-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Джек Лондон
-
- Мартин Иден
-
- Стр. 49/241
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
"
But
if
you
did
sell
it
,
what
do
you
think
you
’
d
get
for
it
?
"
"
Oh
,
a
hundred
dollars
.
That
would
be
the
least
,
the
way
prices
go
.
"
"
My
!
I
do
hope
you
’
ll
sell
it
!
"
"
Easy
money
,
eh
?
"
Then
he
added
proudly
:
"
I
wrote
it
in
two
days
.
That
’
s
fifty
dollars
a
day
.
"
He
longed
to
read
his
stories
to
Ruth
,
but
did
not
dare
.
He
would
wait
till
some
were
published
,
he
decided
,
then
she
would
understand
what
he
had
been
working
for
.
In
the
meantime
he
toiled
on
.
Never
had
the
spirit
of
adventure
lured
him
more
strongly
than
on
this
amazing
exploration
of
the
realm
of
mind
.
He
bought
the
text
-
books
on
physics
and
chemistry
,
and
,
along
with
his
algebra
,
worked
out
problems
and
demonstrations
.
He
took
the
laboratory
proofs
on
faith
,
and
his
intense
power
of
vision
enabled
him
to
see
the
reactions
of
chemicals
more
understandingly
than
the
average
student
saw
them
in
the
laboratory
.
Martin
wandered
on
through
the
heavy
pages
,
overwhelmed
by
the
clews
he
was
getting
to
the
nature
of
things
.
He
had
accepted
the
world
as
the
world
,
but
now
he
was
comprehending
the
organization
of
it
,
the
play
and
interplay
of
force
and
matter
.
Spontaneous
explanations
of
old
matters
were
continually
arising
in
his
mind
.
Levers
and
purchases
fascinated
him
,
and
his
mind
roved
backward
to
hand
-
spikes
and
blocks
and
tackles
at
sea
.
The
theory
of
navigation
,
which
enabled
the
ships
to
travel
unerringly
their
courses
over
the
pathless
ocean
,
was
made
clear
to
him
.
The
mysteries
of
storm
,
and
rain
,
and
tide
were
revealed
,
and
the
reason
for
the
existence
of
trade
-
winds
made
him
wonder
whether
he
had
written
his
article
on
the
northeast
trade
too
soon
.
At
any
rate
he
knew
he
could
write
it
better
now
.
One
afternoon
he
went
out
with
Arthur
to
the
University
of
California
,
and
,
with
bated
breath
and
a
feeling
of
religious
awe
,
went
through
the
laboratories
,
saw
demonstrations
,
and
listened
to
a
physics
professor
lecturing
to
his
classes
.
But
he
did
not
neglect
his
writing
.
A
stream
of
short
stories
flowed
from
his
pen
,
and
he
branched
out
into
the
easier
forms
of
verse
—
the
kind
he
saw
printed
in
the
magazines
—
though
he
lost
his
head
and
wasted
two
weeks
on
a
tragedy
in
blank
verse
,
the
swift
rejection
of
which
,
by
half
a
dozen
magazines
,
dumfounded
him
.
Then
he
discovered
Henley
and
wrote
a
series
of
sea
-
poems
on
the
model
of
"
Hospital
Sketches
.
"
They
were
simple
poems
,
of
light
and
color
,
and
romance
and
adventure
.
"
Sea
Lyrics
,
"
he
called
them
,
and
he
judged
them
to
be
the
best
work
he
had
yet
done
.
There
were
thirty
,
and
he
completed
them
in
a
month
,
doing
one
a
day
after
having
done
his
regular
day
’
s
work
on
fiction
,
which
day
’
s
work
was
the
equivalent
to
a
week
’
s
work
of
the
average
successful
writer
.
The
toil
meant
nothing
to
him
.
It
was
not
toil
.
He
was
finding
speech
,
and
all
the
beauty
and
wonder
that
had
been
pent
for
years
behind
his
inarticulate
lips
was
now
pouring
forth
in
a
wild
and
virile
flood
.
He
showed
the
"
Sea
Lyrics
"
to
no
one
,
not
even
to
the
editors
.
He
had
become
distrustful
of
editors
.
But
it
was
not
distrust
that
prevented
him
from
submitting
the
"
Lyrics
.
"
They
were
so
beautiful
to
him
that
he
was
impelled
to
save
them
to
share
with
Ruth
in
some
glorious
,
far
-
off
time
when
he
would
dare
to
read
to
her
what
he
had
written
.
Against
that
time
he
kept
them
with
him
,
reading
them
aloud
,
going
over
them
until
he
knew
them
by
heart
.
He
lived
every
moment
of
his
waking
hours
,
and
he
lived
in
his
sleep
,
his
subjective
mind
rioting
through
his
five
hours
of
surcease
and
combining
the
thoughts
and
events
of
the
day
into
grotesque
and
impossible
marvels
.
In
reality
,
he
never
rested
,
and
a
weaker
body
or
a
less
firmly
poised
brain
would
have
been
prostrated
in
a
general
break
-
down
.
His
late
afternoon
calls
on
Ruth
were
rarer
now
,
for
June
was
approaching
,
when
she
would
take
her
degree
and
finish
with
the
university
.
Bachelor
of
Arts
!
—
when
he
thought
of
her
degree
,
it
seemed
she
fled
beyond
him
faster
than
he
could
pursue
.
One
afternoon
a
week
she
gave
to
him
,
and
arriving
late
,
he
usually
stayed
for
dinner
and
for
music
afterward
.
Those
were
his
red
-
letter
days
.
The
atmosphere
of
the
house
,
in
such
contrast
with
that
in
which
he
lived
,
and
the
mere
nearness
to
her
,
sent
him
forth
each
time
with
a
firmer
grip
on
his
resolve
to
climb
the
heights
.
In
spite
of
the
beauty
in
him
,
and
the
aching
desire
to
create
,
it
was
for
her
that
he
struggled
.
He
was
a
lover
first
and
always
.
All
other
things
he
subordinated
to
love
.
