tell me trutter rapped in my rapped, it seemed, beic flat, like a bird t    in do ural t ted me; I rut left to discover it alone and i. tell me trute. But I resolved to put tter out of my    ime. I moved sly. Ies to eigdress and slippers, ing for ttle to boil. Quickly, quickly. A mio eig-er bottle er from tap. time    eigo an end. It ime.

        t te pages of my open book, illuminated by a circle of lampligeo anot t nig t    in suspense    I could not care about ually oget to secure myself to a strand of t, but as soon as I , a voiterveell me trut unpicked t a it flopping loose again.

        My ead over tes: te, uts, Jane Eyre…

        But it ell me truth…

        Reading    me d out t, I rested my ried to sleep.

        Ecs of a story. In tell me truth…

        At t out of bed, pulled on some socks, unlocked t door and,    doaircase and into the shop.

        At tiny room, not muc . It tains a table and, on a ss of br. As ems t t holds a dozen or so books.

        tents of t rarely co look into it today you    nig a cover resting on its side, ao it an ugly tooled leatin standing uprigany, tatty book of astronomy. A book in Japanese, anot?    kept ural panions on our ly labeled s is ents of tire rest of the shop, more even.

        t I er—a small    four incy or so years old— of plaext to all tiquities. It ence, and one of t to ask    it and s some in case, I put on te gloves. e keep t to o life roy turn ts paper cover intad its ers unbluion, one of a popular series produced to quite a andard by a publis no longer exists. A c edition, but not t you    to find among treasures. At jumble sales and village fetes, othe series sell for a few pence.

        tif of sangles    plain, one for title and auteen tales of    by Vida inter.

        I locked t, retur to tairs back to bed, book in gloved hand.

        I didn’t io read. Not as suced. S enougo still tter t kept going around in my    fire ences, a page maybe, and to sleep.

        I removed t jacket and placed it for safety in t be too careful. Opening taste it.

        t a few words.

        But my eyes, brus line, were snared.

        All c is a universal trait. You    to knoell you about     be trut ory. And notelling tory.

        It o er.

        Peasants and princes, bailiffs and bakers’ boys, merd mermaids, tely familiar. I ories a imes before. tories everyone kne gradually, as I read, ty fell araers    ture books, meg out tory one more time. t fell from toud it left tang of metal on ongue o ears left salt burns on ories ’s desire—ter restored to life by a stranger’s kiss, t ed of    naked as a man, t only oo late did t pay for esg tiny. Every er ainted. Fate, at first so amenable, so reasonable, so open to iation, ends up by exag a cruel revenge for happiness.

        tales al and sbreaking. I loved them.

        It ale—t I began to feel stirrings of an a ed to tory itself. I racted: my t index finger    many pages left. tently until I tilted to c rue. teentale must be a very s one.

        I tinued my reading, finisale turhe page.

        Blank.

        I flicked back, f.

        teentale.

        t too fast to the surface.

        Aspey room came bato vieill s t o creep in tains.

        It was m.

        I    away.

        teentale.

        In tting at tairs and looked up, we-faced.

        ‘ever is it?“ I darted forward.

        oo so speak; o a mute gesture of desperation before slohemselves over his horrified eyes. he groaned.

        My    I am not in t of touc fell io t he back of his chair.

        ‘Is thing I    do?“ I asked.

        o pe. In a minute…”

        ‘t’s happened?“

        ‘A break-in.“    sound like the world.

        I looked around t and in order. t been forced, t ransacked, t broken.

        ‘t,“ o uand.

        ‘teen tales.“ I spoke firmly. ”Upstairs in my flat. I borro.“

        Fat me. ter astonis. “You borro?”

        ‘Yes.“

        “You borro?”

        ‘Yes.“ I he shop, as he knew.

        ‘But Vida inter…?“

        And I realized t some kind of explanation was called for.

        I read old novels. torations, tragic separations and un falls and dreams fulfilled; titute an ending . ter adventures, perils, dangers and dilemmas, and ly. Endings like to be found more only in old han new ones, so I read old novels.

        porary literature is a tle of. My fatakeo task on topiy times during our daily talks about books.    more    for iful desolation    t to    are muted, but    ambiguity touc more nearly tyle of finis I prefer.

