Edgars Auziņš
Fall in love in a weekwe get by
CHAPTER 5. Day five: Saturday
That night I didn’t dream of any blue portraits, I didn’t dream of anything at all. Or did I just not remember? But I slept surprisingly well. I'll have to tell Norwood. By way of feedback from a grateful experimental patient.
My head was clear, I immediately remembered that today was a day off, I didn’t need to go to the Academy. It’s completely unclear what to do with the day. Although yes, I was going to start running. You still need to find a sports store and get a suit, sneakers, and maybe also buy dumbbells for a set.
“Yes, yes, dumbbells. Definitely. ? also a hula hoop and a yoga mat. – For some reason, my inner voice sounded with the poisonous intonations of Dr. Norwood. – Lost her mind. Three days left, what kind of running, what kind of dumbbells?!”
I groaned and buried my face in the pillow. Was it necessary to remember this right in the morning?
? Today is Sabella's birthday. Poor woman, how can you even organize a holiday, knowing that the life of your only son hangs by a thread?
However, I was not invited. But maybe he’ll invite you again? No, I’ll ask myself. And not even because it is necessary! After last night I wanted to see Norwood. It was as if something had happened between us, something unexpectedly good… and there was still something misunderstood.
Did I dream or not about his “Miss not-Blair”?
Ask when we'll meet? No, I won't. A slippery topic in which if you say “a”, willy-nilly you will have to reach the end of the alphabet.
Didn’t she ask you in a dream that I wasn’t his type of woman? Nightmare. It seems that this mixture is also liberating. The effect of talkativeness and slight intoxication. I hope I didn’t say anything completely inappropriate.
Okay, it's a day off, but we have to get up. And the first thing is to undress and take a shower. Sleeping in the clothes you wore all day at the academy is a very below average pleasure.
? then – coffee. And not with pizza! It's time to join some more masterpieces of local cuisine.
A great plan to start your morning, no matter what time it starts. I’ll decide what to do next after coffee.
There was no need to decide. I had just taken my first sip when I heard the melodious ringing of bells from the living room. And what could it be? I went out to look, and a narrow yellowish envelope flew up to me, faintly smelling of lilies of the valley. I extended my hand, the envelope fell onto my palm like a trusting bird and opened.
“Dear Sally, I’m expecting you today at two o’clock in the afternoon. Dougal and some of his friends will be there. I think you'll fit in well with the company.
Sabella."
Not a word about the birthday. So, there is no need for a gift. Sabella is not in the mood for a holiday, that’s understandable. Dougal, several of his friends – and I, as the last hope for a miracle.
The clock struck half past twelve. I fell asleep! The sleeping pills in Norwood's mixture are indeed effective. It's okay, I'll make it in time. Thanks to the portals and my gigantic order at Grisella’s salon on the first evening – there were several very elegant blouses, I’ll choose the most frivolous one. And black formal trousers, for contrast. And your hair… maybe put it in a ponytail? A compromise between a working, strict bun and a loose mane. In total, it will take at most half an hour to get ready. You can slowly drink a second mug of coffee… and think about Dougal and yesterday.
So, one wonders, why did I flare up so much in response to his remark about Applestone? After all, in fact, he said correctly: the tables in the office are not for students to sit on, and it was also not the place to discuss plans for the weekend.
This means that it was not the words that hurt, but what stood behind them. Dougal's thought is that it's not Applestone who's hitting on me, but that we're discussing joint plans. Or the fact that I didn’t even understand how he himself reacted to this option? He doesn't care – or does he?
“Well, well, Sally, you’re already hoping for jealousy,” I looked into the cup and thought: “Are they telling fortunes on coffee grounds here?” This seems to be the only way for me to guess what Dr. Norwood is hiding behind his impenetrable work façade. Because my ability to read faces doesn’t work with him, and to get him to open up is easier to make Maskelyne dance a jig on the buffet table. Only if he wants to. It's like a desert island. It was definitely revealing. And… cute? I think, yes. It is unlikely that he shares his dream with just anyone.
So why did you share it with me? Or with Charlotte? Did I really dream or not that he realized I was not her?!
But what else is interesting – how did Applestone’s survey go? I cried violently, but perhaps not long enough. Certainly not the hour and a half required to properly drive a careless student. One of two things – either Norwood got away with a short survey for the sake of it, or he quickly and cruelly failed Applestone and advised him to spend the weekend not on palm trees and mojitos, but on repeating what he had learned. I'll bet a hundred to one on the second.
