-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Джек Лондон
-
- Белый клык
-
- Стр. 87/119
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
The
god
remained
quiet
,
made
no
movement
;
and
White
Fang
's
snarl
slowly
dwindled
to
a
growl
that
ebbed
down
in
his
throat
and
ceased
.
Then
the
god
spoke
,
and
at
the
first
sound
of
his
voice
,
the
hair
rose
on
White
Fang
's
neck
and
the
growl
rushed
up
in
his
throat
.
But
the
god
made
no
hostile
movement
,
and
went
on
calmly
talking
.
For
a
time
White
Fang
growled
in
unison
with
him
,
a
correspondence
of
rhythm
being
established
between
growl
and
voice
.
But
the
god
talked
on
interminably
.
He
talked
to
White
Fang
as
White
Fang
had
never
been
talked
to
before
.
He
talked
softly
and
soothingly
,
with
a
gentleness
that
somehow
,
somewhere
,
touched
White
Fang
.
In
spite
of
himself
and
all
the
pricking
warnings
of
his
instinct
,
White
Fang
began
to
have
confidence
in
this
god
.
He
had
a
feeling
of
security
that
was
belied
by
all
his
experience
with
men
.
After
a
long
time
,
the
god
got
up
and
went
into
the
cabin
.
White
Fang
scanned
him
apprehensively
when
he
came
out
.
He
had
neither
whip
nor
club
nor
weapon
.
Nor
was
his
uninjured
hand
behind
his
back
hiding
something
.
He
sat
down
as
before
,
in
the
same
spot
,
several
feet
away
.
He
held
out
a
small
piece
of
meat
.
White
Fang
pricked
his
ears
and
investigated
it
suspiciously
,
managing
to
look
at
the
same
time
both
at
the
meat
and
the
god
,
alert
for
any
overt
act
,
his
body
tense
and
ready
to
spring
away
at
the
first
sign
of
hostility
.
Still
the
punishment
delayed
.
The
god
merely
held
near
to
his
nose
a
piece
of
meat
.
And
about
the
meat
there
seemed
nothing
wrong
.
Still
White
Fang
suspected
;
and
though
the
meat
was
proffered
to
him
with
short
inviting
thrusts
of
the
hand
,
he
refused
to
touch
it
.
The
gods
were
all-wise
,
and
there
was
no
telling
what
masterful
treachery
lurked
behind
that
apparently
harmless
piece
of
meat
.
In
past
experience
,
especially
in
dealing
with
squaws
,
meat
and
punishment
had
often
been
disastrously
related
.
In
the
end
,
the
god
tossed
the
meat
on
the
snow
at
White
Fang
's
feet
.
He
smelled
the
meat
carefully
;
but
he
did
not
look
at
it
.
While
he
smelled
it
he
kept
his
eyes
on
the
god
.
Nothing
happened
.
He
took
the
meat
into
his
mouth
and
swallowed
it
.
Still
nothing
happened
.
The
god
was
actually
offering
him
another
piece
of
meat
.
Again
he
refused
to
take
it
from
the
hand
,
and
again
it
was
tossed
to
him
.
This
was
repeated
a
number
of
times
.
But
there
came
a
time
when
the
god
refused
to
toss
it
.
He
kept
it
in
his
hand
and
steadfastly
proffered
it
.
The
meat
was
good
meat
,
and
White
Fang
was
hungry
.
Bit
by
bit
,
infinitely
cautious
,
he
approached
the
hand
.
At
last
the
time
came
that
he
decided
to
eat
the
meat
from
the
hand
.
He
never
took
his
eyes
from
the
god
,
thrusting
his
head
forward
with
ears
flattened
back
and
hair
involuntarily
rising
and
cresting
on
his
neck
.
Also
a
low
growl
rumbled
in
his
throat
as
warning
that
he
was
not
to
be
trifled
with
.
He
ate
the
meat
,
and
nothing
happened
.
Piece
by
piece
,
he
ate
all
the
meat
,
and
nothing
happened
.
Still
the
punishment
delayed
.
He
licked
his
chops
and
waited
.
The
god
went
on
talking
.
In
his
voice
was
kindness
--
something
of
which
White
Fang
had
no
experience
whatever
.
And
within
him
it
aroused
feelings
which
he
had
likewise
never
experienced
before
.
He
was
aware
of
a
certain
strange
satisfaction
,
as
though
some
need
were
being
gratified
,
as
though
some
void
in
his
being
were
being
filled
.
Then
again
came
the
prod
of
his
instinct
and
the
warning
of
past
experience
.
The
gods
were
ever
crafty
,
and
they
had
unguessed
ways
of
attaining
their
ends
.
Ah
,
he
had
thought
so
!
There
it
came
now
,
the
god
's
hand
,
cunning
to
hurt
,
thrusting
out
at
him
,
descending
upon
his
head
.
But
the
god
went
on
talking
.
His
voice
was
soft
and
soothing
.
In
spite
of
the
menacing
hand
,
the
voice
inspired
confidence
.
And
in
spite
of
the
assuring
voice
,
the
hand
inspired
distrust
.
White
Fang
was
torn
by
conflicting
feelings
,
impulses
.
It
seemed
he
would
fly
to
pieces
,
so
terrible
was
the
control
he
was
exerting
,
holding
together
by
an
unwonted
indecision
the
counter-forces
that
struggled
within
him
for
mastery
.
He
compromised
.
He
snarled
and
bristled
and
flattened
his
ears
.
But
he
neither
snapped
nor
sprang
away
.
The
hand
descended
.
Nearer
and
nearer
it
came
.
It
touched
the
ends
of
his
upstanding
hair
.
He
shrank
down
under
it
.
It
followed
down
after
him
,
pressing
more
closely
against
him
.
Shrinking
,
almost
shivering
,
he
still
managed
to
hold
himself
together
.
It
was
a
torment
,
this
hand
that
touched
him
and
violated
his
instinct
.
He
could
not
forget
in
a
day
all
the
evil
that
had
been
wrought
him
at
the
hands
of
men
.
But
it
was
the
will
of
the
god
,
and
he
strove
to
submit
.