Читать книгу Maxwell's Demon онлайн

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I sat back in my chair, not really knowing what to say.

‘I’m just telling you what I think,’ Sophie said, ‘and I think you should stay well away from this. A person with a brain like Andrew’s, well, they’re capable of anything. Can make you do and think anything, make you be anything.’

‘Oh, come on,’ I said, finding my feet. ‘I mean, I’d never deny that he’s a great writer, but—’

‘What do you think the world is, Thomas? No, don’t answer now. But I want you to take some time to think about it. Is the world you live in, each and every day, made more from rocks and grass and trees, or from articles, certificates, records, files and letters? Is it made more from soil and rivers and sand, or from thoughts and ideas, beliefs and opinions? Actually, let me ask you another question: is it the kind of world where nine words’ – she rapped her knuckles on Andrew’s letter – ‘nine words presented in just the right way, can compel a normally well-balanced person to charge blindly off into the unknown, to an address they’ve never visited before in their life?’