Студопедия — Российское респираторное общество 19 страница
Студопедия Главная Случайная страница Обратная связь

Разделы: Автомобили Астрономия Биология География Дом и сад Другие языки Другое Информатика История Культура Литература Логика Математика Медицина Металлургия Механика Образование Охрана труда Педагогика Политика Право Психология Религия Риторика Социология Спорт Строительство Технология Туризм Физика Философия Финансы Химия Черчение Экология Экономика Электроника

Российское респираторное общество 19 страница






His other hand slipped on the freezing wheel, and he dropped into the gorge.

There was a white blur. He landed heavily on something velvety and smelling of horse sweat.

Susan steadied him with her free hand as she urged Binky upwards through the sleet.

The horse alighted on the road, and Buddy slipped off into the mud. He raised himself on his elbows.

“You?”

“Me,” said Susan.

Susan pulled the scythe out of its holster. The blade sprang out; snowflakes that fell on it split gently into two halves without a pause in their descent.

“Let’s get your friends, shall we?”

There was a friction in the air, as if the attention of the world were being focused. Death stared into the future.

OH, BLAST.

Things were coming apart. The Librarian had done his best, but mere bone and wood couldn’t take this sort of strain. Feathers and beads whirled away and landed, smoking, in the road. A wheel parted company from its axle and bounced away, shedding spokes, as the machine took a curve almost horizontally.

It made no real difference. Something like a soul flickered in the air where the missing pieces had been.

If you took a shining machine, and shone a light on

it so that there were gleams and highlights, and then took away the machine but left the light...

Only the horse’s skull remained. That and the rear wheel, which spun in forks now only of flickering light, and was smouldering.

The thing whirred past Dibbler, causing his horse to throw him into the ditch and bolt.

Death was used to travelling fast. In theory he was already everywhere, waiting for almost anything else. The fastest way to travel is to be there already.

But he’d never been this fast while going this slow. The landscape had often been a blur, but never while it was only four inches from his knee on the bends.

The cart shifted again. Now even Cliff was looking down into the darkness.

Something touched his shoulder.

HANG ON TO THIS. BUT DON’T TOUCH THE BLADE.

Buddy leaned past.

“Glod, if you let go of the bag I,;an—”

“Don’t even think about it.”

“There’s no pockets in a shroud, Glod.”

“You got the wrong tailor, then.”

In the end Buddy grabbed a spare leg and hauled. One at a time, clambering over one another, the Band eased themselves back on to the road. And turned to look at Susan.

“White horse,” said Asphalt. “Black cloak. Scythe. Um.”

“You can see her too?” said Buddy.

“I hope we’re not going to wish we couldn’t,” said Cliff.

Susan held up a lifetimer and peered at it critically.

“I suppose it’s too late to cut some sort of deal?” said Glod.

“I’m just looking to see if you’re dead or not,” said Susan.

I think I’m alive,” said Glod.

“Hold on to that thought.”

They turned at a creaking sound. The cart slid forward and dropped into the gorge. There was a crash as it hit an outcrop halfway to the bottom, and then a more distant thud as it smashed into the rocks. There was a “whoomph' and orange flames blossomed as the oil in the lamps exploded.

Out of the debris, trailing flame, rolled a burning wheel.

“We would have been in dat,” said Cliff.

“You think maybe we’re better off now?” said Glod.

“Yep,” said Cliff. “Cos we’re not dyin' in the wreckage of a burning cart.”

“Yes, but she looks a bit... occult.”

“Fine by me. I’ll take occult over deep-fried any day.”

Behind them, Buddy turned to Susan.

“I... think I’ve worked it out,” she said. “The music... twisted up history, I think. It’s not supposed to be in our history. Can you remember where you got it from?”

Buddy just stared. When you’ve been saved from certain death by an attractive girl on a white horse, you don’t expect a shopping quiz.

“A shop in Ankh-Morpork,” said Cliff.

I

“A mysterious old shop?”

“Mysterious as anything. There—”

“Did you go back? Was it still there? Was it in the same place?”

“Yes,” said Cliff.

