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Page 125 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html He found his own .way into his mother's bedroom, glimpsed only occasionally during the years since his marriage. The high bed, the deep rustle of silks and the echoes of forgotten scents carried him back to his earliest childhood. He lay awake all night, listening to the sounds of the river reflected off the cut-glass ornaments over the fireplace. At dawn, when the gulls flew up from the estuary, he visited the blue grottoes again, and the tall house in the cliff. Knowing its tenant now, the green-robed watcher on the staircase, he decided to wait for the morning light. Her beckoning eyes, the pale lantern of her smile, floated before him. However, after breakfast Dr Phillips returned. 'Right,' he told Maitland briskly, leading him in from the lawn. 'Let's have those bandages off.' 'For the last time, Doctor ?' Judith asked. 'Are you sure ?' 'Certainly. We don't want this to go on for ever, do we?' He steered Maitland into the study. 'Sit down here, Richard. You draw the curtains, Judith.' Maitland stood up, feeling for the desk. 'But you said it would take three More days, Doctor.' 'I dare say. But I didn't want you to get overexcited. What's the matter? You're hovering about there like an old woman. Don't you want to see again ?' 'See?' Maitland repeated numbly. 'Of course.' He subsided limply into a chair as Dt: Phillips' hands unfastened the bandages. A profound sense of loss had come over him. 'Doctor, could I put it off for-' 'Nonsense. You can see perfectly. Don't worry, I'm not going to fling back the curtains. It'll be a full day before you can see freely. I'll give you a set of filters to wear. Any- 20o file:///F|/rah/J.%20G.%20Ballard/Ballard,%20J%20G%20-%20The%20Terminal%20Beach .txt (203 of 225) [5/21/03 2:22:10 AM] file:///F|/rah/J.%20G.%20Ballard/Ballard,%20J%20G%20-%20The%20Terminal%20Beach .txt way, these dressings let through More lght than you imagine.' At eleven o'clock the next morning, his eyes shielded only by a pair of sunglasses, Maitland walked out on to the lawn. Judith stood on the terrace, and watched him make his way around the wheelchair. When he reached the willows she called: 'All right, darling? Can you see me?' Without replying, Maitland looked back at the house. He removed the sunglasses and threw them aside on to the grass. He gazed through the trees at the estuary, at the blue surface of the water stretching to the opposite bank. Hundreds of the gulls stood by the water, their heads turned in profile to reveal the full curve of their beaks. He looked over his shoulder at the high-gabled house, recognizing the one he had seen in his dream. Everything about it, like the bright river which slid past him, seemed dead. Suddenly the gulls rose into the air, their cries drowning the sounds of Judith's voice as she called again from the terrace. In a dense spiral, gathering itself off the ground like an immense scythe, the gulls wheeled into the air over his head and swirled over the house. Quickly Maifiand pushed back the branches of the willows and walked down on to the bank. A moment later, Judith heard his shout above the eries of the gulls. The sound came half in pain and half in triumph, and she ran down to .,fiae trees uncertain whether he had injured himself or discovered something pleasing. Then she saw him standing on the bank, his head raised to the sunlight, the bright carmine on his cheeks and hands, an eager, unrepentant Oedipus. file:///F|/rah/J.%20G.%20Ballard/Ballard,%20J%20G%20-%20The%20Terminal%20Beach Page 126 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html .txt (204 of 225) [5/21/03 2:22:10 AM] file:///F|/rah/J.%20G.%20Ballard/Ballard,%20J%20G%20-%20The%20Terminal%20Beach .txt The Lost Leonardo The disappearance - or, to put it less euphemistically - the theft of the Crucifixion by Leonardo da Vinci from the Museum of the Louvre in Paris, discovered on the morning of April I9, I965, caused a scandal of unprecedented proportions. A decade of major art thefts, such as those of Goya's Duke of Wellington from the National Gallery, London, and collections of impressionists from the homes of millionaires in the South of France and California, as well as the obviously inflated prices paid in the auction rooms of Bond Street and the Rue de Rivoli, might have been expected to accustom the general public to the loss of yet another over-publicized masterpiece, but in fact the news of its disappearance was received by the world with genuine [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] |
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