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- Фрэнк Герберт
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- Дюна
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- Стр. 114/972
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He
shrugged
.
“
Futility
.
”
He
glanced
at
her
.
“
Can
you
remember
your
first
taste
of
spice
?
”
“
It
tasted
like
cinnamon
.
”
“
But
never
twice
the
same
,
”
he
said
.
“
It
’
s
like
life
—
it
presents
a
different
face
each
time
you
take
it
.
Some
hold
that
the
spice
produces
a
learned
-
flavor
reaction
.
The
body
,
learning
a
thing
is
good
for
it
,
interprets
the
flavor
as
pleasurable
—
slightly
euphoric
.
And
,
like
life
,
never
to
be
truly
synthesized
.
”
“
I
think
it
would
’
ve
been
wiser
for
us
to
go
renegade
,
to
take
ourselves
beyond
the
Imperial
reach
,
”
she
said
.
He
saw
that
she
hadn
’
t
been
listening
to
him
,
focused
on
her
words
,
wondering
:
Yes
—
why
didn
’
t
she
make
him
do
this
?
She
could
make
him
do
virtually
anything
.
He
spoke
quickly
because
here
was
truth
and
a
change
of
subject
:
“
Would
you
think
it
bold
of
me
.
.
.
Jessica
,
if
I
asked
a
personal
question
?
”
She
pressed
against
the
window
ledge
in
an
unexplainable
pang
of
disquiet
.
“
Of
course
not
.
You
’
re
.
.
.
my
friend
.
”
“
Why
haven
’
t
you
made
the
Duke
marry
you
?
”
She
whirled
,
head
up
,
glaring
.
“
Made
him
marry
me
?
But
—
”