“No,” said Glod.

“Lots of interesting merchandise that you wanted to pick up and learn more about?”

“Yes!” said Glod and Cliff together.

“Oh; said Susan, “ that kind of shop.”

“I knew it didn’t belong here,” said Glod. “Didn’t I say it didn’t belong here? I said it didn’t belong here. I said it was eldritch.”

“I thought that meant oblong,” said Asphalt.

Cliff held out his hand.

“It’s stopped snowing,” he said.

“I dropped the thing into the gorge,” said Buddy. “I... didn’t need it any more. It must have smashed.”

“No,” said Susan, “it’s not as—”

“The clouds... now they look eldritch,” said Glod, looking up.

“What? Oblong?” said Asphalt.

They all felt it... a sensation that the walls had been removed from around the world. The air buzzed.

“What’s this now?” said Asphalt, as they instinctively huddled together.

“You ought to know,” said Glod. “I thought you’d been everywhere and seen everything?”

White light crackled in the air.

And then the air became light, white as moonlight but as strong as sunlight. There was also a sound, like the roar of millions of voices.

It said: Let me show you who I am. I am the music.

Satchelmouth lit the coach-lamps.

“Hurry up, man!” shouted Clete. “We want to catch them, you know! Hat. Hat. Hat.”

“I don’t see that it matters much if they get away,” Satchelmouth grumbled, climbing onto the coach as Clete lashed the horses into motion. “I mean, they’re away. That’s all that matters, isn’t it?”

“No! You saw them. They’re the... the soul of all this trouble,” said Clete. “We can’t let this sort of thing go on!”

Satchelmouth glanced sideways. The thought was flooding into his mind, and not for the first time, that Mr Clete was not playing with a full orchestra, that he was one of those people who built their own hot madness out of sane and chilly parts. Satchelmouth was by no means averse to the finger foxtrot and the skull fandango, but he’d never murdered anyone, at least on purpose. Satchelmouth had been made aware that he had a soul and, though it had a few holes in it and was a little ragged around the edges, he cherished the hope that some day the god Reg would find him a place in a celestial combo. You didn’t get the best gigs if you were a murderer. You probably had to play the viola.

“How about if we leave it right now?” he said. “They won’t be back—”

“Shut up!”

“But there’s no point—”

The horses reared. The coach rocked. Something went past in a blur and vanished in the darkness, leaving a line of blue flames that flickered for a little while, then went out.

Death was aware that at some point he would have to stop. But it was creeping up on him that, in whatever dark vocabulary the ghost machine had been envisaged, the words “slow down' were as inconceivable as “drive safely”.

It was not in its very nature to reduce speed in any circumstances other than the dramatically calamitous at the end of the third verse.

That was the trouble with Music With Rocks In. It liked to do things its own way.

Very slowly, still spinning, the front wheel rose off the ground.

Absolute darkness filled the universe.

A voice spake: “Is that you, Cliff?”

“Yup.”

“OK. Is this me: Glod?”

“Yup. Sounds like you.”

“Asphalt?”

“'Sme.”

“Buddy?”

“Glod?”

“And... er... the lady in black?”

“Yes?”

“Do you know where we are, miss?”

There was no ground under them. But Susan didn’t feel that she was floating. She was simply standing. The fact that it was on nothing was a minor point. She wasn’t falling because there was nowhere to fall to, or from.

She’d never been interested in geography. But she had a very strong feeling that this place was not locatable on any atlas.

“I don’t know where our bodies are,” she said, carefully.

“Oh, good,” said the voice of Glod. “Really? I’m here, but we don’t know where my body is? How about my money?”

There was the sound of faint footsteps far away in the darkness. They approached, slowly and deliberately. And stopped.

A voice said: One. One. One, two. One, two.

Then the footsteps went back into the distance.

After a while, another voice said: One, two, three, four-

And the universe came into being.

It was wrong to call it a big bang. That would just be noise, and all that noise could create is more noise and a cosmos full of random particles.

Matter exploded into being, apparently as chaos, but in fact as a chord. The ultimate power chord. Everything, all together, streaming out in one huge rush that contained within itself, like reverse fossils, everything that it was going to be.

