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- Нил Гейман
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- Американские боги
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- Стр. 527/641
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Sometimes
living
people
burned
steadily
in
her
mind
like
candles
and
sometimes
they
flamed
like
torches
.
It
made
them
easy
to
avoid
,
and
it
made
them
easy
,
on
occasion
,
to
find
.
Shadow
had
burned
so
strangely
,
with
his
own
light
,
up
on
that
tree
.
She
had
chided
him
once
,
on
that
day
when
they
had
walked
and
held
hands
,
for
not
being
alive
.
She
had
hoped
,
perhaps
,
to
see
a
spark
of
raw
emotion
,
something
that
would
show
her
that
the
man
she
had
once
been
married
to
was
a
real
man
,
a
live
one
.
And
she
had
seen
nothing
at
all
.
She
remembered
walking
beside
him
,
wishing
that
he
could
understand
what
she
was
trying
to
say
.
Now
,
dying
on
the
tree
,
Shadow
was
utterly
alive
.
She
had
watched
him
as
the
life
had
faded
,
and
he
had
been
focused
and
real
.
And
he
had
asked
her
to
stay
with
him
,
to
stay
the
whole
night
.
He
had
forgiven
her
…
perhaps
he
had
forgiven
her
.
It
did
not
matter
.
He
had
changed
;
that
was
all
she
knew
.
Shadow
had
told
her
to
go
to
the
farmhouse
,
that
they
would
give
her
water
to
drink
there
.
There
were
no
lights
burning
in
the
farm
building
,
and
she
could
feel
nobody
at
home
.
But
he
had
told
her
that
they
would
care
for
her
.
She
pushed
against
the
door
of
the
farmhouse
and
it
opened
,
rusty
hinges
protesting
the
whole
while
.
Something
moved
in
her
left
lung
,
something
that
pushed
and
squirmed
and
made
her
cough
.
She
found
herself
in
a
narrow
hallway
,
her
way
almost
blocked
by
a
tall
and
dusty
piano
.
The
inside
of
the
building
smelled
of
old
damp
.
She
squeezed
past
the
piano
,
pushed
open
a
door
and
found
herself
in
a
dilapidated
drawing
room
,
filled
with
ramshackle
furniture
.
An
oil
lamp
burned
on
the
mantelpiece
.
There
was
a
coal
fire
burning
in
the
fireplace
beneath
it
,
although
she
had
neither
seen
nor
smelled
smoke
outside
the
house
.
The
coal
fire
did
nothing
to
lift
the
chill
she
felt
in
that
room
,
although
,
Laura
was
willing
to
concede
,
that
might
not
be
the
fault
of
the
room
.
Death
hurt
Laura
,
although
the
hurt
consisted
mostly
of
absences
,
of
things
that
were
not
there
:
a
parching
thirst
that
drained
every
cell
of
her
,
a
cold
in
her
bones
that
no
heat
could
lift
.
Sometimes
she
would
catch
herself
wondering
whether
the
crisp
and
crackling
flames
of
a
pyre
would
warm
her
,
or
the
soft
brown
blanket
of
the
earth
;
whether
the
cold
sea
would
quench
her
thirst
…
The
room
,
she
realized
,
was
not
empty
.
