-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Чарльз Диккенс
-
- Дэвид Копперфильд
-
- Стр. 738/820
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
Some
eddying
fragments
I
saw
in
the
sea
,
as
if
a
mere
cask
had
been
broken
,
in
running
to
the
spot
where
they
were
hauling
in
.
Consternation
was
in
every
face
.
They
drew
him
to
my
very
feet
—
insensible
—
dead
He
was
carried
to
the
nearest
house
;
and
,
no
one
preventing
me
now
,
I
remained
near
him
,
busy
,
while
every
means
of
restoration
were
tried
;
but
he
had
been
beaten
to
death
by
the
great
wave
,
and
his
generous
heart
was
stilled
for
ever
.
As
I
sat
beside
the
bed
,
when
hope
was
abandoned
and
all
was
done
,
a
fisherman
,
who
had
known
me
when
Emily
and
I
were
children
,
and
ever
since
,
whispered
my
name
at
the
door
.
‘
Sir
,
’
said
he
,
with
tears
starting
to
his
weather
-
beaten
face
,
which
,
with
his
trembling
lips
,
was
ashy
pale
,
‘
will
you
come
over
yonder
?
’
The
old
remembrance
that
had
been
recalled
to
me
,
was
in
his
look
.
I
asked
him
,
terror
-
stricken
,
leaning
on
the
arm
he
held
out
to
support
me
:
‘
Has
a
body
come
ashore
?
’
He
said
,
‘
Yes
.
’
‘
Do
I
know
it
?
’
I
asked
then
.
He
answered
nothing
.
But
he
led
me
to
the
shore
.
And
on
that
part
of
it
where
she
and
I
had
looked
for
shells
,
two
children
—
on
that
part
of
it
where
some
lighter
fragments
of
the
old
boat
,
blown
down
last
night
,
had
been
scattered
by
the
wind
—
among
the
ruins
of
the
home
he
had
wronged
—
I
saw
him
lying
with
his
head
upon
his
arm
,
as
I
had
often
seen
him
lie
at
school
.
