Межзвёздный скиталец
Chapter 11
“Itwon’thurtyou.You’lldiewithasoundstomach.”
“Youmeanmineisaniron-linedstomach?”Iwilfullymisunderstoodhim.
“Imean—”hebeganwithaquickpeevishness,thenbrokeoffasherealizedmyteasingandwithapoutofhiswitheredlipsdrapedmynewsablecloakuponachair-back.“Eighthundredducats,”hesneered.“Athousandgoatsandahundredfatoxeninacoattokeepyouwarm.Ascoreoffarmsonmygentleman’sfineback.”
“Andinthatahundredfinefarms,withacastleortwothrownin,tosaynothing,perhaps,ofapalace,”Isaid,reachingoutmyhandandtouchingtherapierwhichhewasjustintheactofdepositingonthechair.
“Soyourfatherwonwithhisgoodrightarm,”Ponsretorted.“Butwhatyourfatherwonheheld.”
HerePonspausedtoholduptoscornmynewscarletsatindoublet—awondrousthingofwhichIhadbeenextravagant.
“Sixtyducatsforthat,”Ponsindicted.“Yourfather’dhaveseenallthetailorsandJewsofChristendomroastinginhellbeforehe’da-paidsuchaprice.”
Andwhilewedressed—thatis,whilePonshelpedmetodress—Icontinuedtoquipwithhim.
