"page19" - читать интересную книгу автора (starshiptitanic)
Douglas Adams' Starship Titanic
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The Journalist turned to see that Leovinus had fallen to his knees. He suddenly looked like the old man that he was. The swagger and gallantry that usually marked his public appearances seemed to have been sucked out of him - leaving him like a crumpled empty bag.'It can't be true...' he was mumbling into his beard. 'Even Brobostigon... even Scraliontis couldn't lie so... I mean... Only this morning they told me it was all...''Good morning, sir, would you like to cut your nasal hair?' A Doorbot had suddenly activated itself and was apparently trying to usher them into a cement mixer.Leovinus cracked at last.'BASTARDS!' he screamed at the flapping silk sheets beyond the canopy. 'BASTARDS!' he yelled at the unfinished works.Suddenly a movement behind one of the pillars caught his eye. Taking The Journalist totally by surprise, Leovinus seemed to regain all his vitality in an instant, and had sprinted across the parquet flooring and pounced behind the pillar. A solitary worker, in drab overalls, was crouching down, trying to lose himself in a crevice of the unfinished floor.'What the devil are you doing here?' screamed Leovinus.The worker stood up shiftily and pretended to be adjusting a loose end of wire. 'Just making good,' he said.'Making GOOD?' yelled Leovinus. 'You call this GOOD?' He threw his arm around the vast unfinished reaches of the Promenade Deck. 'We launch the ship tomorrow and there's months more work to do here!''Yeah... It's... bin a bit... slow...' The worker was edging towards the sleek, stainless-steel lift that offered him his only means of escape from this elderly lunatic.'What were you doing just now?' demanded the elderly lunatic.'Me? Just now?' replied the worker.'Yes! I saw you doing something!''Me? No, I wouldn't do nothing, I only came to collect my parrot.' The words fell out of his mouth and seemed to freeze in the air, and then like lumps of solid ice they hit Leovinus, one after the other, and he reeled from their impact.
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Douglas Adams' Starship Titanic
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|
The Journalist turned to see that Leovinus had fallen to his knees. He suddenly looked like the old man that he was. The swagger and gallantry that usually marked his public appearances seemed to have been sucked out of him - leaving him like a crumpled empty bag.'It can't be true...' he was mumbling into his beard. 'Even Brobostigon... even Scraliontis couldn't lie so... I mean... Only this morning they told me it was all...''Good morning, sir, would you like to cut your nasal hair?' A Doorbot had suddenly activated itself and was apparently trying to usher them into a cement mixer.Leovinus cracked at last.'BASTARDS!' he screamed at the flapping silk sheets beyond the canopy. 'BASTARDS!' he yelled at the unfinished works.Suddenly a movement behind one of the pillars caught his eye. Taking The Journalist totally by surprise, Leovinus seemed to regain all his vitality in an instant, and had sprinted across the parquet flooring and pounced behind the pillar. A solitary worker, in drab overalls, was crouching down, trying to lose himself in a crevice of the unfinished floor.'What the devil are you doing here?' screamed Leovinus.The worker stood up shiftily and pretended to be adjusting a loose end of wire. 'Just making good,' he said.'Making GOOD?' yelled Leovinus. 'You call this GOOD?' He threw his arm around the vast unfinished reaches of the Promenade Deck. 'We launch the ship tomorrow and there's months more work to do here!''Yeah... It's... bin a bit... slow...' The worker was edging towards the sleek, stainless-steel lift that offered him his only means of escape from this elderly lunatic.'What were you doing just now?' demanded the elderly lunatic.'Me? Just now?' replied the worker.'Yes! I saw you doing something!''Me? No, I wouldn't do nothing, I only came to collect my parrot.' The words fell out of his mouth and seemed to freeze in the air, and then like lumps of solid ice they hit Leovinus, one after the other, and he reeled from their impact.
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