"Mary Stewart - Madam will you talk" - читать интересную книгу автора (Stewart Mary)

mouth, and the childish thin wrists and hands, of something here that
could meet and challenge a
MADAM, WILL YOU TALK? II


quite adult destiny on its own ground, strength for strength. The
burden, whatever it was, was quite obviously recognized and accepted.
There had been some hardening process at work, and recently. Not a
pleasant process, I thought, looking at the withdrawn profile bent over
the absurd dog, and feeling suddenly angry.


But he came out of his sombre thoughts as quickly as he had gone in--so
quickly, in fact, that I began to think I had been an over-imaginative
fool.

"Yes, of course I like it. Rommel doesn't, it's too hot. Do you like the
heat?" We were back at the small-talk. "They said two English ladies
were coming to-day; that would be you--Mrs. Selborne and Miss Crabbe?"

"Cray. I'm Mrs. Selborne," I said.

"Yes, that's it." His grin was suddenly pure small-boy. "I'm bad at
remembering names, and I have to do it by--by association. It sometimes
goes awfully wrong. But I remembered yours because of Gilbert White."

Now most people could see the connection between cray and crab, but not
many thirteen-years-olds, I thought, would be so carelessly familiar
with Gilbert White's letters from his little Hampshire village, which go
under the title of The Natural History of Selborne. I had been right
about the intelligence. I only knew the book myself because one is apt
to be familiar with most of the contexts in which one's name appears.
And because Johnny----

"My name's David," said the boy. "David Shelley."

I laughed.

"Well, that's easy enough to remember, anyway. How do you do, David? I
shall only have to think of the Romantic poets, if I forget. But don't
hold it against me if I address you as David Byron, or -"

I stopped abruptly. The boy's face, smiling politely up at me, changed
again. This time there could be no mistake about it. He went suddenly
rigid, and a wave of scarlet poured over his face from neck to temples,
and receded as quickly, leaving him white and sick-looking. He opened
his mouth as if to speak, fumbling a little with the dog's collar. Then
he seemed to make some kind of effort, sent me a courteous, meaningless
little smile, and bent over the dog again, fumbling in his pocket for
string to fasten him.