"Zenna Henderson - No different flesh" - читать интересную книгу автора (Henderson Zenna)

widely and yawning. "If that world was very far away or their speed not too
fast, that foot may never have touched a world anywhere. She may have been
born en route."
"Oh, I don't think so," said Meris, "she knows too much about-about-things
for that to be so. She knew to look in water for that-that vehicle of hers and
she knew to wash her doll in running water and to spread clothes in the sun to
dry. If she'd lived her life in Space-"
"Hmm!" Mark tapped his mouth with his pencil. "You could be right, but there
might be other explanations for her knowledge. But then, maybe the real
explanation of Lala is a very pedestrian one." He smiled at her unbelieving
smile and went back to work.

Meris was awake again in the dark. She stretched comfortably and smiled. How
wonderful to be able to awaken in the dark and smile instead of slipping
inevitably into the aching endless grief and despair. How pleasant to be able
to listen to Mark's deep breathing and Lala's little murmur as she turned on
the camp cot beside the bed. How warm and relaxing the flicker of firelight
from the cast-iron stove patterning ceiling and walls dimly. She yawned and
stopped in mid-stretch. What was that? Was that what had wakened her?
There was a guarded thump on the porch, a fumbling at the door, an audible
breath and then, "Mr. Edwards! Are you there?" The voice was a forced whisper.
Meris's hand closed on Mark's shoulder. He shrugged away in his sleep, but as
her lingers tightened, he came wide awake, listening.
"Mr. Edwards!"
"Someone for Lala!" Meris gasped and reached toward the sleeping child.
"No," said Mark. "It's Tad Winstel." He lifted his voice.
"Just a minute, Tad!" There was a muffled cry at the door and then silence.
Mark padded barefoot to the door, blinking as he snapped the lights on, and,
unlatching the door, swung it open. "Come on in, fellow, and close the door.
It's cold." He shivered back for his jacket and sneakers.
Tad slipped in and stood awkwardly thin and lanky by the door, hugging his
arms to himself convulsively. Mark opened the stove and added a solid chunk of
oak.
"What brings you here at this hour?" he asked calmly.
Tad shivered. "It isn't you, then," he said, "but it's bad trouble. You told
me that gang was no good to mess around with. Now I know it. Can they hang me
for just being there?" His voice was very young and shaken.
"Come over here and get warm," said Mark. "For being where?"
"In the car when it killed the guy."
"Killed!" Mark fumbled the black lid-lifter. "What happened?"
"We were out in that Porsche of Rick's, just tearing around seeing how fast
it could take that winding road on the other side of Sheep's Bluff." Tad
gulped. "They called me chicken because I got scared. And I am! I saw Mr.
Stegemeir after his pickup went off the road by the fish hatchery last year
and I-I can't help remembering it. Well, anyway-" His voice broke off and he
gulped. "Well, they made such good time that they got to feeling pretty wild
and decided to come over on this road and-" His eyes dropped away from Mark's
and his feet moved apologetically. "They wanted to find some way to get back
at you again."
Then his words tumbled out in a wild spurt of terror. "All at once there was