-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Артур Конан Дойл
-
- Затерянный мир
-
- Стр. 86/139
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
"
It
was
a
bluish
soil
.
It
looked
like
clay
.
"
"
Exactly
.
A
volcanic
tube
full
of
blue
clay
.
"
"
What
of
that
?
"
I
asked
.
"
Oh
,
nothing
,
nothing
,
"
said
he
,
and
strolled
back
to
where
the
voices
of
the
contending
men
of
science
rose
in
a
prolonged
duet
,
the
high
,
strident
note
of
Summerlee
rising
and
falling
to
the
sonorous
bass
of
Challenger
I
should
have
thought
no
more
of
Lord
John
's
remark
were
it
not
that
once
again
that
night
I
heard
him
mutter
to
himself
:
"
Blue
clay
--
clay
in
a
volcanic
tube
!
"
They
were
the
last
words
I
heard
before
I
dropped
into
an
exhausted
sleep
.
Lord
John
Roxton
was
right
when
he
thought
that
some
specially
toxic
quality
might
lie
in
the
bite
of
the
horrible
creatures
which
had
attacked
us
.
On
the
morning
after
our
first
adventure
upon
the
plateau
,
both
Summerlee
and
I
were
in
great
pain
and
fever
,
while
Challenger
's
knee
was
so
bruised
that
he
could
hardly
limp
.
We
kept
to
our
camp
all
day
,
therefore
,
Lord
John
busying
himself
,
with
such
help
as
we
could
give
him
,
in
raising
the
height
and
thickness
of
the
thorny
walls
which
were
our
only
defense
.
I
remember
that
during
the
whole
long
day
I
was
haunted
by
the
feeling
that
we
were
closely
observed
,
though
by
whom
or
whence
I
could
give
no
guess
.
So
strong
was
the
impression
that
I
told
Professor
Challenger
of
it
,
who
put
it
down
to
the
cerebral
excitement
caused
by
my
fever
.
Again
and
again
I
glanced
round
swiftly
,
with
the
conviction
that
I
was
about
to
see
something
,
but
only
to
meet
the
dark
tangle
of
our
hedge
or
the
solemn
and
cavernous
gloom
of
the
great
trees
which
arched
above
our
heads
.
And
yet
the
feeling
grew
ever
stronger
in
my
own
mind
that
something
observant
and
something
malevolent
was
at
our
very
elbow
.
I
thought
of
the
Indian
superstition
of
the
Curupuri
--
the
dreadful
,
lurking
spirit
of
the
woods
--
and
I
could
have
imagined
that
his
terrible
presence
haunted
those
who
had
invaded
his
most
remote
and
sacred
retreat
.
That
night
(
our
third
in
Maple
White
Land
)
we
had
an
experience
which
left
a
fearful
impression
upon
our
minds
,
and
made
us
thankful
that
Lord
John
had
worked
so
hard
in
making
our
retreat
impregnable
.
We
were
all
sleeping
round
our
dying
fire
when
we
were
aroused
--
or
,
rather
,
I
should
say
,
shot
out
of
our
slumbers
--
by
a
succession
of
the
most
frightful
cries
and
screams
to
which
I
have
ever
listened
.
I
know
no
sound
to
which
I
could
compare
this
amazing
tumult
,
which
seemed
to
come
from
some
spot
within
a
few
hundred
yards
of
our
camp
.
It
was
as
ear-splitting
as
any
whistle
of
a
railway-engine
;
but
whereas
the
whistle
is
a
clear
,
mechanical
,
sharp-edged
sound
,
this
was
far
deeper
in
volume
and
vibrant
with
the
uttermost
strain
of
agony
and
horror
.
We
clapped
our
hands
to
our
ears
to
shut
out
that
nerve-shaking
appeal
.
A
cold
sweat
broke
out
over
my
body
,
and
my
heart
turned
sick
at
the
misery
of
it
.
All
the
woes
of
tortured
life
,
all
its
stupendous
indictment
of
high
heaven
,
its
innumerable
sorrows
,
seemed
to
be
centered
and
condensed
into
that
one
dreadful
,
agonized
cry
.
And
then
,
under
this
high-pitched
,
ringing
sound
there
was
another
,
more
intermittent
,
a
low
,
deep-chested
laugh
,
a
growling
,
throaty
gurgle
of
merriment
which
formed
a
grotesque
accompaniment
to
the
shriek
with
which
it
was
blended
.
For
three
or
four
minutes
on
end
the
fearsome
duet
continued
,
while
all
the
foliage
rustled
with
the
rising
of
startled
birds
.
Then
it
shut
off
as
suddenly
as
it
began
.
For
a
long
time
we
sat
in
horrified
silence
.
Then
Lord
John
threw
a
bundle
of
twigs
upon
the
fire
,
and
their
red
glare
lit
up
the
intent
faces
of
my
companions
and
flickered
over
the
great
boughs
above
our
heads
.
"
What
was
it
?
"
I
whispered
.
