Аннотация
Terry Pratchett
Maskerade
DEDICATION
My thanks to the people who showed me that opera was stranger than I could imagine. I can best repay their kindness by not mentioning their names here.
The wind howled. The storm crackled on the mountains. Lightning prodded the crags like an old man trying to get an elusive blackberry pip out of his false teeth.
Among the hissing furze bushes a fire blazed, the flames driven this way and that by the gusts.
An eldritch voice shrieked: 'When shall we... two... meet again?'
Thunder rolled.
A rather more ordinary voice said: 'What'd you go and shout that for? You made me drop my toast in the fire.'
Nanny Ogg sat down again.
'Sorry, Esme. I was just doing it for... you know... old time's sake... Doesn't roll off the tongue, though.'
'I'd just got it nice and brown, too.'
'Sorry.'
'Anyway, you didn't have to shout.'
'Sorry.'
'I mean, I ain't deaf. You could've jus...
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