Парфюмер. История одного убийцы

Chapter 4

           Butthetick,stubborn,sullen,andloathsome,huddlesthereandlivesandwaits.Waits,forthatmostimprobableofchancesthatwillbringblood,inanimalform,directlybeneathitstree.Andonlythendoesitabandoncautionanddrop,andscratchandboreandbiteintothatalienflesh…TheyoungGrenouillewassuchatick.Helivedencapsulatedinhimselfandwaitedforbettertimes.Hegavetheworldnothingbuthisdung-nosmile,nocry,noglimmerintheeye,notevenhisownscent.Everyotherwomanwouldhavekickedthismonstrouschildout.ButnotMadameGaillard.Shecouldnotsmellthathedidnotsmell,andsheexpectednostirringsfromhissoul,becauseherownwassealedtight.Theotherchildren,however,sensedatoncewhatGrenouillewasabout.Fromthefirstday,thenewarrivalgavethemthecreeps.Theyavoidedtheboxinwhichhelayandedgedclosertogetherintheirbedsasifithadgrowncolderintheroom.Theyoungeroneswouldsometimescryoutinthenight;theyfeltadraftsweepthroughtheroom.Othersdreamedsomethingwastakingtheirbreathaway.Onedaytheolderonesconspiredtosuffocatehim.Theypiledragsandblanketsandstrawoverhisfaceandweigheditalldownwithbricks.WhenMadameGaillarddughimoutthenextmorning,hewascrumpledandsquashedandblue,butnotdead.Theytrieditacoupleoftimesmore,butinvain.Simplestrangulation-usingtheirbarehandsorstoppinguphismouthandnose—wouldhavebeenadependablemethod,buttheydidnotdaretryit.Theydidn’twanttotouchhim

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