"Stephen Goldin - Herds" - читать интересную книгу автора (Goldin Stephen)

stay the night." His voice was even and smooth, but there was an
edge of command to it as he set the suitcase down on the floor.

"Don't you even bother asking your hostess' permission before
moving in?"

"Why should I? This is my cabin, built with my ' money." The
emphasis on the "my" in both cases was slight but unmistakable.

She turned away from him. Even with her back to him,
though, she could still feel his gaze piercing her soul. "Why not
finish the thought, Wes? 'My cabin, my money, my wife,' isn't
that it?"

"You are my wife, you know."

"Not any more." Already she could feel the inside corners of
her eyes starting to warm up, and she tried to check her
emotions. Crying now would do no good, and might defeat her
purpose. Besides, she had learned from painful experience that
Wesley Stoneham was not affected by tears.

"You are until the law says otherwise." He strode across the
room to her in two large steps, grabbed her by the shoulders and
spun her around. "And you are going to look at me when you talk
to me."

Stella tried to shake herself out of his grip, but his fingers just
tightened all the more into her skin, one of them (did he do it
intentionally?) hitting a nerve so that a streak of pain raced
across her shoulders. She stopped twisting and eventually he
took his arms away again.

"That's a little better," he said. "The least a man can expect is
a little civility from his own wife."

"I'm sorry," she said sweetly. There was a slight crack in her
voice as she tried to force some gaiety into it. "I should go over to
the stove and bake my big, strong mansy-wansy a welcome home
cake."

"Save the sarcasm for someone who likes that shit, Stella,"
Stoneham growled. "I want to know why you want a divorce."

"Why, my most precious one, it's…" she began in the same
saccharine tones. Stoneham gave her a hard slap against the
cheek. "I told you to can that," he said.

"I think my reasons should be more than apparent," Stella
said bitterly. There was a flush creeping slowly into the cheek