"Nancy Holder - Highlander - Measure of a Man" - читать интересную книгу автора (Holder Nancy)

cannot spare the confidence necessary to have such a thought.

The Highlander is dead.

I have killed Duncan MacLeod.

And your Quickening? The violent death of a legend?

The earth shakes; the waters rise up in a tidal wave and engulf and
overthrow the beach. Lightning shrieks down the breakers, down the
blackened sky. I writhe and shatter and roar out your name and remember
with your life force the lives you led: I am Duncan MacLeod of the Clan
MacLeod. I am MacLeod.

I lose myself utterly in your spirit. I am you; I am consumed. Such a
heart! Such a mind.

We roll into the sea; we are whisked by the undercurrent as we sizzle
and explode.

And then, it is a baptism. I am myself again.

And you are dead.

I will stand over your grave and laugh. In pace requie seat. Rest in
peace, Duncan MacLeod.

And that is how it will be. And, more or less, how you will die. Oh, it
may not be at a beach, or in a museum, or an antique store showroom.

But you will die.

By my hand. And by my name, which today is one thing, and toniorrow
another, but remains this: your last adversary. The one who is
stronger. Down through the centuries, I will corpe to you one day, and
you will surely leave this world to me.

There can be only one, Scotsman.

And I am coming.

It was almost dawn when Duncan MacLeod completed the first of the
bare-hands forms of the Seven Star Praying Mantis k-ung fu style, Secret
Force. Frowning, he bowed to his imaginary adversary and slowly
exhaled. He had hoped a good workout with the soft southern Chinese
style would calm him, but he was more charged up than before he had
begun. Adrenaline coursed through his body as if preparing for a fight,
not ending a training session. But better to hone his body and his
reflexes than stay in bed, tossing and ruminating, and watching the sun
rise.