The Stars My Destination ( Tiger! Tiger! ) :: Bester Alfred
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«Outdid us all, Fourmyle. Made us look like a pack of damned pikers.»
«You forget yourself, Harry,» Presteign said coldly. «You know I permit no profanity in my home.»
«Sorry, Presteign. Where's the circus now, Fourmyle?»
«I don't know,» Foyle said. «Just a moment.»
A crowd gathered, grinning in anticipation of the latest Fourmyle folly. He took out a platinum watch and snapped open the case. The face of a valet appeared on the dial.
«Ahhh. . . whatever your name is. . . Where are we staying just now?» The answer was tiny and tinny. «You gave orders to make New York your permanent residence, Fourmyle.»
«Oh? Did I? And?»
«We bought St. Patrick's Cathedral, Fourmyle.»
«And where is that?»
«Old St. Patrick's, Fourmyle. On Fifth Avenue and what was formerly 5oth Street. We've pitched the camp inside.»
«Thank you.» Fourmyle closed the platinum Hunter. «My address is Old St. Patrick's, New York. There's one thing to be said for the outlawed religions . . . At least they built churches big enough to house a circus.»
Olivia Presteign was seated on a dais, surrounded by admirers paying court to this beautiful albino daughter of Presteign. She was strangely and wonderfully blind, for she could see in the infrared only, from 7,500 angstroms to one millimeter wave lengths, far below the normal visible spectrum. She saw heat waves, magnetic fields, radio waves; she saw her admirers in a strange light of organic emanations against a background of red radiation.
She was a Snow Maiden, an Ice Princess with coral eyes and coral lips, imperious, mysterious, unattainable. Foyle looked at her once and lowered his eyes in confusion before the blind gaze that could only see him as electromagnetic waves and infrared light. His pulse began to beat faster; a hundred lightning fantasies about himself and Olivia Presteign flashed in his heart.
«Don't be a fool!» he thought desperately. «Control yourself. Stop dreaming. This can be dangerous . .
He was introduced; was addressed in a husky, silvery voice; was given a cool, slim hand; but the hand seemed to explode within his with an electric shock. It was almost a start of mutual recognition . . . almost a joining of emotional impact.
«This is insane. She's a symbol. The Dream Princess. . . The Unattainable . . .Control!»
He was fighting so hard that he scarcely realized he had been dismissed, graciously and indifferently. He could not believe it. He stood, gaping like a lout.
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