And then you decided to bring me a bag? Why suddenly?
No, I don't understand. There are some pieces missing in this puzzle.
I looked at my watch, finished my coffee and, out of some hooligan impulse, turned the cup on the saucer upside down. This seems to be the way they do it. There is no point in guessing now, and there is no time, but you can ask Sabella. I'll come back and see what happened there.
I got dressed, tied up my hair, and put on light, almost invisible makeup. I think I look good. Before leaving, I went out into the front garden and cut flowers for Sabella. A simple, not too formal bouquet – pink, purple and white phlox and a few sprigs of asparagus. I don’t want to come to her completely empty-handed, but this… this is not a gift, just a sign of attention, right?
I looked at my watch again – it was exactly two in the afternoon. I imagined Sabella's living room and opened a portal.
The room turned out to be quiet and empty, but there was no need to look for the hostess or look around. Almost immediately I heard light footsteps and I saw Sabella. Today she was wearing a soft, surprisingly summer dress, muted lilac, and she smiled as usual – softly and calmly. Only there were noticeable shadows under the eyes, either Sabella did not pay attention to them, or did not consider it necessary to hide them.
“I’m so glad you came, Miss Blair,” she said with a barely noticeable hesitation. I held out the bouquet and answered, accepting the rules of the game:
– Thank you for the invitation, Miss Norwood. Sorry, I… I thought the gift would be inappropriate. And flowers suit you.
– Thank you. “So you knew,” Sabella nodded and added a little quieter: “I can even guess where.”
– From one chatty ghost. I'm really glad you called me. Otherwise today would be a very sad lonely Saturday.
From somewhere deep in the house, a simple glass vase flew into Sabella’s hands, filled with water and sat on a low table. Sabella placed my bouquet in it and straightened out the delicate asparagus branches. Asked:
“Would you mind being Charlotte for me today?” We're almost having a family evening. – She waited for my nod, took my hand: – Let's go. As I understand it, you already know Chester.
A step – and we were transported from the living room to a small garden. Or rather, a piece of the garden around a gazebo entwined with blooming clematis – as if torn out of autumn and returned to summer, or even spring.
I couldn't help but sigh in admiration. Under a gust of wind, pale pink apple tree petals fell onto the green carpet of the lawn. The white clematis flowers at the edges also shone soft pink, and in a tiny pond framed by the sharp leaves of a marsh iris, three pink water lilies bloomed. A waterfall flowed into the pond from a small alpine hill; the plants on it were unfamiliar to me, but I appreciated the combination of colors. From pale green, almost white, to bright lilac and purple. And the stones in the hill are red-black granite and yellowish sandstone. Stunning contrast.
A huge tea rose bush was blooming near the gazebo. The bees were buzzing. And further, just a few steps away, the fallen leaves were getting wet under the fine autumn rain and the bare branches were bending in the wind.
“Magical,” I whispered.
“Oh, that’s Chester’s work,” Sabella smiled. “Climatic charms are his strong point.” Like biomes of all stripes.
Chester emerged into the light from under the curtain of clematis and smiled joyfully:
– Miss Blair, here we are again. I am glad! And don’t listen to these praises, the kindergarten turned out not bad, I don’t argue, but it is as far from a full-fledged biome as the unleavened cake from the diet is from Mrs. Ferguson’s pies.
I laughed:
“You are also a master of visual comparisons, Mr. Fully!”
He spread his arms and bowed theatrically.
“Besides, as you can see, the climate spell does not benefit the surrounding area. It’s warm here, and behind the dome it’s not September, but, perhaps, the end of October. Unfortunately, even magic is subject to the law of conservation of energy.
“And even more so, hot tea obeys him,” a ringing voice was heard from the gazebo. – He's getting cold, Chester.
“It’s true,” he realized. “Ladies…” he stepped aside, letting Sabella and I go forward.
I immediately recognized the guest sitting at the table in the gazebo. Red-haired, bright, catchy, self-confident – Elsa looked much more impressive in life than in the photo. Green eyes looked with cheerful interest. I couldn't believe that Dougal could leave such a woman.
“Nice to meet you, Miss Blair.” Sabella said amazing things about you. I never would have thought that she might need help choosing a dress.
