Houses of Stone Read Online Free

so-called Gothics of this century, which bear little resemblance to—"
    "Don't you dare lecture me on my own subject!"
    Simon laughed aloud. "So, you are yourself again."
    "Dammit, Simon, I've written two articles on the Gothic novel."
    "And you are now wringing your hands," Simon said, grinning. "How appropriate!"
    "I'm trying to keep them off that book," Karen said, returning his smile. He knew her well; he had chosen the most effective method of calming her. "I want to grab it and start reading."
    "Go ahead. We have all afternoon. And if you care to spend the night, all evening."
    "Not the original, it's too precious. I'll have a copy made ..." She broke off as she saw his face change, and a wave of genuine physical sickness swamped her. "Simon! You are going to let me have it? You wouldn't show it to me and then take it away? You haven't sold it to someone else? You couldn't!"
    "Calm yourself," Simon exclaimed. "Let me get you a glass of wine, or—"
    "Don't treat me like some Victorian lady with the vapors! Oh, all right. I'll have some coffee. Please," she added sulkily.
    He filled two cups and joined her at the table. "My dear Karen, you are the first person other than myself to see this. How could I do less? But I can't let you have it—not now, at any rate. No, don't speak! You would only say something you would regret. Let me explain."
    She seized on the words that offered hope. "Not now? When?"
    "After the proper procedures have been followed. Listen to me! Do you have any idea what this battered object is worth? I am talking of money, Karen—crude and vulgar of me, no doubt, but this is how I earn my living, by buying and selling books."
    "Well, of course. I expected to pay for it, that's the only way I would ..." She heard her voice start to rise, and fought to control it. This was business, not friendship. That was how she wanted it. One didn't take advantage of a friend. "How much are you asking for it?"
    Undeceived by her pretense at coolness, Simon eyed her warily. "Are you familiar with the motto of antiquities dealers? 'An object is worth only what someone is willing to pay for it.' It is possible to estimate the value of a particular book by studying what comparable volumes have brought in the market. But that's the problem. With what can I compare this? I could make an educated guess as to what a Bronte or Dickens manuscript might bring; the original manuscripts of known works do appear on the market from time to time. But an unknown, unpublished manuscript by a little-known writer . . . who knows? The only way to find out is to offer it for sale."
    "Where? At auction?"
    He remained maddeningly calm. "I could do that, but I won't. If it sold to a private collector, he or she might not make it available to scholars, which would be a pity. I intend instead to invite bids from major universities and libraries."
    "I'll top your highest bid. Isn't there a procedure for that in your business? Preferred bidder, or something?"
    "Karen—" His eyes moved from hers. Following his gaze, she saw that, without being conscious of movement, she had placed both hands on the manuscript, fingers flexed, palms pressing down.
    "I understand your position, Simon," she said steadily. "Now hear mine. The first person to get hold of this manuscript, by hook or crook or legal purchase, will be the one to publish it. If it goes to a university or library, they'll pick one of their own people to handle it. I wouldn't have a chance."
    "You believe you can persuade your college to—"
    "Simon, you're not listening! Even if the college would put up the money, which is unlikely, there's at least one other person on the faculty who would lay claim to it. He'd probably succeed, too, because he sucks up to the board and the faculty senate and I don't. Bill Meyer at Yale, and Dorothea Angelo at Berkeley—to name only two—would kill for the chance to get this. And both institutions have a hell of a lot more money than my