-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Чарльз Диккенс
-
- Крошка Доррит
-
- Стр. 3/761
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
‘
The
mid
-
day
bells
will
ring
—
in
forty
minutes
.
’
When
he
made
the
little
pause
,
he
had
looked
round
the
prison
-
room
,
as
if
for
certain
information
.
‘
You
are
a
clock
.
How
is
it
that
you
always
know
?
’
‘
How
can
I
say
?
I
always
know
what
the
hour
is
,
and
where
I
am
.
I
was
brought
in
here
at
night
,
and
out
of
a
boat
,
but
I
know
where
I
am
.
See
here
!
Marseilles
harbour
;
’
on
his
knees
on
the
pavement
,
mapping
it
all
out
with
a
swarthy
forefinger
;
‘
Toulon
(
where
the
galleys
are
)
,
Spain
over
there
,
Algiers
over
there
.
Creeping
away
to
the
left
here
,
Nice
.
Round
by
the
Cornice
to
Genoa
.
Genoa
Mole
and
Harbour
.
Quarantine
Ground
.
City
there
;
terrace
gardens
blushing
with
the
bella
donna
.
Here
,
Porto
Fino
.
Stand
out
for
Leghorn
.
Out
again
for
Civita
Vecchia
,
so
away
to
—
hey
!
there
’
s
no
room
for
Naples
;
’
he
had
got
to
the
wall
by
this
time
;
‘
but
it
’
s
all
one
;
it
’
s
in
there
!
’
He
remained
on
his
knees
,
looking
up
at
his
fellow
-
prisoner
with
a
lively
look
for
a
prison
.
A
sunburnt
,
quick
,
lithe
,
little
man
,
though
rather
thickset
.
Earrings
in
his
brown
ears
,
white
teeth
lighting
up
his
grotesque
brown
face
,
intensely
black
hair
clustering
about
his
brown
throat
,
a
ragged
red
shirt
open
at
his
brown
breast
.
Loose
,
seaman
-
like
trousers
,
decent
shoes
,
a
long
red
cap
,
a
red
sash
round
his
waist
,
and
a
knife
in
it
.
‘
Judge
if
I
come
back
from
Naples
as
I
went
!
See
here
,
my
master
!
Civita
Vecchia
,
Leghorn
,
Porto
Fino
,
Genoa
,
Cornice
,
Off
Nice
(
which
is
in
there
)
,
Marseilles
,
you
and
me
.
The
apartment
of
the
jailer
and
his
keys
is
where
I
put
this
thumb
;
and
here
at
my
wrist
they
keep
the
national
razor
in
its
case
—
the
guillotine
locked
up
.
’
The
other
man
spat
suddenly
on
the
pavement
,
and
gurgled
in
his
throat
.
Some
lock
below
gurgled
in
its
throat
immediately
afterwards
,
and
then
a
door
crashed
.
Slow
steps
began
ascending
the
stairs
;
the
prattle
of
a
sweet
little
voice
mingled
with
the
noise
they
made
;
and
the
prison
-
keeper
appeared
carrying
his
daughter
,
three
or
four
years
old
,
and
a
basket
.
‘
How
goes
the
world
this
forenoon
,
gentlemen
?
My
little
one
,
you
see
,
going
round
with
me
to
have
a
peep
at
her
father
’
s
birds
.
Fie
,
then
!
Look
at
the
birds
,
my
pretty
,
look
at
the
birds
.
’
He
looked
sharply
at
the
birds
himself
,
as
he
held
the
child
up
at
the
grate
,
especially
at
the
little
bird
,
whose
activity
he
seemed
to
mistrust
.
