-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Альбер Камю
-
- Чума
-
- Стр. 174/187
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
The
doctor
leant
over
him
.
The
lymph
nodes
were
knotted
under
the
burning
skin
and
his
chest
seemed
to
be
rumbling
with
all
the
noises
of
an
underground
forge
.
Unusually
,
Tarrou
was
presenting
the
two
sets
of
symptoms
.
Rieux
said
,
as
he
got
up
,
that
the
serum
had
not
yet
had
time
to
take
full
effect
.
A
surge
of
fever
in
his
throat
drowned
the
few
words
that
Tarrou
tried
to
utter
in
reply
.
After
dinner
Rieux
and
his
mother
came
to
sit
with
the
patient
.
The
night
started
for
him
with
a
struggle
and
Rieux
knew
that
this
fierce
combat
against
the
angel
of
the
plague
would
last
until
dawn
.
Tarrou
’
s
wide
chest
and
broad
shoulders
were
not
his
best
defence
;
that
was
the
blood
that
Rieux
had
made
flow
just
now
with
his
needle
and
,
in
that
blood
,
something
deeper
than
the
soul
,
which
no
science
could
reveal
.
All
he
could
do
was
to
watch
his
friend
struggle
.
Several
months
of
repeated
failures
had
taught
him
to
judge
the
effectiveness
of
the
remedies
he
would
apply
,
the
tonics
he
would
inject
and
the
abscesses
that
he
would
lance
.
In
reality
,
his
only
task
was
to
give
an
opportunity
to
that
good
luck
which
only
too
often
does
not
appear
unless
one
provokes
it
.
And
luck
was
what
they
needed
,
because
Rieux
was
confronted
with
an
aspect
of
the
plague
that
disconcerted
him
.
Once
more
it
was
devising
ways
of
foiling
the
strategies
adopted
against
it
,
appearing
where
it
was
least
expected
and
disappearing
just
where
it
seemed
already
well
settled
.
Once
more
,
it
was
making
an
effort
to
astound
.
Tarrou
was
struggling
,
motionless
.
Not
once
in
the
course
of
the
night
did
he
become
agitated
by
the
assaults
of
the
disease
,
fighting
only
with
all
his
solidity
and
his
silence
.
But
not
once
,
either
,
did
he
speak
,
thus
admitting
in
his
own
way
that
he
could
not
afford
to
lose
concentration
.
Rieux
followed
the
phases
of
the
struggle
only
in
the
eyes
of
his
friend
,
which
were
by
turns
open
or
shut
,
the
eyelids
either
more
tight
against
the
globe
of
the
eye
or
,
on
the
contrary
,
relaxed
,
so
that
his
gaze
was
fixed
on
an
object
or
brought
back
to
the
doctor
and
his
mother
.
Every
time
the
doctor
met
this
look
,
Tarrou
smiled
with
considerable
effort
.
At
one
time
they
heard
hurried
footsteps
in
the
street
.
They
seemed
to
be
fleeing
in
front
of
a
distant
rumbling
that
gradually
approached
and
eventually
filled
the
street
with
its
sound
of
running
water
:
the
rain
had
started
again
,
soon
mixed
with
hail
that
clattered
on
the
pavements
.
Great
awnings
flapped
in
front
of
the
windows
.
In
the
darkness
of
the
room
Rieux
,
momentarily
distracted
by
the
rain
,
looked
back
at
Tarrou
,
who
was
lit
by
a
bedside
lamp
.
His
mother
was
knitting
,
raising
her
head
from
time
to
time
to
look
closely
at
the
sick
man
.
Now
the
doctor
had
done
all
there
was
to
do
.
After
the
rain
the
silence
thickened
in
the
room
,
which
was
only
full
of
the
noiseless
tumult
of
an
invisible
war
.
Agitated
by
insomnia
,
the
doctor
thought
he
could
hear
,
beyond
the
silence
,
the
soft
,
regular
whistle
that
had
accompanied
him
throughout
the
epidemic
.
He
nodded
to
his
mother
to
go
to
bed
.
She
shook
her
head
and
her
eyes
lit
up
,
then
she
meticulously
examined
a
dubious
stitch
at
the
end
of
her
needles
.
Rieux
got
up
to
get
the
patient
some
water
and
went
back
to
his
place
.
Some
passers
-
by
,
taking
advantage
of
the
lull
in
the
storm
,
were
walking
quickly
along
the
pavement
.
Their
footsteps
grew
fainter
and
faded
into
the
distance
.
For
the
first
time
the
doctor
realized
that
this
night
,
full
of
late
strollers
and
without
ambulance
sirens
,
was
like
those
of
former
times
.
It
was
a
night
liberated
from
the
plague
.
And
it
seemed
that
the
sickness
,
driven
out
by
cold
,
light
and
crowds
,
had
escaped
from
the
dark
depths
of
the
town
and
taken
refuge
in
this
warm
room
to
make
its
final
assault
on
the
motionless
form
of
Tarrou
.
The
pestilence
was
no
longer
threshing
the
sky
above
the
town
with
its
flail
,
but
whistling
softly
in
the
heavy
air
of
the
room
.
This
is
what
Rieux
had
been
hearing
for
hours
,
and
he
needed
it
to
stop
here
,
so
that
here
too
the
plague
would
admit
defeat
.
Shortly
before
dawn
Rieux
leant
across
to
his
mother
:
"
You
should
get
some
sleep
so
that
you
can
take
over
from
me
at
eight
o
’
clock
.
Take
your
drops
before
you
go
to
bed
.
"
