"Colin Wilson - The Glass Cage" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wilson Colin)

I'd talk to Soho painters and try to find out if they know of anyone who's talented but unsuccessful --
some man who's always been morose but who's been getting steadily more paranoiac. That's how the
police ought to go about it, instead of making these mass checks on every half-witted sexual pervert.
They don't understand the kind of man they're looking for."
Reade said slowly, "But a man like that doesn't go around telling everybody that he's going
insane. It all happens inside -- and so deep down that even his closest friends might never guess."
Sarah said, laughing, "I don't know why you think Damon ought to go to London. I think you
ought to go. Perhaps there's a reward for him."
Lewis only grunted. He had never taken kindly to anything that looked like ridicule.
Reade decided to change the subject. He said, "It's nearly nine o'clock. I think I might walk back
if there's a moon."
Sarah said in dismay, "You can't go tonight! I've made a bed up now. Try and make him stay,
Uncle."
Lewis said, "If he wants to get back, I don't see why he shouldn't."
Reade was mildly surprised at this reaction; it was usually Lewis who insisted on his staying.
Sarah threw open the window and leaned out. She said, "Well, you can't possibly go. There's no
moon and it's started to rain again!"
Reade said, smiling, "Ah, well, that settles it."
"Good!"
Lewis said, with mild annoyance, "Isn't it time you did your homework, young lady?"
"I suppose so. Can Damon help me?"
"I don't think that's quite ethical. Off you go. Come down if you get stuck."
 Sarah went out of the room with a rebellious shrug. Again Reade was struck by the change in her
relation to her uncle in the past weeks. Lewis said, "I'm afraid she's growing up rather fast."


An hour later Reade excused himself, and left Lewis to finish the Beaujolais. When he stood up,
he became aware of the depth of his fatigue. Sleep was affecting him like an opiate, making him almost
unaware of his legs.
He paused at her bedroom door, wondering whether to say good night, then decided against it
and went to the bathroom. The door was locked; when he tried the handle, her voice called, "I shan't be
a moment."
"It doesn't matter."
He started to go back to his bedroom, but the lock clicked and the door opened behind him.
"You can come in. I've been washing my hair."
She was wearing a cotton dressing gown. The bathroom smelled of steam and scented toilet
soap. Her hair was loose down her back; she was sitting on the edge of the bath, drying it. He looked at
his face in the mirror. It looked less tired than he anticipated.
She said, "I don't think Uncle Hugh wanted you to stay the night."
"What?" He looked at her, startled. "Why not?"
She said carelessly, "I think he's getting a bit possessive about me."
He said explosively, "But good God, I've known you since you were ten!"
"Sshh! Not so loud. He thinks I'm in bed."
He looked at her in the mirror, and reflected that if Lewis were jealous, it was understandable
enough. He was a frustrated man who felt that life had treated him badly. He was solitary and secretive
by nature; there had been a time when Reade had suspected him of being homosexual. But he was
definitely not that. And now that Sarah was turning into an attractive woman, and becoming more of a
companion, it was natural that he should want to keep her as long as possible.
He washed his face with a sponge, then swilled it in cold water. He said, "Come on, child, off to
your bedroom."