"Patricia A. McKillip - The House on Parchment Street" - читать интересную книгу автора (McKillip Patricia A)

he stared at the rose window.
"Do you believe us?" Bruce said. Father Malory's eyes came back to him.
"Yes. But belief is not the same as knowledge." He sighed slightly. "I amaze myself at times."
"You amaze me," Bruce said. "If I told Dad what weтАФ" He stopped abruptly.
"You haven't tried?"
"Oh, we've tried. But he can'tтАФthe problem is, he can't see them."
"Oh."
"And I'm not going to come straight out and tell him. He is interested in facts. Ghosts don't exist. That's
fact. Well, I've seen two. That's another fact. I brought him down to the cellar one day after I'd seen the
first one, and Dad couldn't see it. But Carol's seen both of them."
"OhтАж ." He stirred, his eyes falling away from them again, glinting a little in the morning light. "Do you
know what century that young girl's clothes belong to?"
"No."
"The same century the house as it stands now was built in. The seventeenth century. The century of Civil
War, the Stuart Kings, of the beginnings of modern
science, the beginnings of religious tolerationтАж . You mentioned two ghosts. Who is the other?"

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"He wears black," Bruce said. "He wears pants that come down to his knees and dark stockings andтАФ"
"He looks like a Pilgrim," Carol said. "But he carries a sword in his hand."
"A sword." He fell silent. Then he straightened, rising. "I must go. I told old Mrs. Louis I could come
visit this morning; she's in bed with a broken ankle When can I come and see them with you?"
"I've always seen them about four." He hesitated. "Can youтАФcan you come without my parents seeing
you? I don't want to explain. Not until you've seen them. I'll wait for you in the yard."
"We can try, but I thinkтАж . Bruce, why don't you tell your father? Let him come down with us. He'llтАФ"
"Can't you understand? He doesn't listen. Carol's told him twice there are ghosts in the cellar, and the
minute he hears the word, you can tell that he's trying to think what she might have mistaken for a ghost.
And I don'tтАФI don't want him to thinkтАФhe thinks I'm crazy enough as it isтАФI ride into blackberry
hedges, I forget to come home for dinner, I argue with everybody and get into fights, andтАФlast night we
were in the graveyard waiting for ghosts, and Mrs. Brewster caught us, and Carol told him exactly what
we were doing, and he looked at me likeтАФlike I was daft or the village idiotтАФand that's what I feel like
sometimes,
when I talk to him. I don't feel like that talking to you."
Father Malory picked up the music and the music stands. They walked down the aisle with him. "Your
father has a very clear, sensible mind and a generous personality. I think you could hurt him very deeply,
if you wanted to."
Bruce stopped. Father Malory opened the door and looked back at him. The rounded doorway framed
the long slope of green grass in front of the church that ran down the hill toward the busy street below.
Carol's head turned from Bruce to Father Malory, her brows tugging together anxiously. Bruce's hands
opened and closed.
"What makes you think I want that?"
"Because you do hurt him," Father Malory said simply. There was a step beyond the door; his head
turned. "Oh, good morning, Mrs. Simpson. Have you come to wash the altar linen?"
Bruce passed them wordlessly. Carol caught up with him, hurrying a little to match his long, quick
strides through the graveyard. His head was lowered; he did not notice Alexander blocking the path with
his bicycle until Carol slowed beside him, and Alexander said, "Bruce. How's your eye?"
Bruce's head jerked up. Alexander rocked back and forth on the wheels in a fragile balance. His face was
unusually quiet; when Bruce's quick steps did not check, he looked startled.