"Diana Wynne Jones - Howl's Moving Castle" - читать интересную книгу автора (Jones Diana Wynne)

"I hear you sell the most heavenly hats," said the lady. "Show me."
Sophie did not trust herself to answer in her present mood. She went and got out hats. None of them
were in this lady's class, but she could feel the man's eyes following her and that made her
uncomfortable. The sooner that lady discovered the hats were all wrong for her, the sooner this odd pair
would go. She followed Fanny's advice and got out the wrongest first.
The lady began rejecting hats instantly. "Dimples," she said to the pink bonnet, and "Youth" to the
caterpillar-green one. To the one of twinkles and veils she said, "Mysterious allure. How very obvious.
What else have you?"
Sophie got out the modish black-and-white, which was the only hat even remotely likely to interest this
lady.
The lady looked at it with contempt. "This one doesn't do anything for anybody. You're wasting my
time, Miss Hatter."
"Only because you came in and asked for hats" Sophie said. "This is only a small shop in a small town,
Madam. Why did you-" Behind the lady, the man gasped and seemed to be trying to signal warningly.
"- bother to come in?" Sophie finished, wondering what was going on.
"I always bother when someone tries to set themselves up against the Witch of the Waste," said the
lady. "I've heard of you, Miss Hatter, and I don't care for your competition or your attitude. I came to
put a stop to you. There." She spread out her hand in a flinging motion towards Sophie's face.
"You mean you're the Witch of the Waste?" Sophie quavered. Her voice seemed to have gone strange
with fear and astonishment.
"I am," said the lady. "And let that teach you to meddle with things that belong to me."
"I don't think I did. There must be some mistake," Sophie croaked. The man was now staring at her in
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Jones, Diana Wynne - Howl's Moving Castle.txt
utter horror, though she could not see why.
"No mistake, Miss Hatter," said the Witch. "Come, Gaston." She turned and swept to the shop door.
While the man was humbly opening it for her, she turned back to Sophie. "By the way, you won't be
able to tell anyone you're under a spell," she said. The shop door tolled like a funeral bell as she left.
Sophie put her hands to her face, wondering what the man had stared at. She felt soft, leathery wrinkles.
She looked at her hands. They were wrinkled too, and skinny, with large veins in the back and knuckles
like knobs. She pulled her gray skirt against her legs and looked down at skinny, decrepit ankles and
feet which had made her shoes all knobbly. They were the legs of someone about ninety and they
seemed to be real.
Sophie got herself to the mirror, and found she had to hobble. The face in the mirror was quite calm,
because it was what she expected to see. It was the face of a gaunt old woman, withered and brownish,
surrounded by wispy white hair. Her own eyes, yellow and watery, stared out at her, looking rather
tragic.
"Don't worry, old thing," Sophie said to the face. "You look quite healthy. Besides, this is much more
like you really are."
She thought about her situation, quite calmly. Everything seemed to have gone calm and remote. She
was not even particularly angry with the Witch of the Waste.
"Well, of course I shall have to do for her when I get the chance," she told herself, "but meanwhile, if
Lettie and Martha can stand being one another, I can stand being like this. But I can't stay here. Fanny
would have a fit. Let's see. This gray dress is quite suitable, but I shall need my shawl and some food."
She hobbled over to the shop door and carefully put up the CLOSED notice. Her joints creaked as she
moved. She had to walk bowed and slow. But she was relieved to discover that she was quite a hale old
woman. She did not feel weak or ill, just stiff. She hobbled to collect her shawl, and wrapped it over her
head and shoulders, as old women did. Then she shuffled through into the house, where she collected
her purse with a few coins in it and a parcel or bread and cheese. She let herself out of the house,
carefully hiding the key in the usual place, and hobbled away down the street, surprised at how calm