“I didn’t say a word about dresses,” Sabella noted. – Charlotte, this is Miss Gill, an old friend of my son.
– What else can you do in Grisella’s salon? And don't miss. Today I'm just Elsa. – She smiled, but something in her gaze was dissonant with this smile. And it became clear that Sabella’s explanations, whatever they were, did not convince her of anything. – Take a seat, Miss Blair, we've been waiting for you.
– Indeed? – Professor Norwood’s sharp voice made me shudder. – It seems that I am the only one for whom this sudden phenomenon came as a surprise. ? As almost everyone present knows, I have not liked surprises since childhood.
Well, of course. He has enough of Miss Blair at work, yesterday for some reason he spent the evening wiping my snot, and here today – surprise, we smile and wave! You can understand. I didn’t expect it to be easy, right?
– Who is to blame that you are late? – Elsa shrugged. “I was probably carried away by some experiment and forgot about time.”
– Dougal! – Sabella turned around impulsively. “Are you ignoring the living room again?”
– Of course, mom. There are a lot of beautiful places around this house that bring back pleasant memories in me. The living room is not one of them.
He hugged Sabella, and I hardly suppressed a convulsive sigh. Next to her son, she seemed small and fragile, airy and vulnerable, like a forest fairy. She needs him. Not protection, no – support. Love and hope. Sabella stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek as he leaned towards her. He kissed back, carefully, with a smile.
Then he turned to his friends.
– Elsa, you just blossomed in a week and looked seven years younger. It seems my new balm formula has worked wonders. We still need to come up with something for your belly, Chester.
– “For” my belly, you won’t come up with anything that will surpass the skill of Mrs. Erguson. And “from” – don’t bother. I do not agree to change my physique for body subtraction.
“It’s like someone is asking for your consent.”
“You’re especially kind today,” Elsa grinned. – Is this the influence of surprises?
“Perhaps,” Norwood agreed, pulling out a chair for Sabella. He waited until she sat down and looked at me. – I would assume that your conflict with the portals has taken a fatal form, but I suspect that everything is not so simple. Enlighten me?
I caught Sabella's questioning glance. She seemed willing to step in and explain, but only if I couldn't block the blow on my own. Still, the point of this adventure is not for Dougal to politely ignore me for the rest of the day. We need to find common ground – why not start now?
But still, ugh to be so impolite!
“Return visit, Doctor Norwood,” I said in my most businesslike tone. – Guinea pig report on the effects of mixture number two thousand two hundred and forty-three without pepper. Interested?
– Wonderful! – Elsa admired. – I see, Dougal, even during working hours you manage to replenish the number of your guinea pigs. Unique talent.
– Innate. True, some rabbits manage to exhibit unauthorized activity and choose strange places for reports,” Norwood responded, looking at me thoughtfully.
“Unauthorized activity is called “initiative,” I enlightened. – They say it is very much appreciated. In certain circles.
– In certain cases, no doubt. I would like to know who defines them. Well, serving science requires sacrifice. Where's the lemon pudding, Mom?
He seemed to stop paying attention to me. I joked with Elsa and Chester, gave Sabella pieces of her favorite pudding and pretended that I wasn’t there. But I felt quick, searching glances. ?not from him and, it seems, from Elsa too. Sabella frowned and tried to draw me into the conversation, but Dougal took over the initiative, and I only managed to insert a meaningless “yes, of course” once.
How disgusting it is to feel like a guest who, without meaning to, spoils the holiday! It's painful and very disappointing.
Only Chester did not notice the thickening tension. He ate pies enthusiastically and just as enthusiastically talked about his sweet purple girl, who had finally come to life after Dougal’s “barbaric” treatment.
– This is a new word in science! Until now, it was considered an immutable truth that purple grass dies on magically poor soils and is extremely poorly absorbed by artificial replenishment of magic. But it's not that simple! – He waved the teaspoon, like a pointer, almost hitting Elsa on the forehead, and she, slightly grinning, moved away from him – moving closer to Dougal. It’s strange – why does it seem to me that this was played out especially for me? And Chester continued, not noticing anything: “I must say, Miss Blair gave me the idea.” I don't know how long she and Dougal wandered the swamps, but you, Miss Blair, constantly fed magic into your swamp equipment, am I right? – I nodded, and the teaspoon triumphantly rose to the heavens, that is, to the roof of the gazebo. – Here! Alien magic, not aimed directly at the purple girl, but as if enveloping her, creating a background from which you can take as much as you need! Two-stage feed, do you understand?!