        During talks, I listen    attention and nod my    I alinuing in my old s. Not t . too many books in to read in a single lifetime; you o drahe line somewhere.

        Oold me about Vida inter. “Noer w you.”

        But I er. ers I ill not discovered?

        Except t noo take teen tales from t. My fath good reason, was w why.

        ‘I got a letter yesterday,“ I began.

        he nodded.

        ‘It er.“

        Fat ed for me to go on.

        ‘It seems to be an invitation for me to visit o ing her biography.“

        ed by anoters.

        ‘I couldn’t sleep, so I came doo get the book.“

        I ed for Fato speak, but . er a time I spoke again. “ kept in t?    makes it so valuable?”

        Fatrain of t to ansly because it’s t edition of t book by t famous living er in t mostly because it’s flaion is called tales of . ion of teen. You’ll iced tories?”

        I nodded.

        ‘Presumably to be teen, tted. But t design ale and only tories. to be recalled.“

        ‘But your copy…“

        ‘Slipped t. One of a batc out by mistake to a s, o pack ty years ago    t be and sold it to a collector. tor’s estate ioned iember and I boug. ithe Avignon deal.“

        ‘t aken to iate t    lucrative successes.

        ‘You he gloves, of course?“ he asked sheepishly.

        ‘ake me for?“

        inuing. “All t effort for nothing.”

        ‘ do you mean?“

        ‘Recalling all title    people still call it teen tales, even t’s been publisales of    for ury.“

        ‘?“

        ‘It’s ion of fame and secrecy does. it , fragments of information like tory of t edition take on an importance beyond t. It    of ery of tee gives people someto speculate about.“

        t sileing o tance, and speaking lig I could pick up    ted.”

        I remembered tter, my fear t its er    to be trusted. I remembered tence of tell me die truteen tales t took possession of me s first o be age again.

        ‘I don’t knoo do,“ I told my father.

        ‘It is different from . Intervieead of archives.“

        I nodded.

        ‘But you    to keen tales.“

        I nodded again.

        My fat    reading is.    takes you.

        ‘ you to go?“

        ‘Monday,“ I told him.

        ‘I’ll run you to tation, shall I?“

        ‘thank you. And—“

        ‘Yes?“

        ‘ I ime off? I ougo do some more reading before I go up there.“

        ‘Yes,“    didn’t hide his worry. ”Yes, of course.“

        ** *t glorious times of my adult life. For t time ever I able a pile of brand-ne aer; ter; ings by Vida inter; Out of ter; Rules of Affli by Vida ier; t Ser. tist, glo and po, gold and deep purple. I even bougales of ; its title looked bare    teen t makes my faturo t.

        Of course one aler’s books gave me tance. But it . I    every stage of my life, and time est joy. A I ot pretend t t years matcs impay soul till believe in stories. I still fet myself    is not t must be said, t important t I ot fet is t time ial t. algic yearning for t pleasure of books. It is not a yearning t one ever expects to be fulfilled. And during time, t, erpareo read again—t joys of readiuro me. Miss inter restored to me ties of tories she ravished me.

        From time to time my fat t top of :airs. ared at me. I must    dazed look intense reading gives you. “You    fet to eat, will you?”    of milk.

        I ay in my flat forever    if I o go to Yorkso meet Miss io be done. I took a day off from reading and    to t tional neer’s ret novels. For every ne came out, ss to a el in e, ely,    ories iey    looking very hard.

        After tion of Bet aer in t publicity fs by telling esan. For t S, a street creets of t End and tifled only girl in a family of ten boisterous boys. I particularly liked tally separated in India from tiss, s aence for reets of Bombay, making a living as a storyteller. Sold stories about pirees t smelled like t coriander, mountains as beautiful as taj Mareet-er pakora and bagpipes. Oiful it defied description. er so return to Scotland—a try s as a tiny baby—sed. trees smelled notasted flat. As for the bagpipes…

        ry aimental, tragid astri, id sly, eacories erpie miniature. For a different kind of er, t be t; for Vida iaken truth.

        ture    ternoon at y parents’    never    could re-ice it to rubble.

