-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Джек Лондон
-
- Мартин Иден
-
- Стр. 50/241
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
Greater
than
his
adventure
in
the
world
of
thought
was
his
love
-
adventure
.
The
world
itself
was
not
so
amazing
because
of
the
atoms
and
molecules
that
composed
it
according
to
the
propulsions
of
irresistible
force
;
what
made
it
amazing
was
the
fact
that
Ruth
lived
in
it
.
She
was
the
most
amazing
thing
he
had
ever
known
,
or
dreamed
,
or
guessed
.
But
he
was
oppressed
always
by
her
remoteness
.
She
was
so
far
from
him
,
and
he
did
not
know
how
to
approach
her
.
He
had
been
a
success
with
girls
and
women
in
his
own
class
;
but
he
had
never
loved
any
of
them
,
while
he
did
love
her
,
and
besides
,
she
was
not
merely
of
another
class
.
His
very
love
elevated
her
above
all
classes
.
She
was
a
being
apart
,
so
far
apart
that
he
did
not
know
how
to
draw
near
to
her
as
a
lover
should
draw
near
.
It
was
true
,
as
he
acquired
knowledge
and
language
,
that
he
was
drawing
nearer
,
talking
her
speech
,
discovering
ideas
and
delights
in
common
;
but
this
did
not
satisfy
his
lover
’
s
yearning
.
His
lover
’
s
imagination
had
made
her
holy
,
too
holy
,
too
spiritualized
,
to
have
any
kinship
with
him
in
the
flesh
.
It
was
his
own
love
that
thrust
her
from
him
and
made
her
seem
impossible
for
him
.
Love
itself
denied
him
the
one
thing
that
it
desired
.
And
then
,
one
day
,
without
warning
,
the
gulf
between
them
was
bridged
for
a
moment
,
and
thereafter
,
though
the
gulf
remained
,
it
was
ever
narrower
.
They
had
been
eating
cherries
—
great
,
luscious
,
black
cherries
with
a
juice
of
the
color
of
dark
wine
.
And
later
,
as
she
read
aloud
to
him
from
"
The
Princess
,
"
he
chanced
to
notice
the
stain
of
the
cherries
on
her
lips
.
For
the
moment
her
divinity
was
shattered
.
She
was
clay
,
after
all
,
mere
clay
,
subject
to
the
common
law
of
clay
as
his
clay
was
subject
,
or
anybody
’
s
clay
.
Her
lips
were
flesh
like
his
,
and
cherries
dyed
them
as
cherries
dyed
his
.
And
if
so
with
her
lips
,
then
was
it
so
with
all
of
her
.
She
was
woman
,
all
woman
,
just
like
any
woman
.
It
came
upon
him
abruptly
.
It
was
a
revelation
that
stunned
him
.
It
was
as
if
he
had
seen
the
sun
fall
out
of
the
sky
,
or
had
seen
worshipped
purity
polluted
.
Then
he
realized
the
significance
of
it
,
and
his
heart
began
pounding
and
challenging
him
to
play
the
lover
with
this
woman
who
was
not
a
spirit
from
other
worlds
but
a
mere
woman
with
lips
a
cherry
could
stain
.
He
trembled
at
the
audacity
of
his
thought
;
but
all
his
soul
was
singing
,
and
reason
,
in
a
triumphant
paean
,
assured
him
he
was
right
.
Something
of
this
change
in
him
must
have
reached
her
,
for
she
paused
from
her
reading
,
looked
up
at
him
,
and
smiled
.
His
eyes
dropped
from
her
blue
eyes
to
her
lips
,
and
the
sight
of
the
stain
maddened
him
.
His
arms
all
but
flashed
out
to
her
and
around
her
,
in
the
way
of
his
old
careless
life
.
She
seemed
to
lean
toward
him
,
to
wait
,
and
all
his
will
fought
to
hold
him
back
.
"
You
were
not
following
a
word
,
"
she
pouted
.
Then
she
laughed
at
him
,
delighting
in
his
confusion
,
and
as
he
looked
into
her
frank
eyes
and
knew
that
she
had
divined
nothing
of
what
he
felt
,
he
became
abashed
.
He
had
indeed
in
thought
dared
too
far
.
Of
all
the
women
he
had
known
there
was
no
woman
who
would
not
have
guessed
—
save
her
.
And
she
had
not
guessed
.
There
was
the
difference
.
She
was
different
.
He
was
appalled
by
his
own
grossness
,
awed
by
her
clear
innocence
,
and
he
gazed
again
at
her
across
the
gulf
.
The
bridge
had
broken
down
.
But
still
the
incident
had
brought
him
nearer
.
The
memory
of
it
persisted
,
and
in
the
moments
when
he
was
most
cast
down
,
he
dwelt
upon
it
eagerly
.
The
gulf
was
never
again
so
wide
.
He
had
accomplished
a
distance
vastly
greater
than
a
bachelorship
of
arts
,
or
a
dozen
bachelorships
.
She
was
pure
,
it
was
true
,
as
he
had
never
dreamed
of
purity
;
but
cherries
stained
her
lips
.
She
was
subject
to
the
laws
of
the
universe
just
as
inexorably
as
he
was
.
She
had
to
eat
to
live
,
and
when
she
got
her
feet
wet
,
she
caught
cold
.
But
that
was
not
the
point
.
If
she
could
feel
hunger
and
thirst
,
and
heat
and
cold
,
then
could
she
feel
love
—
and
love
for
a
man
.
Well
,
he
was
a
man
.
And
why
could
he
not
be
the
man
?
"
It
’
s
up
to
me
to
make
good
,
"
he
would
murmur
fervently
.
"
I
will
be
the
man
.
I
will
make
myself
the
man
.
I
will
make
good
.
"
Early
one
evening
,
struggling
with
a
sonnet
that
twisted
all
awry
the
beauty
and
thought
that
trailed
in
glow
and
vapor
through
his
brain
,
Martin
was
called
to
the
telephone
.
"
It
’
s
a
lady
’
s
voice
,
a
fine
lady
’
s
,
"
Mr
.
Higginbotham
,
who
had
called
him
,
jeered
.
