"James Herbert - The Survivor" - читать интересную книгу автора (Herbert James)

Kent. TN13 2YA. (Editorial Office: 47 Bedford Square, London WC1B 3DP) by
Richard Clay Ltd., Bungay, Suffolk.




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 Herbert, James - The Survivor UC FR



Prologue

The old man tightened his scarf and pulled the lapels of his heavy overcoat up
around his neck. The warm air from his lungs became visible as it emerged from
his mouth and was instantly chilled by the cold night air. For a few seconds, he
allowed his feet to beat a soft tattoo on the hard concrete surface of the iron
bridge, then stopped, settling his ageing frame more comfortably on the unyielding
bench. He looked up at the dark October sky, enjoying the feeling of smallness its
deepness gave him. There was a half moon, crisp and clear-edged, hanging flatly
and remotely, as though added as an afterthought and playing no important part in
the dark empyrean.

Sighing inwardly, he lowered his gaze to the river, black with sudden splashes of
reflected light constantly joining and parting in a dazzling display of effulgence.
He looked towards its banks: at the small boats and launches stirring smoothly in
its easy flow; at the bright shops and restaurants, and the public house at the end,
all night-lit clean, their middle greys of the day concealed in contrasts of
uncompromising light and dark.

Beautiful, he thought. Beautiful, this time of night, this time of year. The lateness
meant fewer people used the bridge as a thoroughfare; the coldness meant less
people would linger on its unshielded length. Most of the tourists had left Windsor
by now, their season having sighed to a halt. The day-trippers had scurried back
into their coaches and cars and departed with the short autumn dusk. Now there
would be fewer pilgrimages across the bridge from Windsor to see Eton, his town,
to visit the famous College with its Tudor schoolyard and beautiful fifteenth-
century chapel, to admire the eighteenth-century shop fronts and half-timbered
medieval buildings, to browse through the numerous antique shops crammed into
its narrow high street. He hadn't quite appreciated the beauty of his birthplace
himself until he'd read the official guide-book for Eton a few years before; it had
become lost to him through a lifetime of familiarity. But now that he'd had a few
years to pause, to look around him, to take stock of himself and his surroundings,
he'd taken a deeper interest in the history and the uniqueness of his native town.

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 Herbert, James - The Survivor UC FR


For the past four years, since his retirement and after his illness, he had made a