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- Уильям Гибсон
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'
No
,
’
he
said
.
He
took
off
his
jacket
and
handed
it
to
her
.
'
I
don
’
t
know
,
’
he
said
,
'
maybe
you
’
re
here
.
Anyway
,
it
gets
cold
.
’
He
turned
and
walked
away
,
and
after
the
seventh
step
,
he
’
d
closed
his
eyes
,
watching
the
music
define
itself
at
the
center
of
things
.
He
did
look
back
,
once
,
although
he
didn
’
t
open
his
eyes
.
He
didn
’
t
need
to
.
They
were
there
by
the
edge
of
the
sea
,
Linda
Lee
and
the
thin
child
who
said
his
name
was
Neuromancer
.
His
leather
jacket
dangled
from
her
hand
,
catching
the
fringe
of
the
surf
.
He
walked
on
,
following
the
music
.
Maelcum
’
s
Zion
dub
.
There
was
a
gray
place
,
an
impression
of
fine
screens
shifting
,
moire
,
degrees
of
half
tone
generated
by
a
very
simple
graphics
program
.
There
was
a
long
hold
on
a
view
through
chainlink
,
gulls
frozen
above
dark
water
.
There
were
voices
There
was
a
plain
of
black
mirror
,
that
tilted
,
and
he
was
quicksilver
,
a
bead
of
mercury
,
skittering
down
,
striking
the
angles
of
an
invisible
maze
,
fragmenting
,
flowing
together
,
sliding
again
.
.
.
'
Case
?
Mon
?
’
The
music
.
