"Guy N. Smith - The Slime Beast" - читать интересную книгу автора (Smith Guy N)

can cover up things for centuries.'

The sun was dipping behind the horizon and suddenly it seemed much colder, reminding them that it
wasn't summer any more. They began to retrace their steps.

Gavin glanced at Liz. He began thinking about her again. He wondered if she had a chap back at the
university. Most girls there had, and for a variety of reasons.

He dropped his hand and felt for hers, closing his fingers over hers, gently, casually, as if it were the most
natural thing to do. It was. His heart pounded. He half expected her to draw herself away, embarrassed,
but she didn't. For some time she did nothing. Then, as if she had been deliberating on a course of action
her small delicate fingers jostled for a position of more comfort and squeezed her reply. Two hundred
yards further on he released his hold and slipped an arm about her waist Her body nestled against his.
Neither of them spoke,

Dusk was falling when they arrived back at the blockhouse. They paused at the entrance facing each
other. Neither of them could think of anything to say. Words seemed superfluous. Gavin drew her
towards him and they kissed. Gently at first. Then more fiercely as they pressed their bodies together.
Gavin thought about his hardness which was boring against her thighs. He longed to caress the curves
beneath her sweater but managed to control himself. A step at a time. At the moment he was doing just
fine.

'Liz!' Professor Lowson's voice caused them to spring apart. 'Liz! How about lighting these lamps?'

They sighed with sudden relief. The old boy had only just noticed that it was getting dark. He obviously
had not even left his quarters during the whole time they had been away.

'Coming.' Liz called and went inside to look for the matches.

Gavin and Liz tried to read for a while, gave it up and made some coffee. Concentration seemed
impossible, so they sat and talked.

A sudden pounding on the improvised door crashed through the quietness.

Liz was trembling a little. "This isn't exactly the place where one would expect callers. And we don't
know a soul, round here. Whoever can it be?'

'Well, there's only one way to find out,' Gavin Royle's smile reassured her as he got to his feet and made
for the door. He tugged at the wooden framework and with a grinding and screeching it was forced
open.

'Good evening.'
The man on the threshold was tall and austere-looking, with an aquiline face with bushy eyebrows and a
moustache which suggested he had been in military service at some time or other. The completely bald
head seemed to add a sinister aspect, yet his tweed jacket, plus-fours and Wellington boots were in
keeping with the surroundings.

'Do I have the honour of addressing Professor Lowson?' His voice was cultured, firm.

'Er - no.' Gavin was perplexed for a moment. 'But I'll fetch him for you. Would you care to step inside a