"Bruce Holland Rogers - Chambers Like a Hive" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rogers Bruce Holland)

mine.
Should she descend alone? And whose place was this if not hers?
A long time she knelt looking, feeling the exhalations of cool air.
When next he came he seemed somehow diminished. His shoulders sloped and there was a rattle to
his breath. Music? she asked him, thinking of the velvet seats, the hush of anticipation. He shook his
head, lay at her feet, grew small.
She closed her eyes but did not dream. What if I say his name aloud, she wondered, in some crowded
place where none can fail to hear?
Now, she bides her time. Beneath her bed the labyrinth unfolds and grows. Though he showed her to
it, he doesn't guess that it is growing, could not imagine that she anticipates new rooms before they
appear.
What does she owe him for the revelation? Would she have known to find these rooms if he had never
come?
Each time that he arrives now, his clothes fall in deeper, blacker folds. When the music rises like a
flood above their heads, it is his eyes that cannot leave hers. She imagines that she sees in his eyes the
region of his birth: a plain and distant mountains. Nearby, black towers of uncounted rooms, rising
toward a starless night.
She has guessed his name. It is a syllable always ready to burst from her. She keeps her jaw clamped
tight against it.
He will grow thinner, until one night only his cloak arrives, rumpled at the foot of her bed. Still she will
hold her tongue. She will take the cloak up, and she will put it on. She will never say his name.
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