Сияние

The Scrapbook

           Butwhomhadhebeeneatinganddrinkingwith?Haditbeenapokergame?Astrategysession?What?

           Jackglancedathiswatchandwassurprisedtoseethatforty-fiveminuteshadsomehowslippedbysincehehadcomedownhere.Hishandsandarmsweregrimy,andheprobablysmelledbad.HedecidedtogoupandtakeashowerbeforeWendyandDannygotback.

           Hewalkedslowlybetweenthemountainsofpaper,hismindaliveandtickingoverpossibilitiesinaspeedywaythatwasexhilarating.Hehadn’tfeltthiswayinyears.Itsuddenlyseemedthatthebookhehadsemijokinglypromisedhimselfmightreallyhappen.Itmightevenberighthere,buriedintheseuntidyheapsofpaper.Itcouldbeaworkoffiction,orhistory,orboth-alongbookexplodingoutofthiscentralplaceinahundreddirections.

           Hestoodbeneaththecobwebbylight,tookhishandkerchieffromhisbackpocketwithoutthinking,andscrubbedathislipswithit.Andthatwaswhenhesawthescrapbook.

           ApileoffiveboxesstoodonhisleftlikesometotteringPisa.Theoneontopwasstuffedwithmoreinvoicesandledgers.Balancedontopofthose,keepingitsangleofreposeforwhoknewhowmanyyears,wasathickscrapbookwithwhiteleathercovers,itspagesboundwithtwohanksofgoldstringthatbadbeentiedalongthebindingingaudybows.

           Curious,hewentoverandtookitdown.Thetopcoverwasthickwithdust.Hehelditonaplaneatliplevel,blewthedustoffinacloud,andopenedit.

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