Читать книгу White Magic. A Novel онлайн

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The storm howled and moaned and clattered about the house; the enormous fire poured out its gorgeous waves of color and heat, flung a mysterious and fantastic glow upon the gray-white canvas covering of the rough walls, beautified the countenance of the huge young man with the shock of black-brown hair and of the slim, fair girl with the golden-yellow crown. And they laughed and joked, keeping up their pretense of old acquaintance and drinking all the chocolate and eating all the biscuit.

“Such a strange idea of yours, to live all alone here in this one room,” said she.

Roger did not undeceive her. “You must admit it’s comfortable,” said he.

“Except—I don’t see how you sleep.”

He waved his cigarette toward the closet. “I keep everything put away in there,” he explained. “As for my bath—the tub’s only half a mile away—Lake Wauchong.”

She looked thoughtfully at him. “Yes—you would need a good-sized tub,” said she. He saw that she was full of curiosity, but did not wish to break the spell of their fiction of old friendship. “What are you doing now?” she asked—the careless inquiry of an old friend after a brief separation.