"Davis, Jerry - Strong Metallic Arm" - читать интересную книгу автора (Davis Jerry)

"You want me to get the automed ready?"
"No, I'm not that sick. I just feel a little queasy."
"Maybe you'll feel better after you've eaten something."
"Yes, I think that'll do it." Her hands to her face, she bit
her right index finger. She shivered, the room was cold. "I'll be
out in a minute."
"Want anything special for breakfast?"
"No. I don't care."
"How about some mild chibique, a bit of lime and some strip
steaks?"
"I don't care. Sounds good."
"Okay." His footsteps told her he was heading away.
"Duane?" she called.
His footsteps came back. "Yes, sugar?"
"Why are you being so nice to me?"
"Because I love you."
It didn't sound sincere. Erin thought that it had never
sounded sincere. But, maybe it was. Maybe I'm putting the
insincerity into it? she thought. God knows I loved him. Do I
still?
She said, "Thank you, sweetheart."
"No problem."
His footsteps receded down the hall, down the steps, and
away into the lower portions of the mansion. His withdrawal made
her feel very alone. I'm just a small freak of a woman, she
thought. He has been the only one who's cared for me. She stood up
and looked at her white face in the mirror, her bulging blue eyes
surrounded by wrinkles, her thin white hair. She looked hideous to
herself. A pale freak in a world where everyone was tan,
dark­haired and healthy.
Erin fixed herself up and dressed, then glided down the
stairs and into the dining area. The servant remotes were putting
out the silver plates of the fresh, aromatic chibique, a pile of
soy­bacon strips, and large glasses of malted villomead. Duane was
squeezing a lemon wedge over the chibique. "Good morning, honey,
you look wonderful."
"Thank you Duane. This smells good."
"Pushed the buttons myself."
"Thank you." Erin stared at the breakfast with no desire to
eat. "It looks like you're starting to adjust to not working."
"Hell, honey, when have I ever worked? I can do without
business deals. You were right all along. If I want to work the
nets, I can use my own money."
"You don't hate me?"
"No! I don't hate you. It's a silly little matter, anyway, I
don't see why we got all worked up about it."
It's just me, she told herself. I feel so guilty about
cutting him off from what he loves. He ought to hate me. He really
should. That's why his voice sounds so insincere to me, it's
because my subconscious hates me for doing it to him. That's why