"Yvonne Navarro - Zachary's Glass Shope2" - читать интересную книгу автора (Navarro Yvonne)

"Mister Mandell. I am Zachary." He bent with such quick grace that for a
moment
Channing thought the man had vanished. Then there was a glimmer of movement
behind the filthy case and Zachary reappeared with a mirrored tray. Channing
saw
with surprise that not a speck of dust showed on the fragile objects d'art
resting on the mirror's surface.
He stared in fascination. Each was unique, a different color, a different
shape,
a different pose, if such a word could be used to describe abstract glass.
Fragile filaments of stretched glass twined and twisted, curving over and
upon
itself, treating his amazed eyes to a constantly changing and glittering
surface. His fingers itched to touch and he bent closer, then reached out a
tentative finger--
"Be very careful, Mr Mandell."
Channing glanced up to see the man watching him intently and stopped before
actually touching the small golden shape that had caught his attention.
Instead,
he ran a hand along his collar to free his hair and brushed a few loose
strands
from his jacket. They fell to the grubby countertop and before Channing could
blink the shopkeeper had swept them away.
"What are they?" he asked.
Zachary smiled. He had full, womanly lips that seemed a trifle too red;
Channing
realized in embarrassment that he was staring at the man's mouth and forced
his
gaze back to the tray.
"I call them... frames."
"Frames?" Channing asked in puzzlement. "But that's such a -- a plain
description! It hardly describes them." Channing knew that any hope of price
bargaining was gone; gazing at the multi-colored pieces filled him with a
sense
of childlike awe that he made no attempt to disguise.
"Ah, but it does!" Zachary reached out, his overlong fingers going unerringly
to
the one that had attracted Channing the most. He plucked it from the tray and
held it up daintily between his thumb and middle finger, turning it this way
and
that, like a jeweler testing a diamond for clarity. "Do you see?"
Zachary thrust the piece under Channing's nose and he squinted to bring it
into
focus. It was even more beautiful at close range -- not a crack or ragged
edge
showed anywhere among the myriad strands of glass. But wait -- there was
something there, in the middle, a flaw of some type.
"What's that?" he asked, peering hard at the piece. It would be a shame if it
weren't perfect, although Miranda's myopic eyesight would never notice.
"What's