“We understand, we understand,” Dougal grumbled. – You found the perfect nanny for your poor babies. And “Miss Blair” has been extremely suggestive lately. The most varied.
For some reason, I clearly heard irony in his “Miss Blair.” And, it seems, not only me. Even Chester, carried away by his ideas and discoveries, suddenly became distracted and gave me a very strange look.
– Indeed! – Sabella suddenly exclaimed. – How could I forget! Charlotte brought me some wonderful phlox. And I wanted to show her mine. But now… Dougal, maybe…
“Oh, I’ll be happy to show Miss Blair your garden, Sabella,” Chester responded brightly. “Besides, if I don’t take a walk now, the rest of this magnificent chocolate cake won’t fit into me.”
I'm afraid that my facial expression has become somewhat… goofy, as they would say in my world. Here such expressions are not accepted, and sometimes you don’t know what to adequately replace them with. That's what it is, huh?! Chester liked the idea of a “nanny” and decided that it was worth luring me away from the Academy to his greenhouses? Or is it he who so selflessly saves Dougal from my company? How can I politely refuse him now? Because his company, of course, is pleasant, and, perhaps, should be much more pleasant than Norwood’s sarcastic company, but…
But only if it's friendly. ? If I'm being honest with myself, Dougal's poisonous irony appeals to me more. And he himself… Sometimes… At certain moments… Yesterday, for example.
I remembered our “sea battle” tournament, which miraculously brightened up Herr Wolger’s “tidal pebbles”. But for some reason, almost immediately the memory switched to something else. The exciting feeling of Norwood standing behind me is very close. An instant feeling of flight when he suddenly picked me up in his arms. A dream – or not? – "Good night".
if only we had more time… not the remaining measly two and a half days, but… I don’t know, a month, two, three? Maybe something would really work out? I would like to. In fact, I wanted to, and the curse had nothing to do with it.
The situation was saved, oddly enough, by Norwood himself. He stood up faster than Chester could let go of the spoon.
– Well, I do not. Your walks with phlox will obviously not be limited to, and I’m not going to catch you all over Yorkshire. In addition, it is vital for me to accept the report, since it came with home delivery. Mixture two thousand two hundred and forty three cannot wait. Let's go.
I slowly stood up. What is going on? I don't understand! I caught Chester’s amazed glance at Dougal, and Elsa’s mocking glance at herself. Only Sabella looked encouragingly.
Norwood waited for me at the exit and let me go ahead. The dead silence behind me got on my nerves. Is everyone in shock?
No wonder, I'm shocked too. But it hardly matters.
– So, professor? – I asked when we went beyond the boundaries of the spring kindergarten into the chilly autumn that was not according to the calendar. She shivered: gusts of cold wind chilled to the bones. If I had known that I would have to walk, I would have taken a warm raincoat. She wrapped her arms around herself: this helped at least a little. – Phlox or report?
– Cloth. Until you turn blue and have pneumonia. What is this strange desire for self-destruction?
Soft fur fell over the shoulders and enveloped the body to the knees. I looked at myself. Wow! Norwood conjured up a real poncho for me, with an authentic Indian pattern, with fringe, but most importantly – thick, completely unsaleable!
“I didn’t know you were a fan of ethnic style,” I muttered. – Thank you.
However, only I shone with ethnic style. For himself, Norwood created a classic cashmere coat. And a cap, in which he became subtly similar to Sherlock Holmes.
“There’s something mysterious and strange about him.” Suits you. But I’m more interested in why a hereditary witch has become so radically disengaged with magic in just a few days that she can’t even conjure boots for herself or dry herself. Very strange, isn't it? To the right,” he put his hand on my back, guiding and slightly pushing me towards the path covered with fine gravel.
“And where do you fly, Charlotte, when you need it?” I shrugged:
– Amnesia? Bet? Experiment?
The distinct, clear feeling that Norwood understood everything and would now begin to expose and expose me was frightening. After last night I didn’t know how to behave with him. I didn't know what to do. To speak or to remain silent. To hope or not.
– Amnesia in our world is curable, if you suddenly forgot that too. And no bet will force a person to forget how to breathe, or a magician to forget how to cast magic. Here, admire it. Phloxes.
