"Stephen Lawhead - Song Of Albion 1 - The Paradise War" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lawhead Stephen)

"No. Really. Listen, Simon, we can't go chasing after this ox thing. It's ridiculous. It's
nothing. It's like those fairy rings in the cornfields that had everybody all worked up last year.
It's a hoax. Besides, I can't go-I've got work to do, and so have you."

"A drive in the country will do you a world of good. Fresh air. Clear the cobwebs. Nourish the
inner man." He walked briskly into the next room. I could hear him dialing the phone and, a moment
later, he said, "Listen, Susannah, about today... terribly sorry, dear heart, something's come
up... Yes, just as soon as I get back... Later... Yes, Sunday, I won't forget... cross my heart
and hope to die. Cheers!" He replaced the receiver and dialed again. "Rawnson here. I'll be
needing the car this morning... Fifteen minutes. Right. Thanks, awfully."

"Simon!" I shouted. "I refuse!"




This is how I came to be standing in St. Aldate's on a rainy Friday morning in the third week of
Michaelmas Term, drizzle dripping off my nose, waiting for Simon's car to be brought around,
wondering how he did it.

We were both graduate students, Simon and I. We shared rooms, in fact. But where Simon had only to
whisper into the phone and his car arrived when and where he wanted it, I couldn't even get the
porter to let me lean my poor, battered bicycle against the gate for half a minute while I checked
my mail. Rank hath its privileges, I guess.

Nor did the gulf between us end there. While I was little above medium height, with a build that,
before the mirror, could only be described as weedy, Simon was tall and regally slim, well-
muscled, yet trim-the build of an Olympic fencer. The face I displayed to the world boasted plain,
somewhat lumpen features, crowned with a lackluster mat the color of old walnut shells. Simon's
features were sharp, well-cut and clean; he had the kind of thick, dark, curly hair women admire
and openly covet. My eyes were mouse gray; his were hazel. My chin drooped; his jutted.

The effect when we appeared in public together was, I imagine, much in the order of a live before-
and-after advertisement for Nature's Own Wonder Vitamins & Handsome Tonic. He had good looks to
burn, and the sort of rugged and ruthless masculinity both sexes fmd appealing. I had the kind of
looks that often improve with age, although it was doubtful that I should live so long.

A lesser man would have been jealous of Simon's bounteous good fortune. However, I accepted my lot
and was content. All tight, I was jealous too-but it was a very contented jealousy.

Anyway, there we were, the two of us, standing in the rain, traffic whizzing by, buses disgorging
soggy passengers on the busy pavement around us, and me muttering in lame protest. "This is dumb.
It's stupid. It's childish and irresponsible, that's what it is. It's nuts."

"You're right, of course," he agreed affably. Rain pearled on his driving cap, and trickled down
his waxed-cotton shooting jacket.

"We can't just drop everything and go racing around the Country on a whim." I crossed my arms
inside my plastic Poncho. "I don't know how I let you talk me into these things."