"L. Lee Lowe - Mortal Ghost" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lowe L Lee)

passport and phrase book.

At the front door he noticed three motorcycle helmets hanging up along with the macs and jackets.

'My dad's,' she said.

Jesse was astounded by the quantity of possessions these people could accumulate: magazines and
newspapers, sandals, pillows, vases filled with wilted flowers, CDs, a heap of socks, African baskets, photos,
a trumpet lying on a piano, plants, a chess set, statues in stone and wood -- and books, lots and lots of books.
And this only from a glimpse through the doorway as they headed towards the kitchen.

Sarah passed Jesse a plate heaped with scrambled eggs and grated cheese, grilled tomatoes, buttery toast. The
dog had already wolfed down a helping of stale cornflakes with milk.

'He'd probably sit up and recite all of the Elder Edda -- in the original -- for a soup bone,' Jesse said.

'My mum and I are vegetarians,' Sarah said without a hint of apology. 'No bones, no bacon or sausage, only
some steaks for my dad in the deep freeze. Finn would kill me if I used his imported beef for a dog.'

'Finn?'

'My dad.'

'A nickname?'

'No. An old family name.'

'You call your father by his first name?'

'Yeah, why not?' She looked at him in surprise, then asked, 'What's the Elder Edda?'

'A collection of early ballad-like poems. An important source of the Norse myths, written in Old Icelandic.'

'Norse?'

'Yeah. You know, stories of the Viking gods. Odin. Thor. The Valkyries. Loki the Trickster's one of my
favourites.'

She stared at him for a moment with a frown, as if she'd never heard of the Vikings, before going to the
refrigerator for another packet of cheese.

'Your dog won't mind some cheddar, I reckon.'

Sarah persisted in calling the dog his. Jesse hadn't bothered to correct her again. A meal was worth more than
a pronoun. If he played his declensions right, he might get to shower as well.

While Sarah cut some cheese Jesse concentrated on the tastes exploding on his tongue. Hunger sharpened the
senses -- everyone knew that. Only the truly hungry saw the ghosts it raised: a grandmother cooking on an old
range, a little girl setting a basket of warm feathery eggs on the table, the sad tired eyes of the constable. Sarah
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