“What remains is an experiment,” I agreed, looking at the flowerbed with colorful phloxes – white, scarlet, lilac, even blue. There don't seem to be any blue people in our world. Incredibly large flowers were collected in huge lush inflorescences. The cold wind did not affect them. Chester must have worked hard. – Although I could easily formulate a suitable bet for you, but… Perhaps you would have to completely lose your brains to do something like that simply out of boredom. Only if something extremely important is at stake.
“However, how do you know what could be at stake for me?” This did not sound – if you stop in time, the interlocutor himself will think of what he needs. However, Dougal knows how to draw the right conclusions. And he probably sees right through all my attempts to keep a secret. Maybe because I'm tired of storing it myself?
“First, formulate your own name,” he suggested caustically. – Be so kind. After talking with you a little longer than necessary, anyone with ears, eyes and the rudiments of a mind will understand that you have nothing in common with Miss Blair. Apart from her appearance and shape, of course.
Well, I was not mistaken. And yesterday I didn’t dream. Norwood was not so blind as not to notice my obvious mistakes and differences in behavior. As Sabella predicted on the first evening.
Surprisingly, it became easier. It was as if a stone had been lifted from my soul. Still, it was difficult and unpleasant to wear in front of him the mask of a narrow-minded, ambitious girl who had done such a great job to both of us. Even if I wasn’t always able to match this mask.
“Unfortunately, I have,” I responded gloomily. – Although I would prefer… well, what difference does it make now? Freya Sullivan.
– Wonderful. – He put his hands in his coat pockets and slowly moved along the path further, seemingly confident that I would follow. Well, really, what else was left for me? – It's time to draw intermediate conclusions. This is not an illusion, a hoax, a unique resemblance, or even cloning. You don't just have problems with magic. I think I won’t be mistaken if I assume that you are not a sorceress at all. And what periodically turns out to be tolerable is obtained solely thanks to the memory of the body. You do not feel any attachment to Miss Blair, but most likely experience the opposite feelings. The current state of things does not suit you, but it seems that you cannot change anything. From here, or not only from here, are your heartbreaking hysterics and thoughts about your cherished dreams. The main question that interests me at the moment is no, two questions: why on earth and for what are you trying to live someone else’s life, and how did my mother get involved in this story. Which, without a doubt, is aware of what is happening.
He really does look like Sherlock Holmes.
“I feel like a literary character,” I forced a smile. – A narrow-minded assistant to a brilliant detective, introduced into the plot solely in order to ask, after solving the case: “But how?!” Your conclusions are probably based on strict logic, but I don’t catch the intermediate constructions. Why, for example, did you discard the hoax option? Or an experiment?
– You are not her. What kind of experiments can there be? Norwood shrugged. – And for hoaxes of any kind you need to have at least acceptable acting skills. You don't even have them in their infancy. And the participants in such impressive deceptions are paid well. And they don’t cry as if someone took away their most precious thing. However, at first I was leaning towards the hoax option. But only if Miss Blair herself had undertaken to arrange it. Absolutely mediocre preparation of a double, not a single chance of success.
I chuckled: in a way it was. My “preparation” was limited to a lesson in beauty care, making coffee, opening portals, and providing backup in several particularly difficult cases. Like that explosion in the laboratory or the visit to the headmistress. Norwood is right, anyone who knows how to look, listen and think would have instantly seen through the substitution, and then what did it cost Charlottenino “no one should know”?
–You're right, I'm not a sorceress. I don't understand magic at all. That is why I cannot answer your questions. I was told to keep quiet, I don't have enough information to judge when to follow this advice and when to break it. ? Sabella…you have a very wise mother, Dr. Norwood. And observant. She guessed that I was not Charlotte within about ten minutes of a chance meeting. We ran into each other in a fashion salon; Charlotte dressed terribly. I couldn’t come to the Academy in crimson trousers!
Norwood chuckled audibly.
“They not only could, but had to appear in them if they were going to play someone’s role.”
– Never! – I resolutely objected. – There are some limits. In the end, any girl has the right to radically change her style.
“And this once again proves that you know Miss Blair very poorly.” By the way, where is she? Or is this information also in the zone called “I was told to remain silent”?
