"L Ron Hubbard - Mission Earth 03 - The Enemy Within" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hubbard L. Ron)

My body was jerking, all of its own accord, back and forth, back and forth.
Suddenly she sank on her heels. She put down the tray. She seized her cura irizva.
With the same tune she had been humming, she began to strike chords.
Her eyes were scorching me. She began to sing:

Unspent kisses clog my throat, Unspent smiles lurk
Behind my lips.
Unspent passion dams my breath
And sucks back in
The unspent tongue!
My hands
That ache
With unspent caress
Tremble
When I think
Of pouring out upon you
All my flood Of UNSPENT LOVE!

It was unbearable! I cried out, "Oh, my darling!" I flung out my hands to her.
The cry, the gesture, startled her. She cowered away. And before I could protest, she
abandoned her instruments and fled from the room!
Before I could reach her door, the iron bolt was in place.
I tried to plead. I begged. But my voice must not have been able to penetrate the door. It
remained locked.
After a long time I went and got five hundred thousand lira and pushed them, one by one,
through the crack under the door. The last one simply stayed there, its tip still showing. I
looked at it for the rest of the night.
The next day I got bold enough to creep along the wall of the inner garden but, alas, the
hole I had found was now plugged up.
I thought I heard voices in the garden once. I could not be sure. I spent a miserable, aching
day.
I did not really have too much hope. But around eight, a small boy came to me. He said,
"Utanc told me to say you should take a bath and get your turban on and go into the salon."
Oh, never was a bath taken so fast.
Almost in no time, I was in the salon.
I waited.


file:///F|/rah/L%20Ron%20Hubbard/Mission%20Earth%2003%20-%20The%20Enemy%20Within.txt (20 of 153) [8/31/03 1:16:51 PM]
 file:///F|/rah/L%20Ron%20Hubbard/Mission%20Earth%2003%20-%20The%20Enemy%20Within.txt

At long, long last, the door crept open.
Softly and quietly she slipped in. She was wearing a tight jacket that left her arms and
belly bare. It was of gold embroidery. She wore baggy pantaloons of gold. She had a gold band with
flowers around her black hair. She was veiled in a golden veil. As she sat, I saw that her
fingernails and toenails were painted gold. She was carrying a flashing sword and her cura irizva.
But she sat with her eyes downcast, her head bowed. From time to time, she sighed.
"Why are you sighing?" I said at last, very softly so as not to frighten her.
"O Master," she said with downcast eyes, "I cannot tolerate the thought of not being able to
call Istanbul, Paris and New York to order, C.O.D., the small and vital things a poor woman has to