"Simon Hawke - Sorcerer 1 - The Reluctant Sorcerer" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hawke Simon)

effect on women and part of his charm was that he was
totally oblivious to it. He was simply clueless. He was the
kind of man women wanted to mother into bed, only he was
so preoccupied and absentminded that if they succeeded, he
would probably forget why he was there. Pamela Fairbum
could have had any man she wanted. She could walk into a
crowded room and every man present would immediately go
on point. All she'd need to do to insure most men's undying
and slavish devotion would be to flutter her eyelashes and
act stupid. But with Marvin Brewster, she could be herself.

4 тАв Simon Hawke

Her intelligence did not intimidate him. More often than
not, it was the other way around. She could talk about her
work with him, and he could easily follow the discussion
and make acute and often brilliant observations, but then his
eyes would suddenly go dreamy and he'd launch into a
flight of technical verbosity that would leave her absolutely
breathless as his words tumbled over one another until he
became hopelessly tongue-tied and had to resort to scrib-
bling complicated equations on whatever surface was avail-
able. Even on the rare occasions when she was able to make
out his cramped scrawl, most of the time she could make no
sense of it.

Often, it was because his mind simply worked so quickly
that it would outrace his written calculations and he'd leave
things out, jumping on ahead, with no awareness that she
couldn't follow him. His brain would simply shift into warp
speed and he would rocket off into that rarified atmosphere
where only geniuses and angels fly and he'd finish off with a
triumphant, "There, you see?" And, of course, she wouldn't
see at all, but she would simply stare at him, eyes shining,
and she would say, "I love you."

They became engaged one year after their first meeting.
She had proposed to him, primarily because she'd realized
the thought would never have occurred to him. He needed
her, but he was simply too preoccupied to notice. The
ordinary details of everyday life were not Marvin Brewster's
strong point. He was the classic absentminded professor.
His socks hardly ever matched. He wore loafers because he
would often forget to tie his shoelaces. He was simply
hopeless about clothes. Until she came along, he was
dressed by an understanding local haberdashery. He would
come in and simply say, "I need some ties," or a sport coat
or a shirt or two, and the helpful female sales clerk would
pick out something appropriate for him.