Читать книгу The Inquisitor. A Novel онлайн

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He heard someone approaching; light spread behind the fan. The door opened and an old woman stood there, peering out into the dusk. He knew that she was Sarah Furze.

'Who's there?' she said.

He stepped forward, but she did not move.

'Don't you know me?' he cried, and his voice boomed into the house. 'I'm brother Mike!'

She stared at him, pushing her head forward. He could see that she was very much older than when he had seen her last. Her face was dry, faintly yellow, seamed with wrinkles, and her eyes dull and strained with the defeated gaze of someone very short-sighted. Then he realized with a shock that she was more than short-sighted; she was blind.

The voice must have told her who it was, for she stood aside. He passed by her into the house.

'Michael!' she said, her voice quavering with astonishment. 'I can't see. . . .'

'It's myself sure enough,' he shouted at her as though the knowledge of her blindness made him think that she must also be deaf. 'Turned up again like a bad penny.' Then he caught her by the shoulder, pulled her towards him and kissed her. Her cheek was dry and powdery. She was a little old woman wearing a faded black silk dress, her grey hair plaited in old fashion but very neatly above her wrinkled forehead.