-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Артур Конан Дойл
-
- Затерянный мир
-
- Стр. 49/139
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
"
I
never
saw
him
till
today
.
"
"
Well
,
neither
did
I.
It
's
funny
we
should
both
sail
under
sealed
orders
from
a
man
we
do
n't
know
.
He
seemed
an
uppish
old
bird
.
His
brothers
of
science
do
n't
seem
too
fond
of
him
,
either
.
How
came
you
to
take
an
interest
in
the
affair
?
"
I
told
him
shortly
my
experiences
of
the
morning
,
and
he
listened
intently
.
Then
he
drew
out
a
map
of
South
America
and
laid
it
on
the
table
.
"
I
believe
every
single
word
he
said
to
you
was
the
truth
,
"
said
he
,
earnestly
,
"
and
,
mind
you
,
I
have
something
to
go
on
when
I
speak
like
that
.
South
America
is
a
place
I
love
,
and
I
think
,
if
you
take
it
right
through
from
Darien
to
Fuego
,
it
's
the
grandest
,
richest
,
most
wonderful
bit
of
earth
upon
this
planet
.
People
do
n't
know
it
yet
,
and
do
n't
realize
what
it
may
become
.
I
've
been
up
an
'
down
it
from
end
to
end
,
and
had
two
dry
seasons
in
those
very
parts
,
as
I
told
you
when
I
spoke
of
the
war
I
made
on
the
slave-dealers
.
Well
,
when
I
was
up
there
I
heard
some
yarns
of
the
same
kind
--
traditions
of
Indians
and
the
like
,
but
with
somethin'
behind
them
,
no
doubt
.
The
more
you
knew
of
that
country
,
young
fellah
,
the
more
you
would
understand
that
anythin
'
was
possible
--
ANYTHIN
'
!
There
are
just
some
narrow
water-lanes
along
which
folk
travel
,
and
outside
that
it
is
all
darkness
.
Now
,
down
here
in
the
Matto
Grande
"
--
he
swept
his
cigar
over
a
part
of
the
map
--
"
or
up
in
this
corner
where
three
countries
meet
,
nothin
'
would
surprise
me
.
As
that
chap
said
to-night
,
there
are
fifty-thousand
miles
of
water-way
runnin
'
through
a
forest
that
is
very
near
the
size
of
Europe
.
You
and
I
could
be
as
far
away
from
each
other
as
Scotland
is
from
Constantinople
,
and
yet
each
of
us
be
in
the
same
great
Brazilian
forest
.
Man
has
just
made
a
track
here
and
a
scrape
there
in
the
maze
.
Why
,
the
river
rises
and
falls
the
best
part
of
forty
feet
,
and
half
the
country
is
a
morass
that
you
ca
n't
pass
over
.
Why
should
n't
somethin'
new
and
wonderful
lie
in
such
a
country
?
And
why
should
n't
we
be
the
men
to
find
it
out
?
Besides
,
"
he
added
,
his
queer
,
gaunt
face
shining
with
delight
,
"
there
's
a
sportin
'
risk
in
every
mile
of
it
.
I
'm
like
an
old
golf-ball
--
I
've
had
all
the
white
paint
knocked
off
me
long
ago
.
Life
can
whack
me
about
now
,
and
it
ca
n't
leave
a
mark
.
But
a
sportin
'
risk
,
young
fellah
,
that
's
the
salt
of
existence
.
Then
it
's
worth
livin
'
again
.
We
're
all
gettin
'
a
deal
too
soft
and
dull
and
comfy
.
Give
me
the
great
waste
lands
and
the
wide
spaces
,
with
a
gun
in
my
fist
and
somethin'
to
look
for
that
's
worth
findin
'
.
I
've
tried
war
and
steeplechasin
'
and
aeroplanes
,
but
this
huntin
'
of
beasts
that
look
like
a
lobster-supper
dream
is
a
brand-new
sensation
.
"
He
chuckled
with
glee
at
the
prospect
.
Perhaps
I
have
dwelt
too
long
upon
this
new
acquaintance
,
but
he
is
to
be
my
comrade
for
many
a
day
,
and
so
I
have
tried
to
set
him
down
as
I
first
saw
him
,
with
his
quaint
personality
and
his
queer
little
tricks
of
speech
and
of
thought
.
