"Zelazny, Roger - Angel, Dark Angel" - читать интересную книгу автора (Zelazny Roger)

УWith a gigantic machine guarded by the Angel of Death! I know!Ф

УYou are wrong. It would end with the Garden of Eden.Ф

She laughed.

УNow you know the story of my fresco.Ф

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He took her hand. УYou may be right,Ф he said. УI donТt really know. I was only talking about how things seem to me.Ф

УAnd you may be right,Ф she said. У7 donТt really knowЕ I just feel there should be something to counterbalance that wonderfully flexible mechanism which guides us so superbly that we are becoming the vegetables in that garden you would draw me.Ф

УHave you any suggestions?Ф

УHave you read any of my papers?Ф

УIТm afraid not. I fool around with my own garden and I play tennis. ThatТs about it.Ф

УI have proposed the thesis that manТs intelligence, extruded into the inanimate, has lost all that is human. Could you repair the machine that mixes our drinks, if it ceased to function?Ф

УYes.Ф

УThen you are very unusual. Most people would call in a robot which specializes in small-appliance repairs.Ф

Stain shrugged.

УNot only have we given up this function of intelligent manipulationЧbut divorced from us and existing elsewhere, it turns and seeks to suppress what remains of it within ourselves.Ф

УWhat do you mean?Ф

УWhy has life become a horizontal line, rather than an upward curve? One reason is that men of genius die young.Ф

УThis I cannot believe.Ф

УI purposely published my most important papers recently and I was visited by the Angel of Death. This proved it to me.Ф

He smiled.

УYou still live, so this could not be so.Ф

She returned his smile, and he lit two cigarettes and said, УOn what subjects were the papers?Ф

УThe Preservation of Sensibility.Ф

УAn innocuous-seeming subject.Ф

УPerhaps.Ф