"G.K.Chesterton. The man who was Thursday. A nightmare (англ.)" - читать интересную книгу автора

"the crooked man who went a crooked mile." He really looked as if he had
been twisted out of shape by the tortuous streets he had been threading. He
came nearer and nearer, the lamplight shining on his lifted spectacles, his
lifted, patient face. Syme waited for him as St. George waited for the
dragon, as a man waits for a final explanation or for death. And the old
Professor came right up to him and passed him like a total stranger, without
even a blink of his mournful eyelids.
There was something in this silent and unexpected innocence that left
Syme in a final fury. The man's colourless face and manner seemed to assert
that the whole following had been an accident. Syme was galvanised with an
energy that was something between bitterness and a burst of boyish derision.
He made a wild gesture as if to knock the old man's hat off, called out
something like "Catch me if you can," and went racing away across the white,
open Circus. Concealment was impossible now; and looking back over his
shoulder, he could see the black figure of the old gentleman coming after
him with long, swinging strides like a man winning a mile race. But the head
upon that bounding body was still pale, grave and professional, like the
head of a lecturer upon the body of a harlequin.
This outrageous chase sped across Ludgate Circus, up Ludgate Hill,
round St. Paul's Cathedral, along Cheapside, Syme remembering all the
nightmares he had ever known. Then Syme broke away towards the river, and
ended almost down by the docks. He saw the yellow panes of a low, lighted
public-house, flung himself into it and ordered beer. It was a foul tavern,
sprinkled with foreign sailors, a place where opium might be smoked or
knives drawn.
A moment later Professor de Worms entered the place, sat down
carefully, and asked for a glass of milk.


The Man Who Was Thursday. A nightmare




G. K. CHESTERTON




CHAPTER VIII. THE PROFESSOR EXPLAINS


WHEN Gabriel Syme found himself finally established in a chair, and
opposite to him, fixed and final also, the lifted eyebrows and leaden
eyelids of the Professor, his fears fully returned. This incomprehensible
man from the fierce council, after all, had certainly pursued him. If the
man had one character as a paralytic and another character as a pursuer, the
antithesis might make him more interesting, but scarcely more soothing. It
would be a very small comfort that he could not find the Professor out, if
by some serious accident the Professor should find him out. He emptied a