It
was
only
the
need
of
getting
in
the
account
of
my
meeting
which
drew
me
at
last
from
his
company
.
I
left
him
seated
amid
his
pink
radiance
,
oiling
the
lock
of
his
favorite
rifle
,
while
he
still
chuckled
to
himself
at
the
thought
of
the
adventures
which
awaited
us
.
It
was
very
clear
to
me
that
if
dangers
lay
before
us
I
could
not
in
all
England
have
found
a
cooler
head
or
a
braver
spirit
with
which
to
share
them
.
That
night
,
wearied
as
I
was
after
the
wonderful
happenings
of
the
day
,
I
sat
late
with
McArdle
,
the
news
editor
,
explaining
to
him
the
whole
situation
,
which
he
thought
important
enough
to
bring
next
morning
before
the
notice
of
Sir
George
Beaumont
,
the
chief
.
It
was
agreed
that
I
should
write
home
full
accounts
of
my
adventures
in
the
shape
of
successive
letters
to
McArdle
,
and
that
these
should
either
be
edited
for
the
Gazette
as
they
arrived
,
or
held
back
to
be
published
later
,
according
to
the
wishes
of
Professor
Challenger
,
since
we
could
not
yet
know
what
conditions
he
might
attach
to
those
directions
which
should
guide
us
to
the
unknown
land
.
In
response
to
a
telephone
inquiry
,
we
received
nothing
more
definite
than
a
fulmination
against
the
Press
,
ending
up
with
the
remark
that
if
we
would
notify
our
boat
he
would
hand
us
any
directions
which
he
might
think
it
proper
to
give
us
at
the
moment
of
starting
.
A
second
question
from
us
failed
to
elicit
any
answer
at
all
,
save
a
plaintive
bleat
from
his
wife
to
the
effect
that
her
husband
was
in
a
very
violent
temper
already
,
and
that
she
hoped
we
would
do
nothing
to
make
it
worse
.
A
third
attempt
,
later
in
the
day
,
provoked
a
terrific
crash
,
and
a
subsequent
message
from
the
Central
Exchange
that
Professor
Challenger
's
receiver
had
been
shattered
.
After
that
we
abandoned
all
attempt
at
communication
.
And
now
my
patient
readers
,
I
can
address
you
directly
no
longer
.
From
now
onwards
(
if
,
indeed
,
any
continuation
of
this
narrative
should
ever
reach
you
)
it
can
only
be
through
the
paper
which
I
represent
.
In
the
hands
of
the
editor
I
leave
this
account
of
the
events
which
have
led
up
to
one
of
the
most
remarkable
expeditions
of
all
time
,
so
that
if
I
never
return
to
England
there
shall
be
some
record
as
to
how
the
affair
came
about
.
I
am
writing
these
last
lines
in
the
saloon
of
the
Booth
liner
Francisca
,
and
they
will
go
back
by
the
pilot
to
the
keeping
of
Mr.
McArdle
.
Let
me
draw
one
last
picture
before
I
close
the
notebook
--
a
picture
which
is
the
last
memory
of
the
old
country
which
I
bear
away
with
me
.
It
is
a
wet
,
foggy
morning
in
the
late
spring
;
a
thin
,
cold
rain
is
falling
.
Three
shining
mackintoshed
figures
are
walking
down
the
quay
,
making
for
the
gang-plank
of
the
great
liner
from
which
the
blue-peter
is
flying
.
In
front
of
them
a
porter
pushes
a
trolley
piled
high
with
trunks
,
wraps
,
and
gun-cases
.
Professor
Summerlee
,
a
long
,
melancholy
figure
,
walks
with
dragging
steps
and
drooping
head
,
as
one
who
is
already
profoundly
sorry
for
himself
.
Lord
John
Roxton
steps
briskly
,
and
his
thin
,
eager
face
beams
forth
between
his
hunting-cap
and
his
muffler
.
As
for
myself
,
I
am
glad
to
have
got
the
bustling
days
of
preparation
and
the
pangs
of
leave-taking
behind
me
,
and
I
have
no
doubt
that
I
show
it
in
my
bearing
.
Suddenly
,
just
as
we
reach
the
vessel
,
there
is
a
shout
behind
us
.
It
is
Professor
Challenger
,
who
had
promised
to
see
us
off
.
He
runs
after
us
,
a
puffing
,
red-faced
,
irascible
figure
.