And, zigzagging through the expanding cloud, alive, that first wild live music.

This had shape. It had spin. It had rhythm. It had a beat, and you could dance to it.

Everything did.

A voice right inside Susan’s head said: And I will never die.

She said, aloud: “There’s a bit of you in everything that lives.”

Yes. I am the heart beat. The back beat.

She still couldn’t see the others. The light was streaming past her.

“But he threw away the guitar.”

I wanted him to live for me.

“You wanted him to die for you! In the wreckage of the cart!”

What is the difference? He would be dead anyway. But to die in music... People will always remember the songs he never had the chance to sing. And they will be the greatest songs of all.

Live your life in a moment.

And then live for ever. Don’t fade away.

“Send us back!”

You never left.

She blinked. They were still on the road. The air flickered and crackled, and was full of wet snow.

She looked around into Buddy’s horrified face.

“We’ve got to get away—”

He held up a hand. It was transparent.

Cliff had almost vanished. Glod was trying to grip the handle of the money bag, but his fingers were slipping through it. His face was full of the terror of death or, possibly, of poverty.

Susan shouted: “He threw you away! That’s not fair!

A piercing blue light was heading up the road. No cart could move that fast. There was a roar like the scream of a camel who has just seen two bricks.

The light reached the bend, skidded, hit a rock and leapt into space over the gorge.

There was just time for a hollow voice to say

OH B-

... before it hit the far wall in one great, spreading circle of flame.

Bones bounced and rolled down to the river-bed, and were still.

Susan spun around, scythe ready to swing. But the music was in the air. It had no soul to aim for.

You could say to the universe, this is not fair. And the universe would say: Oh, isn’t it? Sorry.

You could save people. You could get there in the nick of time. And something could snap its fingers and say, no, it has to be this way. Let me tell you how it has to be. This is how the legend has to go.

She reached out and tried to take Buddy’s hand. She could feel it, but only as a coldness.

“Can you hear me?” she shouted, above the triumphant chords.

He nodded.

“It’s... it’s like a legend! It has to happen! And I can’t stop it—how can I kill something like music?”

She ran to the edge of the gorge. The cart was well on fire. They wouldn’t appear in it. They would have been in it.

“I can’t stop it! It’s not fair!

She pounded at the air with her fists.

Grandfather!”

Blue flames flickered fitfully on the rocks of the dry river-bed.

A small fingerbone rolled across the stones until it came up against another, slightly larger bone.

A third bone tumbled off a rock and joined them.

In the semi-darkness there was a rattling among the stones and a handful of little white shapes bounced and tumbled between the rocks until a hand, indexfinger reaching for the sky, rose into the night.

Then there was a series of deeper, more hollow noises as longer, larger things skipped end on end through the gloom.

“I was going to make it better!” shouted Susan. “What’s the good of being Death if you have to obey idiot rules all the time?”

BRING THEM BACK.

As Susan turned, a toe-bone hopped across the mud and scuttled into place somewhere under Death’s robe.

He strode forward, snatched the scythe from Susan and, in one movement, whirled it over his head and brought it down on the stone. The blade shattered.

He reached down and picked up a fragment. It glittered in his fingers like a tiny star of blue ice.

IT WAS NOT A REQUEST.

When the music spoke, the falling snow danced.

You can’t kill me.

Death reached into his robe, and brought out the guitar. Bits of it had broken off, but this didn’t matter; the shape flickered in the air. The strings glowed.

Death took a stance that Crash would have died to achieve, and raised one hand. In his fingers the sliver glinted. If light could have made a noise, it would have flashed ting.

He wanted to be the greatest musician in the world. There has to be a law. Destiny runs its course.

For once, Death appeared not to smile.

He brought his hand down on the strings.

There was no sound.

There was, instead, a cessation of sound, the end of a noise which Susan realized she’d been hearing all along. All the time. All her life. A kind of sound you never notice until it stops...

The strings were still.

There are millions of chords. There are millions of numbers. And everyone forgets the one that is a zero. But without the zero, numbers are just arithmetic. Without the empty chord, music is just noise.

