The Dark of the Sun [antikvár]

Svt : ?!., i Idon't like the idea,' announced Wally Hendry, and belched. He moved his tongue round his mouth getting the taste of it before he went on. 'I think the whole idea stinks like a ten-day corpse.' He lay sprawled on one of the beds with a glass balanced on his naked chest and he was sweating heavily in the Congo heat.'Unfortunately your opinion doesn't alter the fact that we are going.' Bruce Curry went on laying out his shaving tackle without looking up.'You should-a told them to keep it, told them we were staying here in Elisabethville - why didn't you tell them that, hey?' Hendry picked up his glass and swallowed the contents.'Because they pay me not to argue.' Bruce spoke without interest and looked at himself in the fly-spotted mirror above the wash-basin. The face that looked back was sun-darkened with a cap of close-cropped black hair; soft hair that would be unruly and inclined to curl if it were longer. Black eyebrows slanting upwards at the corners, green eyes with a heavy fringe of lashes and a mouth which could smile as readily as it could sulk. Bruce regarded his good looks without pleasure. It was a long time since he had felt that emotion, a long time since his mouth had either smiled or sulked. He did not feel the old tolerant affection for his nose, the large slightly hooked nose that rescued his face from prettiness and gave him the air of a genteel pirate.'Jesus!' growled Wally Hendry from the bed. 'I've had just about a gutsful of this nigger army. I don't mind fighting -but I don't fancy going hundreds of miles out into the buish to play nursemaid to a bunch of bloody refugees.''It's a hell of a life,' agreed Bruce absently and spread shaving-soap on his face. The lather was very white against