Коллекционер
Chapter 2
Hesuddenlydecidedthattherewasn’tanythingIcouldpossiblydo,nothingIcouldpickup.(HelocksthingsawayinadrawerwhenIcomeouthere.)Sohewentthroughthedoor.Onlyasecond.ButIstoopedlikelightningandgotthenailupandintomyskirtpocket—speciallyputon—andIwasstandingexactlyasheleftmewhenhejumpedback.SoIgotmynail.Andmadehimthinkhecouldtrustme.Twobirdswithonestone.
Nothing.Butitseemsatremendousvictory.
I’vestartedputtingmyplanintoeffect.FordaysI’vebeentellingCalibanthatIdon’tseewhyDandMandeveryoneelseshouldbeleftinthedarkaboutwhetherIstillexist.AtleasthecouldtellthemI’maliveandallright.TonightaftersupperItoldhimhecouldbuypaperfromWoolworth’sanduseglovesandsoon.Hetriedtowriggleoutofit,asusual.ButIkeptathim.EveryobjectionIsquashed.AndintheendIfelthereallywasbeginningtothinkhemightdoitforme.
ItoldhimhecouldposttheletterinLondon,toputthepoliceoffthetrack.AndthatIwantedallsortsofthingsfromLondon.I’vegottogethimawayfromhereforatleastthreeorfourhours.Becauseoftheburglaralarms.AndthenI’mgoingtotrymytunnel.WhatI’vebeenthinkingisthatasthewallsofthiscellar(andtheouterone)arestones—notstone—thenbehindthestonestheremustbeearth.AllIhavetodoistogetthroughtheskinofstonesandthenIshallbeinsoftearth(Iimagine).
Perhapsit’sallwild.
