,
staring across the dining room and into the deeper
dimness of the bar. She swallowed a yawn. "I don't even
know if ifs a real place."




6 TEA WITH THE BLACK DRAGON

The chandeliers were crystal. The tiny drops sparkled
in their own light. The weariness of a day's flight blurred
her vision, and the play of light reminded her of snow
falling into the bright circles of street lights.

But here in San Francisco there was no snow. Never.
Just fog and sea. How strange. Unreal.

The voice recalled her. "It is quite real," the voice was
saying. She focused again. He meant Innisfree, of