Андрей Воронин – CURSED PRINT RUN (страница 5)

— This is page forty-five — she whispered, feeling icy sweat come out on her back. — Exactly. Down to the last word. Kovrovsky wrote a disgusting review of your previous novel, accused you of charlatanism, and someone... someone took revenge on him with your own text.

She turned sharply to Christian, and in her eyes, despite the forbidden zone, a spark of the former desperate suspicion flared up again.

— Was it you? Answer me honestly, Christian. Without your pathos and riddles. Did you write that paragraph? Did you set your ink on him because of a wounded ego?

The author did not stir. He slowly raised his palms, turning those scars upward, right under the dim light of the fluorescent lamp. Vera saw with frightening clarity that the thin violet lines on his skin had swollen, become inflamed, and that dark droplets of lymph had come from several deep scars at the bases of his fingers. His fingers trembled noticeably, as if from strong hypothermia or a cramp.

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