Коллекционер
Chapter 1
"Willthemysteriousgreatmasteracceptapologiesofveryhumbleslave?"
I’llthinkaboutit,Isaid.
"Humbleslaveverysollyforunkindletter."
Ihadtolaugh;shecouldactanything.
Shestayedtherekneelingwithherhandsonthefloorbesideher,moreserious,givingmethelook.
"Willyousendtheletter,then?"
Imadeheraskagain,butthenIgavein.Itwasnearlythebigmistakeofmylife.
ThenextdayIdroveuptoLondon.ItoldherIwasgoingthere,likeafool,andshegavemealistofthingstobuy.Therewasalot.(Iknewlatertokeepmebusy.)IhadtobuyspecialforeigncheeseandgotosomeplaceinSohowheretheyhadGermansausagessheliked,andthereweresomerecords,andclothes,andotherthings.Shewantedpicturesbysomeartist,ithadtobejustthisonename.Iwasreallyhappythatday,notacloudinthesky.Ithoughtshehadforgottenaboutthefourweeks,wellnotforgotten,butacceptedIwouldwantmore.Talkaboutadream-world.
Ididn’tgetbacktilltea-timeandofcoursewentdownstraighttoseeher,butIknewatoncesomethingwaswrong.Shedidn’tlookatallpleasedtoseemeandshedidn’tevenlookatallthethingsI’dbought.
Isoonsawwhatitwas,itwasfourstonesshehadmadeloose,tomakeatunnel,Isuppose.Therewasdirtonthesteps.Igotoneouteasy.Allthetimeshesatonthebednotlooking.Behinditwasstone,soitwasallright.ButIsawhergame—thesausagesandthespecialpicturesandallthat.Allthesoftsoap.
