-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Альбер Камю
-
- Чума
-
- Стр. 178/187
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
"
Bernard
?
"
"
Yes
?
"
"
You
’
re
not
tired
?
"
"
No
.
"
He
knew
what
his
mother
was
thinking
and
that
she
loved
him
at
that
moment
.
But
he
also
knew
that
it
is
not
much
to
love
a
person
—
or
,
at
least
,
that
a
love
is
never
strong
enough
to
find
its
own
expression
.
So
his
mother
and
he
would
always
love
one
another
in
silence
.
And
she
would
die
in
her
turn
—
or
he
would
—
without
either
of
them
at
any
time
in
their
lives
being
able
to
go
further
in
confessing
their
affection
.
In
the
same
way
he
had
lived
beside
Tarrou
,
who
had
died
,
that
afternoon
,
without
them
being
able
to
have
the
time
really
to
experience
their
friendship
.
Tarrou
had
lost
the
game
,
as
he
said
.
But
what
had
he
,
Rieux
,
won
?
All
he
had
gained
was
to
have
known
the
plague
and
to
remember
it
,
to
have
known
friendship
and
to
remember
it
,
to
have
known
affection
and
to
have
one
day
to
remember
it
.
All
that
a
man
could
win
in
the
game
of
plague
and
life
was
knowledge
and
memory
.
Perhaps
that
was
what
Tarrou
called
winning
the
game
!
Once
again
a
car
passed
and
Mme
Rieux
shuffled
a
little
on
her
chair
.
Rieux
smiled
at
her
.
She
told
him
that
she
was
not
tired
,
and
immediately
afterwards
:
"
You
must
go
and
rest
over
there
,
in
the
mountains
.
"
"
Of
course
,
mother
.
"
Yes
,
he
would
rest
over
there
.
Why
not
?
That
too
would
be
a
pretext
for
memory
.
But
if
that
is
what
it
meant
to
win
the
game
,
how
hard
it
must
be
to
live
only
with
what
one
knows
and
what
one
remembers
,
and
deprived
of
what
one
hopes
.
This
was
no
doubt
how
Tarrou
had
lived
and
he
was
aware
of
the
sterility
of
a
life
without
illusions
.
There
is
no
peace
without
hope
and
Tarrou
,
who
denied
men
the
right
to
condemn
anyone
,
yet
who
knew
that
no
one
can
prevent
himself
from
condemning
and
that
even
victims
can
sometimes
be
executioners
—
Tarrou
had
lived
in
a
state
of
turmoil
and
contradiction
,
and
he
had
never
known
hope
.
Is
this
why
he
longed
for
sainthood
and
sought
peace
in
the
service
of
men
?
In
truth
,
Rieux
did
not
know
and
it
was
hardly
important
.
The
only
images
of
Tarrou
that
he
would
keep
were
those
of
a
man
who
took
the
wheel
of
his
car
in
both
hands
to
drive
and
those
of
his
thick
body
,
now
lying
motionless
.
A
warmth
of
life
and
an
image
of
death
:
that
was
knowledge
.