Death played the empty chord.

The beat slowed. And began to weaken. The universe spun on, every atom of it. But soon the whirling would end and the dancers would look around and wonder what to do next.

It’s not time for THAT! Play something else!

I CANNOT.

Death nodded towards Buddy.

BUT HE CAN.

He threw the guitar towards Buddy. It passed right through him.

Susan ran and snatched it up, holding it out.

“You’ve got to take it! You’ve got to play! You’ve got to start the music again!”

She strummed frantically at the strings. Buddy winced.

“Please!” she shouted. “Don’t fade away!”

The music screamed in her head.

Buddy managed to grasp the guitar, but stood looking at it as if he’d never seen it before.

“What’ll happen if he doesn’t play it?” said Glod.

“You’ll all die in the wreckage!”

AND THEN, said Death, THE MUSIC WILL DIE. AND THE DANCE WILL END. THE WHOLE DANCE.

The ghostly dwarf gave a cough.

“We’re getting paid for this number, right?” he said.

YOU’ll GET THE UNIVERSE.

“And free beer?”

Buddy held the guitar to him. His eyes met Susan’s.

He raised his hand, and played.

The single chord rang out across the gorge, and echoed back with strange harmonics.

THANK YOU, said Death. He stepped forward and took the guitar.

He moved suddenly, and smashed the thing against a rock. The strings parted, and something accelerated away, towards the snow and the stars.

Death looked at the wreckage with some satisfaction.

NOW THAT'S MUSIC WITH ROCKS IN.

He snapped his fingers.

The moon rose over Ankh-Morpork.

The park was deserted. The silver light flowed over the wreckage of the stage, and the mud and halfconsumed sausages that marked the spot where the audience had been. Here and there it glinted off broken sound traps.

After a while some of the mud sat up and spat out some more mud.

“Crash? Jimbo? Scum?” it said.

“Is that you, Noddy?” said a sad shape hanging from one of the stage’s few remaining beams.

The mud pulled some more mud out of its ears. “Right! Where’s Scum?”

“I think they threw him into the lake.”

“Is Crash alive?”

There was a groan from under a heap of wreckage. “Pity,” said Noddy, with feeling.

A figure emerged out of the shadows, squelching.

Crash half crawled, half fell out of the rubble.

“You'fe got to admit,” he mumbled, because at some stage in the performance a guitar had hit him in the teeth, “that waf Music Wif Rocks In...”

“All right,” said Jimbo, and slithered off his beam. “But next time, thanks all the same, I’d rather try sex “n' drugs.”

“My dad said he’d kill me if I took drugs,” said Noddy.

“This is your brain on drugs...” said Jimbo.

“No, this is your brain, Scum, on this lump here.”

“Oh, cheers. Thanks.”

“A painkiller’d be favourite right now,” said Jimbo.

A little closer to the lake a heap of sacking slid sideways.

“Archchancellor?”

“Yes, Mr Stibbons?”

“I think someone trod on my hat.”

“So what?”

“It’s still on my head.”

Ridcully sat up, easing the ache in his bones.

“Come on, lad,” he said. “Let’s go home. I’m not sure I’m that interested in music any more. It’s a world of hertz.”

A coach rattled along the winding mountain road. Mr Clete was standing on the box, whipping the horses.

Satchelmouth got unsteadily to his feet. The cliff edge was so close he could see right down into the darkness.

“I’ve had just about altogether too much of this by half,” he shouted, and tried to snatch at the whip.

“Stop that! We’ll never catch up with them!” shouted Clete.

“So what? Who cares? I liked their music!”

Clete turned. His expression was terrible.

“Traitor!”

The butt-end of the whip caught Satchelmouth in the stomach. He staggered back, clutched at the edge of the coach, and dropped.

His outflung arm caught hold of what felt like a thin branch in the darkness. He swung wildly over the drop until his boots got a purchase on the rock, and his other hand gripped a broken fence-post.

He was just in time to see the cart rumble straight on. The road, on the other hand, curved sharply.

