"Encounter, The by Kate Wilhelm" - читать интересную книгу автора (Nebula Award Stories 7)

"Stay. Be my guest. Have yourself a ball. You and McCone make a
good pair, and his wife seems content to sit on the sidelines and watch
you. Did you really think that anemic blonde would appeal to me? Did
you think we'd be too busy together to notice what you were up to?"

"Tracy? To tell the truth I hadn't given her a thought. I didn't know
she didn't ski until this afternoon. I don't know why Mac brought her
here. Any more than I know why you came along."

"Come on home with me. Let's pack up and leave before the storm
begins. We can stop at that nice old antique inn on the way home,
where they always have pheasant pie. Remember?"

"Darling, I came to ski. You will leave the car here, won't you? I'll
need it to get the skis back home, and our gear. Isn't there a bus or
something?"

"Mary Louise, this morning on the slope, didn't you really see me?
You know, when your ski pole got away from you."

"What in the world are you talking about? You were behind me. How
could I have seen you? I didn't even know you had started down."

"Okay. Forget it. I'll give you a call when I get to the apartment."

"Yes, do. You can leave a message at the desk if I don't answer."

The woman held up her sketch and narrowed her eyes. She ripped out
the page and crumpled it, tossed it into the waste can.

"I think I'm too tired after all."

"It's getting cold in here again. Your hands are probably too cold." He
got up and took the funnel from the wall. "I'll get more snow and see
if we can't get the furnace going again."

"You should put something over your face, so the cold air won't be
such a shock. Don't you have a muffler?"

He stopped- He had crushed the funnel, he realized, and he tried to
smooth it again without letting her see what he had done. He decided
that it would do, and opened the door. A drift had formed, and a foot
of snow fell into the station. The wind was colder, sharper, almost
deliberately cutting. He was blinded by the wind and the snow that was
driven into his face. He filled the funnel and tried to close the door
again, but the drift was in the way. He pushed, trying to use the door as
a snowplow. More snow was being blown in, and finally he had to use
his hands, push the snow out of the way, not outside, but to one side of
the door. At last he had it clear enough and he slammed the door,
more winded this time than before. His throat felt raw, and he felt a