Парфюмер. История одного убийцы

Chapter 15

           Inhisrighthandheheldthecandlestick,inhisleftthehandkerchief,likesomeonewithanosebleed,butinfacthewassimplyfrightened.Hequicklyboltedthedoor.Thenhetooktheprotectivehandkerchieffromhisface,shoveditintohispocket,andwalkedbackthroughtheshoptohislaboratory.ThescentwassoheavenlyfinethattearswelledintoBaldini’seyes.Hedidnothavetotestit,hesimplystoodatthetableinfrontofthemixingbottleandbreathed.Theperfumewasglorious.ItwastoAmorandPsycheasasymphonyistothescratchingofalonelyviolin.Anditwasmore.Baldiniclosedhiseyesandwatchedasthemostsublimememorieswereawakenedwithinhim.HesawhimselfasayoungmanwalkingthroughtheeveninggardensofNaples;hesawhimselflyinginthearmsofawomanwithdarkcurlyhairandsawthesilhouetteofabouquetofrosesonthewindowsillasthenightwindpassedby;heheardtherandomsongofbirdsandthedistantmusicfromaharbortavern;heheardwhisperingsathisear,heheardI-love-youandfelthishairrufflewithbliss,now!nowatthisverymoment!Heforcedopenhiseyesandgroanedwithpleasure.Thisperfumewasnotlikeanyperfumeknownbefore.Itwasnotascentthatmadethingssmellbetter,notsomesachet,sometoiletry.Itwassomethingcompletelynew,capableofcreatingawholeworld,amagical,richworld,andinaninstantyouforgotalltheloathsomenessaroundyouandfeltsorich,soatease,sofree,sofine…ThehairsthathadruffleduponBaldini’sarmfellbackagain,andabefuddlingpeacetookpossessionofhissoul

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