Межзвёздный скиталец

Chapter 11

           Iknewthewindlestraw,GuydeVillehardouin,arawyoungprovincial,comeupthefirsttimetoCourt,butafierylittlecockerelforallofthat.Hewasred-haired.Hisblueeyes,smallandpinchedclosetoether,werelikewisered,atleastinthewhitesofthem;andhisskin,ofthesortthatgoeswithsuchtypes,wasredandfreckled.Hehadquiteaparboiledappearance.

           AsIpassedhimbyasuddenmovementhejostledme.Oh,ofcourse,thethingwasdeliberate.Andheflamedatmewhilehishanddroppedtohisrapier.

           “Faith,”thoughtI,“thegrayoldmanhasmanyandstrangetools,”whiletothecockerelIbowedandmurmured,“Yourpardonformyclumsiness.Thefaultwasmine.Yourpardon,Villehardouin.”

           Buthewasnottobeappeasedthuseasily.AndwhilehefumedandstruttedIglimpsedRobertLanfranc,beckonedhimtous,andexplainedthehappening.

           “Sainte-Maurehasaccordedyousatisfaction,”washisjudgment.“Hehasprayedyourpardon.”

           “Intruth,yes,”Iinterruptedinmysuavesttones.“AndIprayyourpardonagain,Villehardouin,formyverygreatclumsiness.Iprayyourpardonathousandtimes.Thefaultwasmine,thoughunintentioned.InmyhastetoanengagementIwasclumsy,mostwofulclumsy,butwithoutintention.

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