"Books - David Eddings - Belgarath the Sorcerer" - читать интересную книгу автора (Eddings David)

"Fetch down that book, boy," he instructed, pointing at a high shelf.

I looked up in some amazement. There seemed to be several dozen bound
volumes on that shelf. I'd cleaned and dusted and polished the room
from floor to ceiling a dozen times or more, and I'd have taken an oath
that the shelf hadn't been there the last time I looked. I covered my
confusion by asking

"Which one, Master?" Notice that I'd even begun to pick up some
semblance of good manners?

"Whichever one falls most easily to hand," he replied indifferently.

I selected a book at random and took it to him.

"Seat thyself, boy," he told me.

"I shall give thee instruction."

I knew nothing whatsoever about reading, so it didn't seem particularly
odd to me that under his gentle tutelage I was a competent reader
within the space of an hour. Either I was an extremely gifted
student-which seems highly unlikely--or he was the greatest teacher who
ever lived.

From that hour on I became a voracious reader. I devoured his
bookshelf from one end to another. Then, somewhat regretfully, I went
back to the first book again, only to discover that I'd never seen it
before.

I read and read and read, and every page was new to me. I read my way
through that bookshelf a dozen times over, and it was always fresh and
new. That reading opened the world of the mind to me, and I found it
much to my liking.

My newfound obsession gave my Master some peace, at least, and he
seemed to look approvingly at me as I sat late into those long, snowy,
winter nights reading texts in languages I could not have spoken, but
that I nonetheless clearly understood when they seemed to leap out at
me from off the page. I also noticed dimly--for, as I think I've
already mentioned, my curiosity seemed somehow to have been
blunted--that when I was reading, my Master tended to have no chores
for me, at least not at first. The conflict between reading and chores
came later. And so we passed the winter in that world of the mind, and
with few exceptions, I've probably never been so happy.

I'm sure it was the books that kept me there the following spring and
summer. As I'd suspected they might, the onset of warm days and nights
stirred my Master's creativity. He found all manner of things for me
to do outside--mostly unpleasant and involving a great deal of effort