Книга только для ознакомления
.
"Hey, that's me!" Lodston croaked, peering at the
drawing. Sure enough, Dalamar had drawn a crude
caricature of the hermit's profile. The bulbous nose and
bushy eyebrows were unmistakable. Beside the face, the
wizard had drawn his own spectacles, equally obvious
because of their curious hexagonal lenses and wire rims. A
dotted arrow led from the glasses to Lodston's profile, and a
solid arrow from his eyes to the text below the drawing.
Even a child could understand the simple diagram.
"He wants me to put on his glasses, but where are they?"
muttered the hermit.
He began rummaging through the room, his excited
imagination blossoming into full-blown frenzy. After
searching inside, under and on top of everything in the
sparsely furnished chamber, the only thing he discovered
was the absence of his oldest cloak, a tattered, floor-length
garment of crudely woven wool. He sat down heavily in the
chair and stared once more at the elf's drawing.
Suddenly he knew where the glasses had to be. He whirled
around toward the basket of gold ore and began tossing the
heavy nuggets on the floor. The wire-rimmed spectacles
were at the bottom of the pile, wrapped in thick goatskin
and wedged into a crevice between two huge nuggets to
protect them from the weight of the ore
|