        My motaut smile and talked brigea. to    , empty c, produced to keep si bay, silen o reveal t so leave t t minor ued event gave    s read a book for fear of t find in it.

        Fated until Mot to make fresea before talk-g about Miss inter.

        ‘It’s not old    o trace ried    of information. No one kno fact about her.“

        ‘how curious.“

        ‘It’s as if ser s exist at all. As if sed    time as her book.“

        ‘e kno reveal someted.

        ‘Vida. From vita, Latin, meaning life. t oo.“

        Vide in Frency. t    ;e s’    it for o infer.

        ‘Quite.“    about inter?“

        inter. I looked out of tion. Beer’s g, dark brace against te t did er mean to me? Oh.

        t became necessary to say somet to burden tolerable er. Very spiky.”

        My motea, salked on, ig of life as t were seven acres.

        My attention el over t in t migive. A pograpen my motalks about putting it a. But my fato see it, and since o ure are a youtly ful eyes; t eous smile, laug my father. She looks happy.

        tragedy alters everything.

        I o disappeared.

        I looked out into t t, my so t did s did stempts to persuade ourselves t t ?

        ARRIVALI left er day, and for miles my train ran . under a gauzy rains, and ted, as I traveled nort any moment I expected to    scattering of ?ops on t t e.

        At e, Miss inter’s driver, a dark-o talk. I    me free to study t unfolded as soon as    too London and, once or to libraries and cy I kneury at t. Oo o believe I raveling into t at time as into tryside. t, otages; t, ter tail isolated farmerruptions to ter fields. At last    even t gre a vergeless road and eac, vague undulations of darkness.

        ‘Is the moors?“ I asked.

        ‘It is,“ to t all I could make out erlogged sky t pressed doropain distance even t from uished.

        At an unmarked jun urned off tony track. e stopped to open a gate and close it be, jolting and sher mile.

        Miss inter’s - seemed te into eac revealed t t turn of t croucepped out to see t o pull a of an unlit porcters blacked out t a single sign of ation. Closed in upon itself, to sors.

        I rang ts g ed in ted I c till no one came to the door.

        About t for a time, I he door ened.

        ting. At first sig,     it    made ion in ted,    seemed to me, as sy lance fla sained y only by deliberate effort.

        ‘Good evening,“ I said. ”I am Margaret Lea.“

        ‘ting you.“

        is it t alloendings? For I uood quite clearly in t moment t sions aste; perransmit em unknoions in tever t as surely t it    me in particular t alarmed    only t t I ranger.

        Sur a sound and t a squeak as ts o place.

        Standing t in t time t profound oddity of ter’s irely silent.

        told me    s my journey aio times to get    er.    of sile desded ainguisfalls, and muffled ter anothe musi.

        t -furnis did it. Overstuffed sofas    cusered footstools, capestries ered furniture, every floor ed, every carpet overlaid    draped t as blotting paper absorbs ink, so all t absorbed sound, ting paper takes up only excess ink, to su the words we spoke.

        I follourned left and rig a,    up and doairs until I    all sense of ed interior of ts outer plainness. tered over time, I supposed, added to ension invisible from t. “You’ll get t,” tood urned from a o a . S opened into a sitting room. t. “Batudy.” tains and    of the house.

        ‘ill you take your meals in ting table and a single che window.

        I did not knoing ess, and unsure of my status in t or an employee?), I ated, er to accept or to refuse. Divining tainty, to overe a    of retice, “Miss inter als alone.”

        ‘t’s all to you, I’ll eat here.“

        ‘I’ll bring you soup and sandrain. You’ve to make your tea and coffee just o reveal a kettle, tiny fridge. ”It o tc, for not ing me in .

        S me to my unpag.

        Io unpack my feoiletries. I pusea and coffee to one side and replaced t of cocoa I    from    enougime to test tique bed— tress and I    kno—before turned ray. “Miss inter invites you to meet    eig to make it sound like an invitation, but I uood, as I    meant to, t it was a and.
请记住本书首发域名：966xs.com。966小说手机版阅读网址：wap.966xs.com