"Charles L. Grant - Raven" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Charles L)

perfect man in a darkened room.
She listened to him often, and imagined he was Willie.




My turn," said Havvick, suddenly pushing to his feet.
"Of course," Davies replied gallantly, and released Trish to her fiance.
Ken took her in his arms, put his head next to hers: "Thought you wanted to go home."
"He's famous, Kenny, did you know that?"
With half-closed eyes he watched the radio man stroll over to the bar; watched Ceil leave the table and walk over to
the window; watched the one with the tits talking quietly to Maclaren; watched Davies pick up a glass and toast the
bartender grandly; watched Maclaren shrug at something the tits said; watched Ceil watching the snow. "Ken, you're
squeezing too hard, I can't breathe."




Horns and saxophones again; Glenn Miller. In the mood.




Neil moved a step down and leaned a hip against the blunt end of the iron rail. He'd thrown his jacket over the top of
the rack and watched, dumbly, as the weight of it pulled it slowly off the ledge. When it fell, he made no move to catch
it, no move to retrieve it and hang it up.
Mandy stood below him, still hugging herself.
"Chilly?" he asked.
She half-turned, and he wished she hadn't. "A little."
"Got just the thing." He stepped down beside her. "Follow me."
 Behind the bar flap was an unmarked swinging door. On the other side, a small unlighted hallway, not much bigger
than a vestibule, a door on the left leading into the kitchen, one on the right leading into a room barely larger than the
vestibule itself. A rolltop desk and swivel chair, two filing cabinets, on the wall over the desk an oil of Deerfield in the
1800s. A black rotary telephone. A narrow closet door that seldom caught on its latch. Three brass hooks on the wall.
From one he took down an elbow-worn cardigan and handed it to her.
"Keep you warm."
He checked the desk, the chair, the painting until she'd slipped into it, leaving the buttons undone.
"Thanks."
He shrugged. "I'll turn the heat up, too."
"Don't bother, it's all right. No one else seems to be complaining."
He smiled. "Next time you're out this way, do me a favor and wear something a little warmer." He indicated her short
and short-sleeve dress with a quick hand. "That's not exactly February wear. At least, not out here."
She checked herself, slowly, looked at him without rais-ing her head. The corner of her mouth curled upward. "You
didn't seem to mind."
Before he could answer, though he had no idea what he'd say, she cupped a hand to his jaw and kissed him lightly
on the cheek, leaned away, judged his reaction, kissed him again. "That," she said, "is because you seem so gloomy."
Startled, he could only sputter, open the door, and fol-low her out. Then, amazing himself, he said, "I'm forty
tomorrow."
Her palm was up to push into the lounge. It dropped, and she faced him, less than a hand between her chest and
his. "It's not so bad, you know. You either push middle age up to fifty and still count yourself fairly young, or you cut