“To be honest, I don’t remember exactly,” I admitted. – I think I was in shock then. It's all pretty vague. Do you know what happens when a bunch of disgusting news is dumped on a completely unprepared person? – I hesitated. This is pretty much what I'm doing now. Or I'm about to do it. Although… perhaps Norwood cannot be called completely unprepared? In any case, it seems like I have nowhere to go. I'm tired… endlessly tired of carrying this load alone. – Where is Charlotte… so I know where she is! Last appeared the day before yesterday. She said that the problems with the portals were her doing. Ghosts have a strange sense of humor, if they even have one.
Norwood stopped so abruptly that, by inertia, I managed to take a few steps before turning around. I have never seen such an expression on his face before. Not shocked, no, rather petrified.
“She was performing a ritual,” I explained quietly. – I messed something up. The result… well, here it is. True, I didn’t understand what happened to me; I didn’t perform any rituals. But she said that I was drawn after an astral transfer. A completely random coincidence. Otherwise, they would have found her body in the morning, and that would have been it.
“The farther, the more beautiful,” Norwood said slowly and suddenly rushed forward so quickly that I had to almost run to catch up with him. – Brainless idiot. An extremely logical ending, if you think about it. Wild. ?absurd. But logical. What is she trying to achieve? Why does no one still know about her death? If she sets conditions for you, it means she has a goal. Thanks to which she hangs around here in the form of a ghost. Problems with the portals, that means. Why suddenly? What do they have to do with it? No, it doesn't add up. What kind of ritual was this, do you know?
– Only from her words. – I hesitated. Now the moment has come when you have to decide whether to tell the truth to the end or continue to remain silent… about the worst thing. I didn’t tell Sabella about the curse, but she guessed it herself. Dougal is no more stupid than his mother. Part of me was terrified at the thought of him finding out the truth. For some reason I was sure that this would cancel out everything. A self-respecting man will not fall in love on pain of death. And, to be honest, I would be offended to know that I was chosen only as an alternative to quick and inevitable death. But… But is it really fair to hide something like this? He has the right to decide for himself. And also… Another question is whether I trust him or not. I consider him capable of making independent, correct decisions, or I’m ready to decide for him all my life, even if everything suddenly works out.
I wrapped my arms around myself and confessed. The feeling was frightening – as if I was stepping into the abyss of my own free will.
– Love spell. On you.
– What?! Are you kidding me? Is she crazy?
“She wanted attention,” I explained. – She wasn't in love, if that's what you mean. Just an ambitious fool.
– Attention? From me? Yes, I would turn her life into hell faster than the consequences of any ritual love spell! No. Not an idiot. This cannot be defined in words.
Norwood hardly expected any answer or explanation. It was as if he had completely forgotten about me, switching to Charlotte and her ritual. He kept speeding up and speeding up his steps, and out of stubbornness I didn’t even understand, I stayed close. Although we had to catch up with him, breaking into a run every now and then. Where are we going like this? Somehow it seemed that Norwood himself could not answer. The wind whistled in my ears, pushed me back, threw withered leaves and rare, sharp drops of rain into my face. I didn’t look around, trying to keep up, and only caught my breath when he suddenly stopped.
We stood on the very edge of the cliff, and below us lay a black, almost perfectly round, rippling lake. Quite a bit, I could clearly see the far shore – boulders at the water's edge, flying trees on the hillside. But perhaps because of the dark surface, which reflected the cloudy sky, or because of the dank cold that gripped me, it seemed very deep. Even bottomless, and I don’t care that it doesn’t happen that way. In this world, this is not possible.
For some reason, I immediately remembered the legends about water evil spirits: kelpies, grindylows, water maidens. Maybe here these are not legends at all, but harsh reality.
“I see,” Norwood said suddenly, and I shuddered, returning to reality. – This is not a whim, not a goal, but an attachment. On your own, miraculously surviving body and on the object of the love spell. How bad is it, Miss – or Mrs? – Sullivan? How much time is left? How much was it initially? A week or more? Is it time to write a will?
He still didn’t look at me, looking somewhere into the distance, across the lake. And the voice sounded much calmer now than at the beginning of my revelations.
“Miss,” I answered. – And, sorry, but I again missed the thread of your reasoning. However, it doesn’t matter… just interesting. I have always admired people who can draw the right conclusions with a minimum of data. – He was silent. Waiting for answers and not agreeing to divert the conversation? I turned away. – It was a week. Left… Two days, not counting today.
– And you all intended to remain silent until the sad ending? Brilliant idea.
