Парфюмер. История одного убийцы

Chapter 49

           Hehadleaptupoutofthefirstrowofthenotables’grandstandsoviolentlythathisblackhattoppledfromhishead,andnowwithhisblackfrockcoatbillowing,heflutteredacrosstheparadegroundslikearavenoranavengingangel.ItwasRichis.Heisgoingtokillme,thoughtGrenouille.Heistheonlyonewhohasnotlethimselfbedeceivedbymymask.Hewon’tlethimselfbedeceived.Thescentofhisdaughterisclingingtome,betrayingmeassurelyasblood.Hehasgottorecognizemeandkillme.Hehasgottodoit.Andhespreadhisarmswidetoreceivetheangelstormingdownuponhim.Healreadycouldfeelthethrustofthedaggerorswordticklingsowonderfullyathisbreast,andthebladepassingthroughhisarmorofscentandthesuffocatingfog,righttothemiddleofhiscoldheart-finally,finally,somethinginhisheart,somethingotherthanhimself!Andhesensedhisdeliverancealreadyathand.Andthen,suddenly,therewasRichisathisbreast,noavengingangel,butashaken,pitiablysobbingRichis,whothrewhisarmsaroundhim,clutchinghimverytight,asifhecouldfindnootherfootinginaseaofbliss.Noliberatingthrustofthedagger,nopricktotheheart,notevenacurseoracryofhatred.Instead,Richis’scheekwetwithtearsgluedtohis,andquiveringlipsthatwhimperedtohim:“Forgiveme,myson,mydearson,forgiveme!”Withthat,everythingwithinhimwentwhitebeforehiseyes,whiletheworldoutsideturnedravenblack.Thetrappedfogcondensedtoaragingliquid,likefrothy,boilingmilk

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