"Jack Vance - Assault on a City" - читать интересную книгу автора (Vance Jack)

home; I've a great deal to do tomorrow."



4
Bo gave no thought to Hernanda; he strode along the Parade in a
strange savage mood, comprehensible to himself least of all. Why had he
acted so? Not that he was sorry; on the contrary, he had hoped to soil the
girl as well.
He returned to his Fulchock apartment, where he thought of Hernanda
for the first time. She was nowhere in evidence, nor had he expected her,
nor did he want her. What he craved was something unattainable,
something indescribable.
He wanted the red-haired girl, and for the first time in his life he
thought not in terms of sheer submission, but admiration and affection
and a manner of living he could only sluggishly imagine.
He flung himself upon his couch and fell into a torpor.



Gray-blue light awoke Bo. He groaned, rolled over on his couch and sat
up.
He went to look at himself in the mirror. The sullen heavy-jawed face
under the tangle of blond ringlets provided him neither distress nor joy;
Bo Histledine merely looked at Bo Histledine.
He showered, dressed, drank a mug of bitter mayhaw tea, and
ruminated.
Why not? Bo rasped at himself. He was as good as anyone, and better
than most. If not one way, then anotherтАФbut own her, possess her he
would. The aspirations of the night before were flimsy shadows; Bo was a
practical man.
The spaceyards? The buffing machine? As remote as the winds of last
summer.
Bo dressed with care in gray and white pantaloons, a loose dark-blue
shirt with a dark-red cravat, a soft gray cap pulled low over his forehead.
Examining himself in the mirror, Bo found himself oddly pleased with his
appearance. He looked, so he thought, less bulky and even somewhat
younger: perhaps because he felt excited.
He removed the cravat and opened the collar of his shirt. The effect
pleased him: he lookedтАФso he thoughtтАФcasual and easy, less heavy in the
chin and jaw. What of the tight blond curls which clustered over his ears
and gave his faceтАФso he thoughtтАФa sullen, domineering look? Bo yanked
the cap down over his forehead and left his apartment.
At a nearby studio, a hairdresser trimmed away clustering curls and
rubbed brown toner into the hair remaining. Different, thought Bo.
Better? Hard to say. But different.
 He rode the tube south to Lake Werle in Elmhurst, then went by
slideway to the Academy.
Bo now moved tentatively; never before had he visited the Academy. He
passed under the Gate of the Universe and stood looking across the