Потерянный континент: история Атлантиды
1. My Recall
It’sEgyptian:that’sobviousataglance.Thoughhowit’sgothereIcan’ttellyet.Itisn’tstuffyoucanreadofflikeanewspaper.Thecharacter’savariantonanyofthosethathavebeendiscoveredsofar.Andasforthiswaxystuffspreadoverthetalc,it’sunique.It’ssomesortofamineral,Ithink:perhapsasphalt.Itdoesn’tscratchuplikeanimalwax.I’llanalysethatlater.Whytheyonceinventedit,andthenletsuchasplendidnotiondropoutofuse,isjustamarvel.Icouldstaygloatingoverthisallday.”
“Well,”Isaid,“ifit’sallthesameforyou,I’drathergloatoverameal.It’sagoodtenmileshardgoingtothefonda,andI’mashungryasahawkalready.Lookhere,doyouknowitisfouro’clockalready?Ittakeslongerthanyouthinkclimbingdowntoeachofthesecaves,andthengettingupagainforthenext.”
Coppingerspreadhiscoatontheground,andwrappedthelumpofsheetswithtendercare,butwouldnotallowittobetiedwitharopeforfearofbreakingmoreoftheedges.Heinsistedoncarryingithimselftoo,anddidsoforthelargerpartofthewaytoSantaBrigida,anditwasonlywhenhewaswithinanaceofdroppinghimselfwithsheertirednessthathecondescendedtoletmetakemyturn.Hewastolerablyungraciousaboutittoo.“Isupposeyoumayaswellcarrythestuff,”hesnapped,“seeingthatafterallit’syourown.”
Personally,whenwegottothefonda,Ihadasgoodadinneraswasprocurable,andabottleofthatoldCanarywine,andturnedintobedafterafinalpipe.
