"Frank Herbert - The White Plague" - читать интересную книгу автора (Herbert Brian & Frank)


They laughed, drawing a few curious stares. The children tugged at Mary,
anxious to be off shopping.

Ireland suited Mary, John thought. She had pale clear skin and dark blue
eyes. Jet-black hair -- "Spanish Hair," her family called it -- framed her
rather round face. A sweet face. Irish skin and Irish features. He bent and
kissed her before leaving. It brought a blush to her face but she was pleased
at his show of affection and she gave him a warm smile as they parted.

John walked away briskly, humming to himself, amused when he recognized the
tune: "Oh What a Beautiful Mornin'."

John's Wednesday appointment for "transfer of foreign funds" was at two P.M.
at the Allied Irish Bank, Grafton and Chatham streets. There was a sign just
inside the bank's entrance, white letters on black: "Non Branch Customers
Upstairs." A uniformed guard led him up the stairs to the office of the bank
manager, Charles Mulrain, a small, nervous man with tow-colored hair and pale
blue eyes behind gold-framed glasses. Mulrain had a habit of touching the
corners of his mouth with a forefinger, first left side then right, followed
by a quick downward brush of his dark tie. He made a joke about having his
office on the first floor, "what you Americans call the second floor."

"It is confusing until you catch on," John agreed.

"Well!" A quick touching of lips and tie. "You understand that we'd normally
do this at our main office, but . . ."

"When I called, they assured me it was . . ."

"As a convenience to the customer," Mulrain said. He lifted a folder from his
desk, glanced inside it, nodded. "Yes, this amount . . . if you'll make
yourself comfortable here, I'll just get the proper forms and be right back."

Mulrain left, giving John a tight smile at the door.

John went to the window and pulled back a heavy lace curtain to look down on
Grafton Street. The sidewalks were thick with people all the way up to the
arched gateway into St. Stephen's Green two short blocks up Grafton. The
motor traffic was two abreast filling the street and crawling along toward
him. There was a workman cleaning the parapet on the roof of the shopping
center diagonally across the street -- a white-coated figure with a
long-handled brush. He stood outlined against a row of five chimney pots.

Glancing at the closed door of the manager's office, John wondered how long
Mulrain would be. Everything was so damned formal here. John looked at his
watch. Mary would arrive with the children in a few minutes. They planned to
have tea, then John would walk down Grafton to Trinity College and begin work
at the college library -- the real start of his research project.