Читать книгу From the Dust Returned - Рэй Брэдбери, Ray Bradbury Philip K. Dick Isaac Asimov - Страница 11

“And me, Grandmère?” said Timothy. “Did I come in through the High Attic window?”

“You did not come, child. You were found. Left at the door in a basket with Shakespeare for footprop and Poe’s Usher as pillow. With a note pinned to your blouse: HISTORIAN. You were sent, child, to write us up, list us in lists, register our flights from the sun, our love of the moon. But the House, in a way, did call and your small fists hungered to write.”

“What, Grandmère, what?”

The ancient mouth lisped and murmured and murmured and lisped …

“To start with, the House itself …”