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

Lund took the letter over to the window and tore it open. Reade was glad to have him on the
other side of the room. He riffled hastily through the other letters in the drawer, but found nothing that
could be described as a crank letter. When he looked around, Lund was looking puzzled and
disappointed. He held out the letter.
"Nothing much there. Just somebody who wants to know what authority you have for some date
you give."
Reade said, smiling, "You see why I don't bother to open some of my letters?"
"Yes, I'm afraid I do. But are there any others you haven't opened?"
"I think so. I occasionally keep them in here."
He pulled open the bottom drawer and was embarrassed to discover that it seemed to be stuffed
to the top with unopened envelopes.
"All of these?" Lund said incredulously.
"It would appear so, I'm afraid."
Lund said, smiling, "Don't apologize. We might have something here. Would you mind very much
if we took these all downstairs and went through them?"
Reade said hopefully, "Perhaps you'd like to take them away with you?"
"But of course! If you wouldn't object."
"Not at all. You'd be doing me a favor!"
"Splendid!" Lund sounded more cheerful than at any time since his arrival. "Let's just take the
drawer down." At the door, he turned. "And if you don't mind, I'll accept your kind offer of some of that
stew."
"Of course. With pleasure."


Ten minutes later, as they sat on either side of the kitchen table and Reade spread chunks of new
bread with unsalted butter, Lund said, "You know, it's amazing how damned hungry you can get without
realizing it. I'd forgotten that I hadn't eaten since breakfast." He sipped a mouthful of the stew cautiously;
it was extremely hot. He said, "Ah, that's really excellent." He laid down his spoon for a moment, taking a
slice of bread. "You know, I'd have thought a man like you would be a vegetarian."
Reade acknowledged the point, smiling wryly. "I should be. But I'm such a bad cook, and I think
I'd soon get bored with vegetable stew."
Lund dropped all pretense of interest in the conversation, and ate voraciously for ten minutes.
When Reade offered a second helping, he nodded without ceasing to chew. Then he said, by way of
apology, "Marvelous stew. . ."
"Would you like a glass of beer with it? My own home brew?"
"That's kind of you. I think I would."
When Reade opened the heavy stone jars, the kitchen filled with the strong smell of fermented
yeast.
Lund said, chuckling, "Reminds me of the brewery we used to live next door to when I was a
kid." He tasted the heavy golden-looking liquid, and said, "That's good, but I don't think I'd better take
much of it."
"You're right. Two glasses would put you to sleep."
"As strong as that!" He drank half the glass thirstily, then set it down. "Don't mind my asking, Mr.
Reade, but were you ever married?"
"I'm afraid not. Are you?"
"Oh yes. And three kids, the eldest eleven." He took up his spoon again and waved it
expansively; his manner had now lost all the professional quality and become friendly and open. "You'll
excuse me saying so, but I'd have thought a wife was just what you need here. After all, you're a scholar.
You shouldn't be bothered with domestic affairs."
Reade felt himself blushing, but was glad that he had his back to the window. "That's true, I'm not