"Kenneth Robeson - Doc Savage 144 - Strange Fish" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth) STRANGE FISH
A Doc Savage Adventure by Kenneth Robeson This page copyright © 2003 Blackmask Online. http://www.blackmask.com ? Chapter I ? Chapter II ? Chapter III ? Chapter IV ? Chapter V ? Chapter VI ? Chapter VII ? Chapter VIII ? Chapter IX ? Chapter X ? Chapter XI ? Chapter XII ? Chapter XIII ? Chapter XIV Scanned and Proofed by Tom Stephens Chapter I THE fat man lifted his hat off his bald head and said, “Oh, pardon me. I'm so sorry, Miss Stevens!” Paris Stevens was often recognized by people she hadn't the slightest recollection of having seen before, so she thought nothing of it. The fat man had bumped into her. He'd apologized. She didn't know him. That was all. Paris gave him a briefly impersonal smile, and skipped on her way. Skipping was only figurative. It described how she felt. She felt fine, fresh and bright as a daisy in the springtime. It was a wonderful morning. It was a wonderful improvement over hospitals. She had a new hat, too. It was in the box she carried, a zany of a hat. She'd paid over fifty dollars for it. Her limousine was waiting at the curb. The car wasn't exactly a block long, but it was the nearest thing to it you could get these days. The chauffeur wore gray-green livery. Paris got in. “Home, Abner,” she said deliciously. Paris leaned back luxuriously—and a funny thing happened. She remembered the fat man. She remembered his large, round, somewhat cheese-colored face, and his large round moist eyes. The eyes were as expressionless as ripe plums resting in a gravy bowl. Something—perhaps it was the eyes—made the cold-footed ants go up and down Paris' spine. Bless us to Betsy, what's gotten into me, Paris wondered. I didn't know Fatty. I never saw him before. He's nothing in my life. The limousine rolled up Fifth Avenue. People on the sidewalks craned their necks to look at the limousine, because such cars were not often seen these days. Some of them said excitedly that there went Paris Stevens. One acquaintance waved at Paris. Gonnerman, the cop at the corner of Fifty-seventh, gave her a grin and a salute. |
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