"Robert F. Young - Hologirl" - читать интересную книгу автора (Young Robert F)

"Why speedteaching?" Sespol asked.
"Obviously, the holoplicator couldn't holoplicate intangibles, such as personality, character,
educational background and the like. Probably all that came through was the subject's organic self, plus
one or two acquired physical faculties. Cecily Sturmi Kurilman didn't have time, even with an inculcator
to help her, to teach her hologirls much, but she didn't need to. How much education does a walking,
talking fornicatory doll need? ... Everything clear in your mind now, Mr. Sespol?"
 "As a bell." He grinned at me. Evilly.
He knew. He knew!
"And now, Ms. Rinehardt," he said, holding out his hand "since I didn't pay you to investigate
Kuril-man's activities, if you'll fork over the porno-photo I did pay you for, I'll forget about the black eye
you almost gave the Sespol Sky-Rise and go my merry way."
I removed the fourteen fifties he'd given me from my handbag and laid them on the desktop. "There is
no porno-photo. I forgot to load my Laseroid."
Still grinning, he opened his shoulder purse, counted out fourteen fifties of his own and laid them
beside mine. "I think there is."
"Pick up your sleazy money and get out!"
He snickered. Then, slowly, he got to his feet, picked up the twenty-eight fifties and stuffed them into
his shoulder purse. When he snickered again, I turned my back on him. I heard him walk out the door.
Snicker, snicker, snicker, all down the hall—
Nancy Drew, Girl Detective
D.D. Rinehardt, Private Eye.

Sometimes at night I climb the stairs to the apartment-building roof and sit on one of the sunchairs
and look up at the stars. At my star. It's Arcturus, in case you care to know. Orange-red, cold, faraway.
And yet not my star at all. The Grape has a thousand faces, wine comes in a thousand forms. My body is
a garden in spring round which I have built a wall. When I write I imitate Chandler, Hammett and Spillane
when all the while I yearn to set down sentences with the sensitivity of poor Scott.
I sit in my sunchair and I cry beneath the stars.
D. D. Rinehardt, Private Eye —
Hard-boiled Nancy Drew.