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knock on the bedroom door. Her mind clamored, then went icy. She
had avoided Tony the first day, smiling thinly when she met him and
brushing past with a wordless sound of apology.
"Is that you-Tony?"
"Yes, Mrs. Belmont. May I enter?"
She must have said yes, because he was in the room, quite
suddenly and noiselessly. Her eyes and nose were simultaneously
aware of the tray he was carrying.
"Breakfast?" she said.
"If you please."
She wouldn't have dared to refuse, so she pushed herself slowly
into a sitting position and received it: poached eggs, buttered toast,
coffee.
"I have brought the sugar and cream separately," said Tony. "I
expect to learn your preference with time, in this and in other things."
She waited.
Tony, standing there straight and pliant as a metal rule, asked,
after a moment, "Would you prefer to eat in privacy?"
"Yes.... I mean, if you don't mind."
"Will you need help later in dressing?"
"Oh, my, no!" She clutched frantically at the sheet, so that the
coffee hovered at the edge of catastrophe. She remained so, in rigor,
then sank helplessly back against the pillow when the door closed him
out of her sight again.
She got through breakfast somehow.... He was only a machine,
and if it were only more visible that he were it wouldn't be so
frightening. Or if his expression would change. It just stayed there,
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nailed on. You couldn't tell what went on behind those dark eyes and
that smooth, olive skin-stuff. The coffee cup beat a faint castanet for a
moment as she set it back, empty, on the tray.
Then she realized that she had forgotten to add the sugar and
cream after all, and she did so hate black coffee.
She burned a straight path from bedroom to kitchen after
dressing. It was her house, after all, and there wasn't anything frippy
about her, but she liked her kitchen clean. He should have waited for
supervision....
But when she entered, she found a kitchen that might have been
minted
fire-new from the factory the moment before. v
She stopped, stared, turned on her heel and nearly ran into
Tony. She yelped.
"May I help?" he asked.
"Tony," and she scraped the anger off the edges of her mind's
panic, "you must make some noise when you walk. I can't have you
stalking me, you know.... Didn't you use this kitchen?"
"I did, Mrs. Belmont."
"It doesn't look it."
"I cleaned up afterward. Isn't that customary?"
Claire opened her eyes wide. After all, what could one say to
that. She opened the oven compartment that held the pots, took a
quick, unseeing look at the metallic glitter inside, then said with a
tremor, "Very good. Quite satisfactory."
If at the moment, he had beamed; if he had smiled; if he had
quirked the corner of his mouth the slightest bit, she felt that she
could have warmed to him. But he remained an English lord in
repose, as he said, "Thank you, Mrs. Belmont. Would you come into
the living room?"
She did, and it struck her at once. "Have you been polishing the
furniture?"
"Is it satisfactory, Mrs. Belmont?"
"But when? You didn't do it yesterday."
"Last night, of course."
"You burned the lights all night?"
"Oh, no. That wouldn't have been necessary. I've a built-in ultra-
violet source. I can see in ultraviolet. And, of course, I don't require
sleep."
He did require admiration, though. She realized that, then. He
had to know that he was pleasing her. But she couldn't bring herself
to supply that pleasure for him.
She could only say sourly, "Your kind will put ordinary
houseworkers out of business."
"There is work of much greater importance they can be put to in
the world, once they are freed of drudgery. After all, Mrs. Belmont,
things like myself can be manufactured. But nothing yet can imitate
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the creativity and versatility of a human brain, like yours."
And though his face gave no hint, his voice was warmly
surcharged with awe and admiration, so that Claire flushed and
muttered, "My brain! You can have it." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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