"Rog Phillips - The Involuntary Immortals" - читать интересную книгу автора (Phillips Rog)

stole softly down the hall, down the stairs, across the darkened living room to CarlтАЩs
room.
For a long time she stood beside CarlтАЩs bed and looked down at him. Then she
left, closing the door softly behind her.
As the door closed, one of the heavy drapes at the window stirred. A hidden
hand pulled it aside. Agnes stepped out. Her face was etched with lines of suffering;
her fingers clenched and unclenched slowly.
She approached the bedside of her dead father. There she dropped to her knees
and buried her head in her arms.
тАЬDad,тАЭ she sobbed. тАЬDad. I solemnly swear, by all I hold sacred, I will live to
make a year of her life miserable for every year of your life and mine she has stolen.
IтАЩll follow her wherever she goes. In the end I will see her dead. IтАЩll make her pay. I
swear it, dad.тАЭ
Her voice dropped to a hoarse whisper.
тАЬI swear it.тАЭ
 CHAPTER II
┬л^┬╗
May I help you?тАЭ The masculine voice was strangely attractive.
Helen had not looked at her seat companion yet. She paused in the act of lifting
her light overnight bag into the rack above the seats to look down at him.
He was rising hastily. His general appearance told her he was youngтАФno more
than twenty-five. His smile caused her thoughts to whisper, тАЬNice.тАЭ
She was angry at that thought, coming so soon after CarlтАЩs death.
тАЬNo thank you,тАЭ she replied curtly.
Immediately she felt ashamed. To cover up, she resumed her efforts to lift the
bag into the rack. Just as she was on the point of confessing failure and asking the
young manтАЩs assistance she felt his hand take the handle from her with firm
insistence and saw the bag raised the extra half inch necessary to slide it on the rack.
A contrite smile on her face, she turned to thank him. He had already resumed his
seat, his face turned toward the window. She sat down feeling ashamed.
Her eyes analyzed the profile of this man who had managed to put her in her
place so effectively. His nose was a trifle large. His chin and jaw had a smooth line,
which, coupled with something about his cheekbone, gave the impression of
westernness. His loosely combed hair accentuated this with its soft brown color.
Only the tailoring of the blue pinstripe suit he wore indicated that he was a city
product. He carried it too naturally, and it fitted him too well.
His head began to turn toward her. She hastily buried her eyes in her vanity case,
pretending to search for something. She could feel his gaze as he looked at her.
She hadnтАЩt felt so flustered in a century. The near truth of that brought back the
realization that she was oldтАФtoo old to be flustered by the glance of a young man.
She closed her purse and looked up. His head was turned toward the window
again.
His hands lay loosely in his lap. They were well-formed with long straight fingers.
Even in repose they seemed alive and intelligentтАФthose of a musician or one
engaged in some other craft that required trained hands. They were like HelenтАЩs,
except that they were wider and the fingers larger around.
A small gold pin on his lapel caught her eye. It had a design that was unfamiliar to
her.
Outside, the station started to recede as the train moved.
The pin had an emblem on itтАФa small leaf of some sort, shaped like a Maple leaf.