Пробний камінь
VI
“MargaretAubyn”flashedbackathiminendlessrepetition.Heplungedintotheshopandcameonacounterwherethenamereiterateditselfonrowafterrowofbindings.Itseemedtohavedriventherestofliteraturetothebackshelves.Hecaughtupacopy,tossingthemoneytoanastonishedclerkwhopursuedhimtothedoorwiththeunheededoffertowrapupthevolumes.
Inthestreethewasseizedwithasuddenapprehension.WhatifheweretomeetFlamel?Thethoughtwasintolerable.Hecalledacabanddrovestraighttothestationwhere,amidthepalm-leaffansofaperspiringcrowd,hewaitedalonghalf-hourforhistraintostart.
Hehadthrustavolumeineitherpocketandinthetrainhedarednotdrawthemout;butthedetestedwordsleapedathimfromthefoldsoftheeveningpaper.TheairseemedfullofMargaretAubyn’sname.Themotionofthetrainsetitdancingupanddownonthepageofamagazinethatamaninfrontofhimwasreading....
AtthedoorhewastoldthatMrs.Glennardwasstillout,andhewentupstairstohisroomanddraggedthebooksfromhispocket.Theylayonthetablebeforehimlikelivethingsthathefearedtotouch....Atlengthheopenedthefirstvolume.Afamiliarlettersprangoutathim,eachwordquickenedbyitsglaringgarboftype.Thelittlebrokenphrasesfledacrossthepagelikewoundedanimalsintheopen....Itwasahorriblesight....Abattueofhelplessthingsdrivensavagelyoutofshelter.Hehadnotknownitwouldbelikethis...
