"A Journey South - a novelette by John Christopher" - читать интересную книгу автора (Christopher John)

the dials which, over a distance of nearly fifty miles, recorded the data
of her failing body -- temperature, respiration, pulse rate, blood count
and the rest -- summed up and analyzed them. Back in close-up, Grimond
said:
"I'll come over."
"How long?"
"Be with you in half an hour."
Impatiently Starmer said: "Katherine. How long does she have?"
"A few hours. It could be less."
"Don't come."
"But..."
"Is there anything you can do for her that I can't?"
"No. But you should have someone with you,."
"I don't think so. And she'd know why."
"I can think up a reason."
"Nothing that would fool her. Thank you, John. It's late. Get some sleep."
From her bed, she asked: "Was that John?" Starmer nodded. "What does he
say?"
"The same as always. We must be patient."
"You have been."
Their hands joined. The wasting was least apparent there: her fingers had
always been thin. But they had also been strong, deft, lively, and now
were barely capable of answering his gentle pressure. He saw her mouth
twitch, and said:
"I'll give you another shot."
"No. It's all right. But..."
"What?"
Her grey eyes, so big in the shrunken face, engaged his.
"I'd like you to send for Martin."
"What do you want him for?"
She said, with an effort: "I want him."
"Perhaps in the morning."
The shake of her head seemed a visible draining of strength.
"Now. Please, darling. Now."


Martin wore his Counsellor's dress of crimson tunic and black cloak.
Starmer resented that though realizing it made no difference: his presence
proclaimed his office. After a single look at Katherine, he wasted no time
but moved into the ritual. The words were spoken, the responses made, and
then it was time for the telling. Starmer wondered if he should leave, but
neither said anything and he could not bear to go. She spoke in a low
voice, counting beads of memory: names of people, places that had made up
the warp and weft of her life. The ones he recognized were bad enough, but
it was worse hearing those others in which he had had no part. So much of
her life he had not shared, and now never could.
Then the reconciliation. Listening out of a fog of misery, Starmer
acknowledged Martin did it well.
"Before the beginning of years
There came to the making of man