Аннотация
Robert A. Heinlein
The Unpleasant Profession Of Jonathan Hoag And Other Stories
THE UNPLEASANT PROFESSION OF JONATHAN HOAG
—the end it is not well.
From too much love of living,
From hope and fear set free,
We thank with brief thanksgiving
Whatever gods may be
That no life lives forever;
That dead men rise up never;
That even the weariest river
Winds somewhere safe to sea.
—SWINBURNE
"Is it blood, doctor?" Jonathan Hoag moistened his lips with his tongue and leaned forward in the chair, trying to see what was written on the slip of paper the medico held.
Dr. Potbury brought the slip of paper closer to his vest and looked at Hoag over his spectacles. "Any particular reason," he asked, "why you should find blood under your fingernails?"
"No. That is to say— Well, no—there isn’t. But it is blood—isn’t it?"
"No," Potbury said heavily. "No, it isn’t blood."
Hoag knew that he should have ...
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