Книга только для ознакомления
.'
'No. The scoop on you was in a printout I was given when I was assigned to you. This Margie - friend of yours?'
'Rather more than a friend. She's the reason I'm, in 'Hell. On Hell. In?'
'Either way. I'm fairly certain I've never met your Margie.'
'How does one go about finding another person here?. Directories? Voting lists? What?'
I've never seen either. Hell isn't very organized. It's an anarchy except for a touch of absolute monarchy on some points.'
'Do you suppose I could ask Satan?'
She looked dubious. 'There's no rule I know of that says you can't write a letter to His Infernal Majesty. But there is no rule that says He has to read it, either. I think it would be opened and read by some secretary; they wouldn't just dump, it into the Lake. I don't think they would.' She added, 'Shall we go into the den? Or are you ready for bed?'
`Uh, I think I need a bath. I know I do.'
'Good! I've never bathed a saint before. Fun!'
.'Oh, I don't need help. I can bathe myself.'
She bathed me.
She gave me a manicure. She gave me a pedicure, and tsk-tsked over my toenails - 'disgraceful' was the mildest term she used. She trimmed my hair. When I asked about razor blades, she showed me a cupboard in the bath stocking eight or nine different ways of coping with beards. 'I recommend that electric razor with the three rotary heads but, if you will trust me, you will learn' that I am quite competent with an old-fashioned straight razor
|
