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- Нил Гейман
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- Стр. 115/641
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"
Yes
,
"
said
Shadow
.
"
It
’
s
called
misdirection
.
"
He
slipped
his
middle
fingers
under
the
coin
,
pushing
it
into
a
back
palm
,
and
fumbled
his
grip
on
it
,
ever
-
so
-
slightly
.
The
coin
dropped
from
his
hand
to
the
stairwell
with
a
clatter
and
bounced
down
half
a
flight
of
stairs
.
Wednesday
reached
down
and
picked
it
up
.
"
You
cannot
afford
to
be
careless
with
people
’
s
gifts
,
"
said
Wednesday
.
"
Something
like
this
,
you
need
to
hang
on
to
it
.
Don
’
t
go
throwing
it
about
.
"
He
examined
the
coin
,
looking
first
at
the
eagle
side
,
then
at
the
face
of
Liberty
on
the
obverse
.
"
Ah
,
Lady
Liberty
.
Beautiful
,
is
she
not
?
"
He
tossed
the
coin
to
Shadow
,
who
picked
it
from
the
air
,
did
a
slide
vanish
—
seeming
to
drop
it
into
his
left
hand
while
actually
keeping
it
in
his
right
—
and
then
appeared
to
pocket
it
with
his
left
hand
.
The
coin
sat
in
the
palm
of
his
right
hand
,
in
plain
view
.
It
felt
comforting
there
.
"
Lady
Liberty
,
"
said
Wednesday
.
"
Like
so
many
of
the
gods
that
Americans
hold
dear
,
a
foreigner
.
In
this
case
,
a
Frenchwoman
,
although
,
in
deference
to
American
sensibilities
,
the
French
covered
up
her
magnificent
bosom
on
that
statue
they
presented
to
New
York
.
Liberty
,
"
he
continued
,
wrinkling
his
nose
at
the
used
condom
that
lay
on
the
bottom
flight
of
steps
,
toeing
it
to
the
side
of
the
stairs
with
distaste
.
"
Someone
could
slip
on
that
.
Break
their
necks
,
"
he
muttered
,
interrupting
himself
.
"
Like
a
banana
peel
,
only
with
bad
taste
and
irony
thrown
in
.
"
He
pushed
open
the
door
,
and
the
sunlight
hit
them
.
The
world
outside
was
colder
than
it
had
looked
from
indoors
:
Shadow
wondered
if
there
was
more
snow
to
come
.
"
Liberty
,
"
boomed
Wednesday
,
as
they
walked
to
his
car
,
"
is
a
bitch
who
must
be
bedded
on
a
mattress
of
corpses
.
"
"
Yeah
?
"
said
Shadow
.
"
Quoting
,
"
said
Wednesday
.
"
Quoting
someone
French
.
That
’
s
who
they
have
a
statue
to
,
in
their
New
York
harbor
:
a
bitch
,
who
liked
to
be
fucked
on
the
refuse
from
the
tumbril
.
Hold
your
torch
as
high
as
you
want
to
,
m
’
dear
,
there
’
s
still
rats
in
your
dress
and
cold
jism
dripping
down
your
leg
.
"
He
unlocked
the
car
,
and
pointed
Shadow
to
the
passenger
seat
.
"
I
think
she
’
s
beautiful
,
"
said
Shadow
,
holding
the
coin
up
close
.
Liberty
’
s
silver
face
reminded
him
a
little
of
Zorya
Polunochnaya
.
"
That
,
"
said
Wednesday
,
driving
off
,
"
is
the
eternal
folly
of
man
.
To
be
chasing
after
the
sweet
flesh
,
without
realizing
that
it
is
simply
a
pretty
cover
for
the
bones
.
Worm
food
.
At
night
,
you
’
re
rubbing
yourself
against
worm
food
.
No
offense
meant
.
"
Shadow
had
never
seen
Wednesday
quite
so
expansive
.
His
new
boss
,
he
decided
,
went
through
phases
of
extroversion
followed
by
periods
of
intense
quiet
.
"
So
you
aren
’
t
American
?
"
asked
Shadow
.
