"Charles L. Harness - The Rose" - читать интересную книгу автора (Harness Charles L)

"It was. But I don't think he wrote it. It wasn't in his handwriting."

"That's often the case in automatic writing. The script is modified according to the personality of the
dissociated subconscious unit. The alteration is sometimes so great as to be unrecognizable as the
handwriting of the subject."

He peered at her keenly. "This script was perfectly recognizable, Dr. van Tuyl. I'm afraid you've made a
grave blunder. Now, shall I tell you in whose handwriting?"

She listened to her own whisper: "Mine?"

"Yes."

"What does it say?"
"You know very well."

"But I don't." Her underclothing was sticking to her body with a damp clammy feeling. "At least you
ought to give me a chance to explain it. May I see it?"

He regarded her thoughtfully for a moment, then reached into his pocket sheaf. "Here's an electrostat.
The paper, texture, ink, everything, is a perfect copy of your original."

She studied the sheet with a puzzled frown. There were a few lines of scribblings in purple. But it wasn't
in her handwriting. In fact, it wasn't even handwritingтАФjust a mass of illegible scrawls!

Anna felt a thrill of fear. She stammered: "What are you trying to do?"

"You don't deny you wrote it?,

"Of course I deny it." She could no longer control the quaver in her voice. Her lips were leaden masses,
her tongue a stone slab. "It'sтАФunrecognizable..."

The Cork floated with sinister patience. "In the upper left hand comer is your monogram: "A.v.T.", the
same as on the first sheet. You will admit that, at least?"

For the first time, Anna really examined the presumed trio of initials enclosed in the familiar ellipse. The
ellipse was there. But the print within it wasтАФgibberish. She seized again at the first sheetтАФthe blank
one. The feel of the paper, even the smell, stamped it as genuine. It had been hers. But the monogram!
"Oh no!" she whispered.

Her panic-stricken eyes flailed about the room. The calendar...same picture of the same cow...but the
rest...! A stack of books in the corner...titled in gold leaf...gathering dust for months...the label on the roll
of patching tape on the same...even the watch on her wrist.

Gibberish. She could no longer read. She had forgotten how. Her ironic gods had chosen this critical
moment to blind her with their brilliant bounty.

Then take it! And play for time!

She wet trembling lips. "I'm unable to read. My reading glasses are in my bag, outside." She returned the