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- Джек Лондон
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- Мартин Иден
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- Стр. 241/241
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It
was
the
automatic
instinct
to
live
.
He
ceased
swimming
,
but
the
moment
he
felt
the
water
rising
above
his
mouth
the
hands
struck
out
sharply
with
a
lifting
movement
.
The
will
to
live
,
was
his
thought
,
and
the
thought
was
accompanied
by
a
sneer
.
Well
,
he
had
will
,
—
ay
,
will
strong
enough
that
with
one
last
exertion
it
could
destroy
itself
and
cease
to
be
.
He
changed
his
position
to
a
vertical
one
.
He
glanced
up
at
the
quiet
stars
,
at
the
same
time
emptying
his
lungs
of
air
.
With
swift
,
vigorous
propulsion
of
hands
and
feet
,
he
lifted
his
shoulders
and
half
his
chest
out
of
water
.
This
was
to
gain
impetus
for
the
descent
.
Then
he
let
himself
go
and
sank
without
movement
,
a
white
statue
,
into
the
sea
.
He
breathed
in
the
water
deeply
,
deliberately
,
after
the
manner
of
a
man
taking
an
anaesthetic
.
When
he
strangled
,
quite
involuntarily
his
arms
and
legs
clawed
the
water
and
drove
him
up
to
the
surface
and
into
the
clear
sight
of
the
stars
.
The
will
to
live
,
he
thought
disdainfully
,
vainly
endeavoring
not
to
breathe
the
air
into
his
bursting
lungs
.
Well
,
he
would
have
to
try
a
new
way
.
He
filled
his
lungs
with
air
,
filled
them
full
.
This
supply
would
take
him
far
down
.
He
turned
over
and
went
down
head
first
,
swimming
with
all
his
strength
and
all
his
will
.
Deeper
and
deeper
he
went
.
His
eyes
were
open
,
and
he
watched
the
ghostly
,
phosphorescent
trails
of
the
darting
bonita
.
As
he
swam
,
he
hoped
that
they
would
not
strike
at
him
,
for
it
might
snap
the
tension
of
his
will
.
But
they
did
not
strike
,
and
he
found
time
to
be
grateful
for
this
last
kindness
of
life
.
Down
,
down
,
he
swam
till
his
arms
and
leg
grew
tired
and
hardly
moved
.
He
knew
that
he
was
deep
.
The
pressure
on
his
ear
-
drums
was
a
pain
,
and
there
was
a
buzzing
in
his
head
.
His
endurance
was
faltering
,
but
he
compelled
his
arms
and
legs
to
drive
him
deeper
until
his
will
snapped
and
the
air
drove
from
his
lungs
in
a
great
explosive
rush
.
The
bubbles
rubbed
and
bounded
like
tiny
balloons
against
his
cheeks
and
eyes
as
they
took
their
upward
flight
.
Then
came
pain
and
strangulation
.
This
hurt
was
not
death
,
was
the
thought
that
oscillated
through
his
reeling
consciousness
.
Death
did
not
hurt
It
was
life
,
the
pangs
of
life
,
this
awful
,
suffocating
feeling
;
it
was
the
last
blow
life
could
deal
him
.
His
wilful
hands
and
feet
began
to
beat
and
churn
about
,
spasmodically
and
feebly
.
But
he
had
fooled
them
and
the
will
to
live
that
made
them
beat
and
churn
.
He
was
too
deep
down
.
They
could
never
bring
him
to
the
surface
.
He
seemed
floating
languidly
in
a
sea
of
dreamy
vision
.
Colors
and
radiances
surrounded
him
and
bathed
him
and
pervaded
him
.
What
was
that
?
It
seemed
a
lighthouse
;
but
it
was
inside
his
brain
—
a
flashing
,
bright
white
light
.
It
flashed
swifter
and
swifter
.
There
was
a
long
rumble
of
sound
,
and
it
seemed
to
him
that
he
was
falling
down
a
vast
and
interminable
stairway
.
And
somewhere
at
the
bottom
he
fell
into
darkness
.
That
much
he
knew
.
He
had
fallen
into
darkness
.
And
at
the
instant
he
knew
,
he
ceased
to
know
.