Сияние

Drinks on the House

           

           Hebecameawarethatallconversationhadstopped.

           Helookedbackoverhisshoulder.Theywerealllookingathimexpectantly,silently.ThemanbesidethewomaninthesaronghadremovedhisfoxheadandJacksawthatitwasHoraceDerwent,hispallidblondhairspillingacrosshisforehead.Everyoneatthebarwaswatching,too.Thewomanbesidehimwaslookingathimclosely,asiftryingtofocus.Herdresshadslippedoffoneshoulderandlookingdownhecouldseealooselypuckerednipplecappingonesaggingbreast.Lookingbackatherfacehebegantothinkthatthismightbethewomanfrom217,theonewhohadtriedtostrangleDanny.Onhisotherhand,themaninthesharpbluesuithadremovedasmallpearl-handled.32fromhisjacketpocketandwasidlyspinningitonthebar,likeamanwithRussianrouletteonhismind.

           (Iwant-)

           Herealizedthewordswerenotpassingthroughhisfrozenvocalcordsandtriedagain.

           "Iwanttoseethemanager.I…Idon’tthinkheunderstands.Mysonisnotapartofthis.He…"

           "Mr.Torrance,"Lloydsaid,hisvoicecomingwithhideousgentlenessfrominsidehisplague-raddledface,"youwillmeetthemanagerinduetime.Hehas,infact,decidedtomakeyouhisagentinthismatter.Nowdrinkyourdrink."

           "Drinkyourdrink,"theyallechoed.

           Hepickeditupwithabadlytremblinghand.Itwasrawgin.Helookedintoit,andlookingwaslikedrowning.

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