"Charles L. Harness - The Rose" - читать интересную книгу автора (Harness Charles L)

on the Via. There was no cause for alarm.

She was breathing almost normally when the music died away and someone began a harsh harangue over
the public address system. "Ladies and gentlemen, it is our rare good fortune to have with us tonight the
genius who composed the music you have been enjoying."

A sudden burst of laughter greeted this, seeming to originate in the direction of the orchestra, and was
counter-pointed by an uncomplimentary blare from one of the horns.

"Your mockery is misplaced, my friends. It just so happens that this genius is not I, but another. And
since she has thus far had no opportunity to join in the revelry, your inimitable friend, as The Student, will
take her hand, as The Nightingale, in the final pas de deux from Act III. That should delight her, yes?"

The address system clicked off amid clapping and a buzz of excited voices, punctuated by occasional
shouts.
She must escape! She must get away!

Anna pressed back into the crowd. There was no longer any question about finding a man in a polka dot
suit. That creature in white certainly wasn't he. Though how could he have recognized her?

She hesitated. Perhaps he had a message from the other one, if there really was one with polka dots.

No, she'd better go. This was turning out to be more of a nightmare than a lark.

Still—

She peeked back from behind the safety of a woman's sleeve, and after a moment located the man in
white.

His pasty-white face with its searching eyes was much closer. But what had happened to his white cap
and gown? Now, they weren't white at all! What optical fantasy was this? She rubbed her eyes and
looked again.

The cap and gown seemed to be made up of green and purple polka dots on a white background! So he
was her man!

She could see him now as the couples spread out before him, exchanging words she couldn't hear, but
which seemed to carry an irresistible laugh response.

Very well, she'd wait.

Now that everything was cleared up and she was safe again behind her armor of objectivity, she studied
him with growing curiosity. Since that first time, she had never again got a good look at him. Someone
always seemed to get in the way. It was almost, she thought, as though he was working his way out
toward her, taking every advantage of human cover, like a hunter closing in on wary quarry, until it was
too late...

He stood before her.

There were harsh clanging sounds as his eyes locked with hers. Under that feral scrutiny the woman