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- Нил Гейман
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- Стр. 22/82
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Richard
was
beginning
to
feel
a
little
out
of
his
depth
.
"
I
don
’
t
really
know
too
much
about
first
aid
,
"
he
said
.
"
Well
,
"
she
said
,
"
if
you
’
re
really
squeamish
you
only
have
to
hold
the
bandages
and
tie
the
ends
where
I
can
’
t
reach
.
You
do
have
bandages
,
don
’
t
you
?
"
Richard
nodded
.
"
Oh
yes
,
"
he
said
.
"
In
the
first
aid
kit
.
In
the
bathroom
.
Under
the
sink
.
"
And
then
he
went
into
his
bedroom
and
changed
his
clothes
,
wondering
whether
the
mess
on
his
shirt
(
his
best
shirt
,
bought
for
him
by
,
oh
God
,
Jessica
,
she
would
have
a
fit
)
would
ever
come
off
.
The
bloody
water
reminded
him
of
something
,
some
kind
of
dream
he
had
once
had
,
perhaps
,
but
he
could
no
longer
,
for
the
life
of
him
,
remember
exactly
what
.
He
pulled
the
plug
,
let
the
water
out
of
the
sink
,
and
filled
it
with
clean
water
again
,
to
which
he
added
a
cloudy
splash
of
liquid
disinfectant
:
the
sharp
antiseptic
smell
seemed
so
utterly
sensible
and
medicinal
,
a
remedy
for
the
oddness
of
his
situation
,
and
his
visitor
.
The
girl
leaned
over
the
sink
,
and
he
splashed
warm
water
over
her
arm
and
shoulder
.
Richard
was
never
as
squeamish
as
he
thought
he
was
.
Or
rather
,
he
was
squeamish
when
it
came
to
blood
on
screen
:
a
good
zombie
movie
or
even
an
explicit
medical
drama
would
leave
him
huddled
in
a
corner
,
hyperventilating
,
with
his
hands
over
his
eyes
,
muttering
things
like
"
Just
tell
me
when
it
’
s
over
.
"
But
when
it
came
to
real
blood
,
real
pain
,
he
simply
did
something
about
it
.
They
cleaned
out
the
cut
—
which
was
much
less
severe
than
Richard
remembered
it
from
the
night
before
—
and
bandaged
it
up
,
and
the
girl
did
her
very
best
not
to
wince
in
the
process
.
And
Richard
found
himself
wondering
how
old
she
was
,
and
what
she
looked
like
under
the
grime
,
and
why
she
was
living
on
the
streets
and
—
"
What
’
s
your
name
?
"
she
asked
.
"
Richard
.
Richard
Mayhew
.
Dick
.
"
She
nodded
,
as
if
she
were
committing
it
to
memory
.
The
doorbell
rang
.
Richard
looked
at
the
mess
in
the
bathroom
,
and
the
girl
,
and
wondered
how
it
would
look
to
an
outside
observer
.
Such
as
,
for
example
.
.
.
"
Oh
Lord
,
"
he
said
,
realizing
the
worst
.
"
I
bet
it
’
s
Jess
.
She
’
s
going
to
kill
me
.
"
Damage
control
.
Damage
control
.
"
Look
,
"
he
told
the
girl
.
"
You
wait
in
here
.
"
He
shut
the
door
of
the
bathroom
behind
him
and
walked
down
the
hall
.
He
opened
the
front
door
,
and
breathed
a
huge
and
quite
heartfelt
sigh
of
relief
.
It
wasn
’
t
Jessica
.
It
was
—
what
?
Mormons
?
Jehovah
’
s
Witnesses
?
The
police
?
He
couldn
’
t
tell
.
There
were
two
of
them
,
at
any
rate
.
They
wore
black
suits
,
which
were
slightly
greasy
,
slightly
frayed
,
and
even
Richard
,
who
counted
himself
among
the
sartorially
dyslexic
,
felt
there
was
something
odd
about
the
cut
of
the
coats
.
They
were
the
kind
of
suits
that
might
have
been
made
by
a
tailor
two
hundred
years
ago
who
had
had
a
modern
suit
described
to
him
but
had
never
actually
seen
one
.
The
lines
were
wrong
,
and
so
were
the
grace
notes
.
