"Madeline L' Engle - Time Quartet 01 - A Wrinkle in Time" - читать интересную книгу автора (L'Engle Madeleine)

best to train the family to come into the house through the garage door or the front door and not
through her lab. But it was the lab door and not the garage door toward which Fortinbras was
growling.
"You didn't leave' any nasty-smelling chemicals cooking over a Bunsen burner, did you,
Mother?" Charles Wallace asked.
Mrs. Murray stood up. "No. But I think I'd better go see what's upsetting Fort, anyhow."
"It's the tramp, I'm sure it's the tramp," Meg said nervously.
"What tramp?" Charles Wallace asked.
"They were saying at the post office this afternoon that a tramp stole all Mrs. Buncombe's
sheets."
"We'd better sit on the pillow cases, then," Mrs. Murry said lightly. "I don't think even a


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tramp would be out on a night like this, Meg."
"But that's probably why he is out," Meg wailed, "trying to find a place not to be out."
"In which case IтАЩll offer him the barn till morning." Mrs. Murry went briskly to the door.
"I'll go with you." Meg's voice was shrill.
"No, Meg, you stay with Charles and eat your sandwich."
"Eat!" Meg exclaimed as Mrs. Murry went out through the lab. "How does she expect me to eat?"
"Mother can take care of herself," Charles said. "Physically, that is." But he sat in his
father's chair at the table and his legs kicked at the rungs; and Charles Wallace, unlike most
small children, had the ability to sit still.
After a few moments that seemed like forever to Meg, Mrs. Murry came back in, holding the door
open forтАФwas it the tramp? It seemed small for Meg's idea of a tramp. The age or sex was
impossible to tell, for it was completely bundled up in clothes. Several scarves of assorted
colors were tied about the head, and a man's felt hat perched atop. A shocking pink stole was
knotted about a rough overcoat, and black rubber boots covered the feet.
"Mrs. Whatsit," Charles said suspiciously, "what are you doing here? And at this time of
night, too?"
"Now don't you be worried, my honey." A voice emerged from among turned-up coat collar, stole,
scarves, and hat, a voice like an unoiled gate, but somehow not unpleasant.
"Mrs.тАФuhтАФWhatsitтАФsays she lost her way," Mrs. Murry said. "Would you care for some hot
chocolate, Mrs. Whatsit?"
"Charmed, I'm sure," Mrs. Whatsit answered, taking off the hat and die stole. "It isn't so
much that I lost my way as that I got blown off course. And when I realized that I was at little
Charles Wallace's house I thought I'd just come in and rest a bit before proceeding on my way."
"How did you know this was Charles Wallace's house?" Meg asked.
"By the smell." Mrs. Whatsit untied a blue and green paisley scarf, a red and yellow flowered
print, a gold Liberty print, a red and black bandanna. Under all this a sparse quantity of grayish
hair was tied in a small but tidy knot on top of her head. Her eyes were bright, her nose a round,
soft blob, her mouth puckered like an autumn apple. "My, but it's lovely and warm in here," she
said.
"Do sit down." Mrs. Murry indicated a chair. "Would you like a sandwich, Mrs. Whatsit? I've
had liverwurst and cream cheese; Charles has had bread and jam; and Meg, lettuce and tomato."
"Now, let me see," Mrs. Whatsit pondered. "I'm passionately fond of Russian caviar."
"You peeked!" Charles cried indignantly. "We're saving that for Mother's birthday and you
can't have any!"