"Freda Warrington - A Taste of Blood Wine" - читать интересную книгу автора (Warrington Freda)

could work alongside you, share in your discoveries as you make
them, there could be no better path towards knowledge."
It was a presumptuous request, Karl knew. It might be refused, but
he doubted it. Although some people would sense something about
him that made them uneasy, most were drawn to him without
knowing why. And he could sense Neville already developing a
baseless but unquestioning trust in him. The ease of it made him
feel a little sad.
Even as Karl stood there making conversation, he was conscious of
Henry and Dr Neville not only as men but as potential prey. Their
breathing, salty warmth wreathed through the electrical tang of the
cellar. Karl was aware of his own fangs, the sharp canines that
appeared no different from those of humans while they were
retracted. Yet even if he had let them slide out to their full length—
bared them, as if to say see, this is what I am!—they were only the
most superficial indication of the chasm that lay between himself
and mortals.

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A Taste


He would not touch these people. It was their knowledge he needed,
not their blood. But the temptation was still there, a dark organic
pull that had to be suppressed.
Then Dr Neville said, "How are you at glass-blowing?" Karl smiled.
"I don't know, I've never tried."
"You may laugh, but we have to make all our own equipment.
Making a good cardboard strut for a photographic plate is just as
important as intricate mathematical reasoning. And a damn sight
more useful. Isn't it, Henry?"
"Or the stamina to sit up all night counting alpha-particles until your
eyes fall out," said Henry, sounding hostile.
"I should be happy to do whatever was required of me."
"I can't pay you anything."
"I was not asking for a job, Dr Neville. On the contrary, if you need
resources for your laboratory… "
Neville looked startled. "Well, I couldn't possibly accept payment,
but I dare say the Cavendish might be grateful for some new
equipment. Oh, don't look like that, Henry; your salary's not in
danger." His gaze switched suddenly to the Bunsen burner. The
water was boiling vigorously, Henry having forgotten all about it.
"Oh, rescue that water, would you, Karl? You're nearest."
Karl half-turned and folded one slender, white hand around the
beaker and stood holding it as the physicist went on, "I just have a
feeling about you, von—er, Karl. Normally I wouldn't dream of
taking on someone with no formal qualifications, but to encourage
someone with such a thirst for knowledge as you obviously have

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