Satchelmouth shut his eyes and held on tight until the last scream and crackle and splinter had died away. When he opened them, it was just in time to see a burning wheel bounce down the canyon.

“Blimey,” he said, “it was lucky there... was... some... thing...”

His gaze went up. And up.

YES. IT WAS, WASN’T IT?

Mr Clete sat up in the ruins of the cart. It was clearly very much on fire. He was lucky, he told himself, to have survived that.

A black-robed figure walked through the flames.

Mr Clete looked at it. He’d never believed in this

sort of thing. He never believed in anything. But if he had believed, he would have believed in someone... bigger.

He looked down at what he’d thought was his body, and realized that he could see through it, and that it was fading away.

“Oh, dear,” he said. “Hat. Hat. Hat.”

The figure grinned, and swung its tiny scythe.

SNH, SNH, SNH.

Much later on, people went down into the canyon and sorted out the remains of Mr Clete from the remains of everything else. There wasn’t very much.

There were some suggestions that he was some musician... some musician had fled the city or something... hadn’t he? Or was that something else? Anyway, he was dead now. Wasn’t he?

No-one took any notice of the other things. Stuff tended to congregate in the dry river-bed. There was a horse’s skull, and some feathers and beads. And a few pieces of guitar, smashed open like an eggshell. Although it would be hard to say what had flown.

Susan opened her eyes. She felt wind on her face. There were arms on either side of her. They were supporting her while, at the same time, grasping the reins of a white horse.

She leaned forward. Clouds were scudding by, far below.

“All right,” she said. “And now what happens?”

Death was silent for a moment.

HISTORY TENDS TO SWING BACK INTO LINE. THEY ARE ALWAYS PATCHING IT UP. THERE ARE ALWAYS SOME MINOR LOOSE ENDS... I DARE SAY SOME PEOPLE WILL HAVE SOME CONFUSED MEMORIES ABOUT A CONCERT OF SORTS IN THE PARK. BUT WHAT OF IT? THEY WILL REMEMBER THINGS THAT DID NOT HAPPEN.

“But they did happen!”

AS WELL.

Susan stared down at the dark landscape. Here and there were the lights of homesteads and small villages, where people were getting on with their lives without thought of what was passing by, high over their heads. She envied them.

“So,” she said, “just for an example, you understand... what would happen to the Band?”

OH, THEY MIGHT BE ANYWHERE. Death glanced at the back of Susan’s head. TAKE THE BOY, FOR EXAMPLE. PERHAPS HE LEFT THE BIG CITY. PERHAPS HE WENT SOMEWHERE ELSE. GOT A JOB JUST TO MAKE ENDS MEET. BIDED HIS TIME. DID IT HIS WAY.

“But he was due in the Drum that night!”

NOT IF HE DIDN’T GO THERE.

“Can you do that? His life was due to end! You said you can’t give life!”

NOT ME. YOU MIGHT.

“What do you mean?”

LIFE CAN BE SHARED.

“But he’s... gone. It’s not as though I’m ever likely to see him again.”

YOU KNOW YOU WILL.

“How do you know that?”

YOU’ve ALWAYS KNOWN. YOU REMEMBER EVERYTHING. SO DO I. BUT YOU ARE HUMAN AND YOUR MIND REBELS FOR YOUR OWN SAKE. SOMETHING GOES ACROSS, THOUGH. DREAMS, PERHAPS. PREMONITIONS. FEELINGS. SOME SHADOWS ARE SO LONG THEY ARRIVE BEFORE THE LIGHT.

“I don’t think I understood any of that.”

WELL, IT HAS BEEN A LONG DAY.

More clouds passed underneath.

“Grandfather?”

YES.

“You’re back?”

IT SEEMS SO. BUSY, BUSY, BUSY.

“So I can stop? I don’t think I was very good at it.”

YES.

“But... you’ve just broken a lot of laws...”

PERHAPS THEY’re SOMETIMES ONLY GUIDELINES.

“But my parents still died.”

