-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Айн Рэнд
-
- Атлант расправил плечи
-
- Стр. 451/1581
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
"
There
’
s
roads
in
the
woods
.
"
"
Any
for
a
car
to
drive
through
?
"
"
Maybe
.
"
"
Well
,
which
would
be
the
best
road
to
take
?
"
"
I
don
’
t
know
.
"
Through
the
open
door
,
they
could
see
the
interior
of
her
house
.
There
was
a
useless
gas
stove
,
its
oven
stuffed
with
rags
,
serving
as
a
chest
of
drawers
.
There
was
a
stove
built
of
stones
in
a
corner
,
with
a
few
logs
burning
under
an
old
kettle
,
and
long
streaks
of
soot
rising
up
the
wall
.
A
white
object
lay
propped
against
the
legs
of
a
table
:
it
was
a
porcelain
washbowl
,
torn
from
the
wall
of
some
bathroom
,
filled
with
wilted
cabbages
.
A
tallow
candle
stood
in
a
bottle
on
the
table
.
There
was
no
paint
left
on
the
floor
;
its
boards
were
scrubbed
to
a
soggy
gray
that
looked
like
the
visual
expression
of
the
pain
in
the
bones
of
the
person
who
had
bent
and
scrubbed
and
lost
the
battle
against
the
grime
now
soaked
into
the
grain
of
the
boards
.
A
brood
of
ragged
children
had
gathered
at
the
door
behind
the
woman
,
silently
,
one
by
one
.
They
stared
at
the
car
,
not
with
the
bright
curiosity
of
children
,
but
with
the
tension
of
savages
ready
to
vanish
at
the
first
sign
of
danger
.
"
How
many
miles
is
it
to
the
factory
?
"
asked
Rearden
.
