"Wilson, F Paul - adversary 3 - The Touch" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wilson F. Paul)

living room, the ornate silver sets in the dining room, the bonsai greenhouse.
Everything in the article had spelled M-O-N-E-Y. "If the place is half as
beautiful in real life as it was on paper, I imagine it would be pretty
tempting."
"Thanks," she said with a rueful smile. "I needed to hear that."
"Sorry. But you have an alarm system, don't you?"
She shook her head. "Only a one-eyed dog who barks but doesn't bite. And Ba, of
course."
"Is he enough?"
"So far, yes."
Maybe Ba was enough. Alan shuddered at the thought of running into him in the
dark. He looked like a walking cadaver.
"They certainly made enough of a fuss over you in the articleЧfamous sculptress
and all that. How come no mention of Jeffy? I'm surprised they didn't play up
the human interest angle there."
"They didn't mention Jeffy because they don't know about him. Jeffy is not for
display."
At that moment, Sylvia Nash rose another notch in Alan's estimation. He watched
her, waiting for her to start with the provocative comments. None came. She was
too concerned about Jeffy.
"Come take a look at him," she continued. "He's upstairs. He quieted down after
I called. I hated to disturb you, but he was in so much pain, and then he
vomited. And, you knowЕ I get worried."
Alan knew, and understood. He followed her across the foyer and up the curved
staircase, watching her hips swaying gracefully before his eyes. Down a hall, a
left turn, and then they were stepping over a knee-high safety gate into a
child's room, gently illuminated by a Donald Duck night-light in a wall outlet.
Alan knew Jeffy well, and felt a special kinship with him that he shared with
none of his other pediatric patients. A beautiful child with a cherubic face,
blond hair, deep blue eyes, and a terrible problem. He had examined Jeffy so
many times that his little eight-year-old body was nearly as familiar as his
own. But Jeffy's mindЕ his mind remained locked away from everybody.
He looked at the bed and saw Jeffy sleeping peacefully.
"Doesn't look very sick to me."
Sylvia stepped quickly to the bedside and stared down at the boy. "He was in
agony beforeЧdoubled over, grabbing his stomach. You know I'd never call you on
a lark. Is something wrong with him? Is he okay?"
Alan glanced at her concerned face and felt her love for this child sweep like a
warm wave through the air.
"Let's take a look at him and find out."
"Off, Mess," Sylvia said. The black and orange cat that had been coiled in the
crook of Jeffy's knees threw Alan an annoyed look as she hopped off the bed.
Alan sat beside Jeffy's sprawled form and rolled him over onto his back. He
lifted his pajama shirt and pushed down his diaper to expose his lower abdomen.
Placing his left hand on the belly, he pressed the fingertips of his right down
onto those of his left. The abdomen was soft. He tapped around the quadrants,
eliciting a hollow soundЧgas. He paid particular attention to the lower right
quadrant over the appendix. There was slight guarding of the abdominal wall
there and maybe some tendernessЧhe thought he saw Jeffy wince in his sleep when
he pressed there. He drew his stethoscope from his black bag and listened to the