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- Фрэнк Герберт
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She
returned
his
stare
,
noted
the
whiteless
eyes
,
the
stained
eyepits
,
the
dust
-
rimmed
beard
and
mustache
,
the
line
of
the
catchtube
curving
down
from
his
nostrils
into
his
stillsuit
.
“
Have
I
compromised
your
leadership
by
besting
you
,
Stilgar
?
”
she
asked
.
“
You
did
not
call
me
out
,
”
he
said
.
“
It
’
s
important
that
a
leader
keep
the
respect
of
his
troop
,
”
she
said
.
“
Isn
’
t
a
one
of
those
sandlice
I
cannot
handle
,
”
Stilgar
said
.
“
When
you
bested
me
,
you
bested
us
all
.
Now
,
they
hope
to
learn
from
you
.
.
.
the
weirding
way
.
.
.
and
some
are
curious
to
see
if
you
intend
to
call
me
out
.
”
She
weighed
the
implications
.
“
By
besting
you
in
formal
battle
?
”
He
nodded
.
“
I
’
d
advise
you
against
this
because
they
’
d
not
follow
you
.
You
’
re
not
of
the
sand
.
They
saw
this
in
our
night
’
s
passage
.
”
“
Practical
people
,
”
she
said
.
“
True
enough
.
”
He
glanced
at
the
basin
.
“
We
know
our
needs
.
But
not
many
are
thinking
deep
thoughts
now
this
close
to
home
.
We
’
ve
been
out
overlong
arranging
to
deliver
our
spice
quota
to
the
free
traders
for
the
cursed
Guild
.
.
.