I COULDN’T HAVE GIVEN THEM MORE LIFE. I COULD ONLY HAVE GIVEN THEM IMMORTALITY. THEY DIDN’T THINK IT WAS WORTH THE PRICE.

“I... think I know what they mean.”

YOU’re WELCOME TO COME AND VISIT, OF COURSE.

“Thank you.”

YOU WILL ALWAYS HAVE A HOME THERE. IF YOU WANT IT.

“Really?”

I SHALL KEEP YOUR ROOM EXACTLY AS YOU LEFT IT.

“Thank you.”

A MESS.

“Sorry.”

I CAN HARDLY SEE THE FLOOR. YOU COULD HAVE TIDIED IT UP A BIT.

“Sorry.”

The lights of Quirm glittered below. Binky touched down smoothly.

Susan looked around at the dark school buildings.

“So I’ve... also... been here all the time?” she said.

YES. THE HISTORY OF THE LAST FEW DAYS HAS BEEN... DIFFERENT. YOU DID QUITE WELL IN YOUR EXAMS.

“Did I? Who sat them?”

YOU DID.

“Oh.” Susan shrugged. “What grade did I get in Logic?”

YOU GOT AN A.

“Oh, come on. I always get A-plus!”

YOU SHOULD HAVE REVISED MORE.

Death swung up into the saddle.

“Just a minute,” said Susan, quickly. She knew she had to say it.

YES?

“What happened to... you know... changing the fate of one individual means changing the world?”

SOMETIMES THE WORLD NEEDS CHANGING.

“Oh. Er. Grandfather?”

YES?

“Er... the swing... “said Susan. The one down in the orchard. I mean... It was pretty good. A good swing.”

REALLY?

“I was just too young to appreciate it.”

YOU REALLY LIKED IT?

“It had... style. I shouldn’t think anyone else ever had one like it.”

THANK YOU.

“But... all this doesn’t alter anything, you know. The world is still full of stupid people. They don’t use their brains. They don’t seem to want to think straight.”

UNLIKE YOU?

“At least I make an effort. For example... if I’ve been here for the last few days, who’s in my bed now?”

I THINK YOU JUST WENT OUT FOR A MOONLIGHT STROLL.

“Oh. That’s all right, then.”

Death coughed.

I SUPPOSE...?

“Sorry?”

I KNOW IT'S RIDICULOUS, REALLY...

“What is?”

I SUPPOSE... YOU HAVEN’T GOT A KISS FOR YOUR OLD GRANDAD?

Susan stared at him.

The blue glow in Death’s eyes gradually faded, and as the light died it sucked at her gaze so that it was dragged into the eye sockets and the darkness beyond...

... which went on and on, for ever. There was no word for it. Even eternity was a human idea. Giving it a name gave it a length; admittedly, a very long one. But this darkness was what was left when eternity had given up. It was where Death lived. Alone.

She reached up and pulled his head down and kissed the top of his skull. It was smooth and ivory white, like a billiard ball.

She turned and stared at the shadowy buildings in an attempt to hide her embarrassment.

“I just hope I remembered to leave a window open.” Oh, well, nothing for it. She had to know, even if she felt angry with herself for asking. “Look, the... er, the people I met... do you know if I ever see—”

When she turned back, there was nothing there. There were only a couple of hoofprints, fading on the cobbles.

There was no open window. She went around to the door and climbed the stairs in the darkness.

“Susan!”

Susan felt herself fading protectively, out of habit. She stopped it. There was no need for that. There had never been a need for that.

A figure stood at the end of the passage, in a circle of lamplight.

“Yes, Miss Butts?”

The headmistress peered at her, as if waiting for her to do something.

“Are you all right, Miss Butts?”

The teacher rallied. “Do you know it’s gone midnight? For shame! And you’re out of bed! And that is certainly not the school uniform!”

Susan looked down. It was always hard to get every little detail right. She was still wearing the black dress with the lace.

“Yes,” she said, “that’s right.” She gave Miss Butts a bright friendly smile.

“Well, there are school rules, you know,” said Miss Butts, but her tone was hesitant.

Susan patted her on the arm. “I think they’re probably more like guidelines, don’t you? Eulalie?”

