"Feintuch,.David.-.Seafort.05.-.Voices.Of.Hope.Txt" - читать интересную книгу автора (Feintuch David)norm was. I'd never been there before.
I hoped the other twelves I'd run across weren't normal; that would be very depressing. Once, Mr. Skeer said that despite my intelligence, I had the emotions of a nine-year-old. At the time, I was nine. I supposed my emotions were twelve now. I'd be getting hair soon. I checked when I sat on the toilet, but there was none yet. Once I thought I saw some coming, but it didn't grow in. Adolescent Psychology Monthly said puberty was confusing. It'd be nice to talk to Father about it, but I had to be careful not to upset him. He loved me very much. He said so a lot. In bed, the lights off, I worked on irrational numbers. After a time, I drifted into sleep, Chapter 2 JARED "Get away from my puter!" Dad spun my chair, his eyes blazing. "How many times have I told you?" I grabbed his arm to keep from falling. "Don't sneak up on me." "Your puter's in there!" He stabbed a thumb at my room. "This is mine." "You hiding something?" My tone was sullen. The console chimed. "Mr. Tenere?" Dad keyed the caller. "Just a moment, sir." He regarded me, his anger slowly fading to distaste. "1 have a right to privacy, Jared." I snorted. "Now you sound like the Old Man." Dad glanced at the speaker. "Don't call Mr. Seafort that. He might hear." "The Old Man?" I shrugged. "He is one." He turned to his desk, rummaged for a set of chips. "Come along." Drooping red maples swayed in Washington's muggy August breeze, offering welcome shade as we strolled through the high-walled compound to the Old Man's home and office. Across the river from Old Washington, nestled in the Virginia hills incorporated into the broadened District, the compound was a public gift to the Old Man after his forced retirement. P.T. told me the Old Man would have refused it, had Arlene not insisted for their son's sake. The Seaforts lived in the main house; our bungalow was on the periphery, not far from the surrounding wall. |
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