Парфюмер. История одного убийцы

Chapter 27

           Hewenttohiswateringspot,lickedthemoisturefromthewall,foranhour,fortwo;itwaspuretorture.Timewouldnotend,timeinwhichtherealworldscorchedhisskin.Herippedafewscrapsofmossfromthestones,chokedthemdown,squatted,shittingasheate-itmustallbedonequickly,quickly,quickly.Andasifhewereahuntedcreature,alittlesoft-fleshedanimal,andthehawkswerealreadycirclingintheskyoverhead,heranbacktohiscave,totheendofthetunnelwherehishorseblanketwasspread.Therehewassafeatlast.Heleanedbackagainstthestonydebris,stretchedouthislegs,andwaited.Hehadtoholdhisbodyverystill,verystill,likesomevesselabouttosloshoverfromtoomuchmotion.Graduallyhemanagedtogaincontrolofhisbreathing.Hisexcitedheartbeatmoresteadily;thepoundingofthewavesinsidehimsubsidedslowly.Andsuddenlysolitudefellacrosshisheartlikeaduskyreflection.Heclosedhiseyes.Thedarkdoorswithinhimopened,andheentered.ThenextperformanceinthetheaterofGrenouille’ssoulwasbeginning.

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