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

The silver chain cut into her tanned back, slightly. Crane stared at
it.
"New?"
"Yes. I picked it up last week. Pretty?"
"Indecent. I didn't know it was a formal thing tonight."
"Not really. Optional anyway. Some of us decided to dress, that's
all." She looked at him in the mirror and said, I really don't care
if you want to wear that suit."
Wordlessly he turned and went back to the closet to find his
dinner jacket and black trousers. How easy it would be, a flick of
a chain latch, and she'd be stripped to her hips. Was she counting
on someone's noticing that? Evers maybe? Or Olivetti! Olivetti?
What had he said? Something about women who wore red in
public. Like passing out a dance card and pencil, the promise
implicit in the gesture?
"Slut!" he said, through teeth so tightly pressed together that his
jaws ached.
"What? I'm sorry."
He looked up. The woman in the bus station was watching him
across the aisle. She still looked quite cold.
"I am sorry," she said softly. "I thought you spoke."

"No." He stuffed the policy back in his case and fastened it. "Are
you warm enough?" -
"Not really. The ticket agent wasn't kidding when he said the
thermostat lies. According to it, it's seventy-four in here."
Crane got up and looked at the thermostat. The adjustment
control was gone. The station was abysmally cold. He walked back
and forth for a few moments, then paused at the window. The
white world, ebbing and growing, changing, changeless. "If I had
a cup or something, I could bring in some snow and chill the
thermostat. That might make the heat kick on."
"Maybe in the rest room . . . " 13e heard her move across the
floor, but he didn't turn to look. There was a pink glow now in the
whiteness, like a fire in the distance, all but obscured by the inter-
vening clouds of snow. He watched as it grew brighter, darker,
almost red; then it went out. The woman returned and stood at his
side.
"No cups, but I folded paper towels to make a funnel thing. Will
it do?"
He took the funnel. It was sturdy enough, three thicknesses of
brown, unabsorbent toweling. "Probably better than a cup," he
said. "Best stand behind the door. Every time it opens, that bliz-
zard comes right on in."
She nodded and moved away. When he opened the door the
wind hit him hard, almost knocking him back into the room,
wrenching the door from his hand. It swung wide open and hit the
woman. Distantly he heard her gasp of surprise and pain. He
reached out and scooped up a funnel full of snow and then pushed
the door closed again. He was covered with snow. Breathless, he