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

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in our plumbing."
They got out and collected suitcases from the trunk. Two men stood at the edge of the field where the
road ended and watched them. Uncle Harold went over to talk to them. The church bells rang the half-
hour. Bruce looked at his watch.
"What time is it? My watch stopped."
"Four-thirty," Aunt Catherine said. "Bruce, will you
take your father's suitcase in, please. Hello, Emily."
"Hello, my dear," Emily Raison said. "Did you have a nice stay?"
"Yes, it was very nice. What are the plumbers doing here?"
"Oh, my dear, we're in for a bit of noise. They're going to put a drain in the street."
"A drain? What for? Nobody's drowned yet in this neighborhood, and it's been here for centuries."
"They say the street slants, and all the rain goes into the field, and it makes the field muddy when they
want to practice soccer. We've had a lot of rain this summer, you know. Bless meтАФBruce, what did you
do to your poor face?"
"I fell in a blackberry bush," Bruce said patiently.
"Oh, it looks terrible. You're so lucky you still have your eyes. My Uncle Herbert had to have a glass
eye when he ran into a nail in a fence. But he was poaching." She turned back to Aunt Catherine. "Well,
my dear, I expect you want to go in and have a nice hot cup of tea after that long drive."
"And a footstool under each foot," Aunt Catherine said. "Only Harold has the house keys."
Carol sat down on her suitcase. Uncle Harold came back and she stood up.
"Do you know what they're going to do?" he said indignantly.
"Yes. Emily told us."
"I've never heard anything so ridiculous. They'd
make a man's home unfit for living in for two weeks, just so they can get rid of a few mud puddles."
"I know," Aunt Catherine said soothingly. "You'd think they never heard of rubbers."
"I won't be able to write a word."
"I know."
"I won't be able to think!"
"Maybe you could find something else to do for a while. Meanwhile, if I don't get off my blistered feet,
you're going to have to carry me over the threshold, suitcase and all."
"Oh." He looked down at the keys in his hand. "I was wondering why you were all standing out here. I'm
sorry. Shall I go down later for fish and chips? It will save you cooking."
She smiled. "That would be lovely."
Carol sat in her window-seat after dinner, with a postcard of the Tower of London on the windowsill in
front of her. She frowned over it, nibbling on her pen. Finally she wrote "Dear Mom and Dad," and
somebody knocked on her door.
"Carol?"
"Come in."
Bruce came in. She moved her feet, and he sat down beside her on the window-seat.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm writing a postcard. I can't think of anything to say. Nothing I think of makes any sense. Dear
Mother. How are you? I am fine. England is very nice,
only they have problems with ghosts and drainsтАФ"

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He laughed. He twisted himself around and stared out of the open window, his chin resting on one fist.