"Elrod, P N - I, Strahd 2 - War Against Azalin e-txt" - читать интересную книгу автора (Elrod P N)

She gave him her cheeriest smile. "Yes, good sir, how may I help you?"
He dropped the leather saddlebags onto the counter, sending up a cloud of dust.
"You must do a lot of traveling," she said, trying hard not to sneeze.
"How d'ya know that?" he demanded suspiciously.
Oh, dear, he's not too terribly bright, is he? she thought, covering the thought
with a bigger smile as she put the knitting to one side. "Only because you have
the air of a man of the world, of someone who's been away to interesting
places." To judge by the aroma coming from his clothing, his recent travels had
not taken him near any bath houses or laundries.
"Int'restin' is the word for it, all right," he growled. "I seen plenty."
"Indeed? I suppose when one travels one also collects souvenirsЧ" she gave the
saddlebag a significant look, hoping he would take the opening.
"Eh?"
"Mementos of one's tripЕ to remind one of the places one's been."
"You don't talk half funny, lady. Who's this 'one' yer on about?"
"I was just speaking figuratively."
"Eh?"
She put on a brave smile and nodded at the saddlebags. "You asked if I buy
books. Might I inquire as to whether you have any you wish to sell?" She
mentally crossed her fingers, hoping that the words "buy" and "sell" had made an
impression upon him. Apparently so, for he fixed her with a gap-toothed grin.
"I might, I just might 'ave somethin'."
"Indeed? May I see?" She made no move toward the bag, not wanting to dirty her
fingers. She also had the impression that if she had tried, he'd have grabbed it
away.
He gave her a long, piercing stare, then broke away from the counter to look out
the windows. The street that she had watched day in and out for the last quarter
century was still very much in place, lined with other small shops and their
customers, as ordinary as it could possibly be.
He snarled at the sight like a restive bear, then rounded on her. " 'Ow much you
give for a book?"
She couldn't believe he'd said anything so simplistic, but covered her disbelief
with another smile. "That all depends on the book."
"What d'ya mean?"
"Different books fetch different prices, same as anything else."
"Oh, yeah?" He didn't sound convinced.
"I'll put it this way: you'd pay more for a trained horse in its prime than for
an elderly pony, now, wouldn't you?"
"'Less I could steal it 'nstead," he said with a laugh. Mrs. Heywood did not
join him in his fit of merriment, and he shut it off quick. "What I meanЧthat
isЧ"
"You have a book to sell?" she kindly prompted.
"Right, tha's it. I found it. It don't belong to no one but me. That is, I found
it when my gran passed on, very sad I was."
"My condolences. Perhaps if you'd let me see it I can judge whether it might be
of interest to my customers."
"Yeah, right, comin' up." He opened the bag and drew forth from his collection
of battered camp gear a fair sized cloth-covered bundle tied up with string.
Laying the rectangular shape on the counter before her, he cut the string with
his belt knife and pulled the cloth wrapping away, revealing a thick volume. But