Miss Butts’s mouth opened and shut. And Susan realized that the woman was actually quite short. She had a tall bearing and a tall voice and a tall manner, and was tall in every respect except height. Amazingly, she’d apparently been able to keep this a secret from people.

“But I’d better be off to bed,” said Susan, her mind dancing on adrenalin. “And you, too. It’s far too late to be wandering around draughty corridors at your age, don’t you think? Last day tomorrow, too. You don’t want to look tired when the parents arrive.”

“Er... Yes. Yes. Thank you, Susan.”

Susan gave the forlorn teacher another warm smile and headed for the dormitory, where she undressed in the dark and got between the sheets.

The room was silent except for the sound of nine girls breathing quietly and the rhythmic muffled avalanche that was Princess Jade asleep.

And, after a while, the sound of someone sobbing and trying not to be heard. It went on for a long time. There was a lot of catching up to do.

Far above the world, Death nodded. You could choose immortality, or you could choose humanity.

You had to do it for yourself.

It was the last day of the term, and therefore chaotic. Some girls were leaving early, there was a stream of parents of various races, and there was no question of there being any teaching. It was generally accepted all round that the rules were relaxed.

Susan, Gloria and Princess Jade wandered down to the floral clock. It was a quarter to Daisy.

Susan felt empty, but also stretched like a string. She was surprised sparks weren’t coming from her fingertips.

Gloria had bought a bag of fried fish from the shop in Three Roses. The smell of hot vinegar and solid cholesterol rose from the paper, without the taint of fried rot that normally gave the shop’s produce its familiar edge.

“My father says I’ve got to go home and marry some troll,” said Jade. “Hey, if there’s any good fish bones in there I’ll have them.”

“Have you met him?” said Susan.

“No. But my father says he’s got a great big mountain.”

“I wouldn’t put up with that, if I was you,” said Gloria, through a mouthful of fish. “This is the Century of the Fruitbat, after all. I’d put my foot down right now and say no. Eh, Susan?”

“What?” said Susan, who’d been thinking of something else; then, when everything had been repeated, she said, “No. I’d see what he was like first. Perhaps he’s quite nice. And then the mountain is a bonus.”

“Yes. That’s logical. Didn’t your dad send you a picture?” said Gloria.







Дата добавления: 2015-09-15; просмотров: 379. Нарушение авторских прав; Мы поможем в написании вашей работы!



Функция спроса населения на данный товар Функция спроса населения на данный товар: Qd=7-Р. Функция предложения: Qs= -5+2Р,где...

Аальтернативная стоимость. Кривая производственных возможностей В экономике Буридании есть 100 ед. труда с производительностью 4 м ткани или 2 кг мяса...

Вычисление основной дактилоскопической формулы Вычислением основной дактоформулы обычно занимается следователь. Для этого все десять пальцев разбиваются на пять пар...

Расчетные и графические задания Равновесный объем - это объем, определяемый равенством спроса и предложения...

Характерные черты официально-делового стиля Наиболее характерными чертами официально-делового стиля являются: • лаконичность...

Этапы и алгоритм решения педагогической задачи Технология решения педагогической задачи, так же как и любая другая педагогическая технология должна соответствовать критериям концептуальности, системности, эффективности и воспроизводимости...

Понятие и структура педагогической техники Педагогическая техника представляет собой важнейший инструмент педагогической технологии, поскольку обеспечивает учителю и воспитателю возможность добиться гармонии между содержанием профессиональной деятельности и ее внешним проявлением...

Тема 2: Анатомо-топографическое строение полостей зубов верхней и нижней челюстей. Полость зуба — это сложная система разветвлений, имеющая разнообразную конфигурацию...

Виды и жанры театрализованных представлений   Проживание бронируется и оплачивается слушателями самостоятельно...

Что происходит при встрече с близнецовым пламенем   Если встреча с родственной душой может произойти достаточно спокойно – то встреча с близнецовым пламенем всегда подобна вспышке...

Studopedia.info - Студопедия - 2014-2024 год . (0.014 сек.) русская версия | украинская версия