Книга только для ознакомления
. Lunch seemed a good
idea to me, too; breakfast was in the remote past. There were several lunchrooms
in the tunnels of the complex... with every chair filled with the broad beams of
civil servants or occupied by tourists with red fezzes. Queues waited outside
Sloppy Joe and Mom's Diner and An-toine's number two. "Hazel, I see vending
machines ahead. Can I interest you in a warm Coke and a cold sandwich?"
"No, sir, you cannot. There's a public terminal just beyond the food
dispensers. I'll make some calls while you eat."
"I'm not that hungry. What calls?"
"Xia. And Ingrid. I want to be sure Gretchen got home safely. She could
have been waylaid just as we were. I should have called last night."
"Only to soothe your own worry; either Gretchen was home day before
yesterday evening... or it's too late and she's dead."
"Richard!"
"That's what worries you, isn't it? Call Ingrid."
Gretchen answered and squealed when she saw Gwen-Ha-zei. "Mama! Come quick!
It's Mistress Hardesty!"
Twenty minutes later we switched off. All that had been accomplished was to
tell the Hendersons that we were at the Raffles and that our mailing address was
care of Rabbi Ezra. But the ladies enjoyed visiting and each assured the other
that she would come visit in person sometime soon. They exchanged kisses via
terminal-to my mind a waste of technology
|
