"Michael Swanwick - Trojan Horse" - читать интересную книгу автора (Swanwick Michael)

"I feel like a raccoon. This idiot mask."



"Get used to it. You'll be wearing it a lot."



"But what's the point?" Elin was surprised by her own irritation. "So I've got a new personality; it's still
me in here. I don't feel any weird compulsion to run amok with a knife or walk out an airlock without a
suit. Nothing to warn the citizenry about, certainly."



"Listen," Landis said. "Right now you're like a puppy tripping over its own paws because they're too big
for it. You're a stranger to yourself-you're going to feel angry when you don't expect to, get sentimental
over surprising things. You can't control your emotions until you learn what they are. And until then, the
 Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html




rest of us deserve-"



"What'll you have?" Hans was back, his forehead smudged black where he had incompletely wiped off
his facepaint.



"-a little warning. Oh, I don't know, Hans. Whatever you have on tap."



"That'll be Chanty. You?" he asked Elin.



"What's good?"



He laughed. "There's no such thing as a good lunar wine. The air's too moist. And even if it weren't, it
takes a good century to develop an adequate vineyard. But the Chanty is your basic, drinkable glug."