"Henry Kuttner - The Dark World" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kuttner Henry)

didn't feel like the same man. There were dreams, memoriesтАФhaunting urgencies as if I had somehow,
somewhere left some vital job unfinished. ...

I found myself talking more freely to my uncle.

"It was like a curtain lifting. A curtain of gauze. I saw some things more clearlyтАФthey seemed to
have a different significance. Things happen to me now that would have seemed incredibleтАФbefore.
Now they don't.

"I've traveled a lot, you know. It doesn't help. There's always something to remind me. An amulet
in a pawnshop window, a knotted string, a cat's-eye opal and two figures. I see them in my dreams,
over and over. And onceтАФ"

I stopped.

"Yes?" my uncle prompted softly.

"It was in New Orleans. I woke up one night and there was something in my room, very close to me.
I had a gunтАФa

special sort of gunтАФunder my pillow. When I reached for it theтАФcall it a dogтАФsprang from the
window. Only it wasn't shaped quite like a dog." I hesitated. "There were silver bullets in the
revolver," I said.

My uncle was silent for a long moment. I knew what he was thinking.

"The other figure?" he said, finally.

"I don't know. It wears a hood. I think it's very old. And beyond these twoтАФ"

"Yes?"

"A voice. A very sweet voice, haunting. A fire. And beyond the fire, a face I have never seen
clearly."




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My uncle nodded. The darkness had drawn in; I could scarcely see him, and the smoke outside had
lost itself against the shadow of night. But a faint glow still lingered beyond the trees... Or
did I only imagine that?

I nodded toward the window.

"I've seen that fire before," I told him.

"What's wrong with it? Campers make fires."