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Franz Kafka: balíček 14 elektronických knih (PDF+ePub)     za 478  215 Kč (-55%)

Náhodná ukázka:

'Evenin', Mrs Phnge!' said Nanny cheerfully. 'Ain't this excitin'? The buzz of the audience, the air of expectation, the blokes in the orchestra findin' somewhere to hide the bottles and tryin' to remember how to play… all the exhilaration an' drama of the operatic experience waitin' to unfold…'

'Oh, hello, Mrs Ogg,' said Mrs Plinge. She was polishing glasses in her tiny bar.

'Certainly very packed,' said Nanny. She looked sidelong at the old woman.[9] 'Every seat sold, I heard.'

This didn't achieve the expected reaction.

'Shall I give you a hand cleaning out Box Eight?' she went on.

'Oh, I cleaned it out last week,' said Mrs Plinge. She held a glass up to the light.

'Yes, but I heard her ladyship is very particular,' said Nanny. 'Very picky about things.'

'What ladyship?'

'Mr Bucket has sold Box Eight, see,' said Nanny.

She heard a faint tinkle of glass. Ah.

Mrs Plinge appeared at the doorway of her nook. 'But he can't do that!'

'It's his Opera House,' said Nanny, watching Mrs Plinge carefully. 'I suppose he thinks he can.'

'It's the Ghost's Box!'

Opera-goers were appearing along the corridor.

'I shouldn't think he'd mind just for one night,' said Nanny Ogg. 'The show must go on, eh? Are you all right, Mrs Plinge?'

'I think I'd just better go and-' she began, stepping forward.

'No, you have a good sit down and a rest,' said Nanny, pressing her back with gentle but irresistible force.

'But I should go and-'

'And what, Mrs Plinge? said Nanny.

The old woman went pale. Granny Weatherwax could be nasty, but then nastiness was always in the window: you were aware that it might turn up on the menu. Sharpness from Nanny Ogg, though, was like being bitten by a big friendly dog. It was all the worse for being unexpected.

'I daresay you wanted to go and have a word with somebody, did you, Mrs Plinge?' said Nanny softly. 'Someone who might be a little shocked to find his Box full, perhaps? I reckon I could put a name to that someone, Mrs Plinge. Now, if-'

The old woman's hand came up holding a bottle of champagne and then came down hard in an effort to launch the SS Gytha Ogg on to the seas of unconsciousness. The bottle bounced.

Then Mrs Plinge leapt past and scuttled away, her polished little black boots twinkling.

Nanny Ogg caught the doorframe and swayed a little while blue and purple fireworks went off behind her eyes. But there was dwarf in the Ogg ancestry, and that meant a skull you could go mining with.

(...)

 

(Terry Pratchett, Discworld - Maskerade)

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