-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Джером Клапка Джером
-
- Трое в лодке не считая собаки
-
- Стр. 128/149
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
We
found
out
the
woman
's
story
afterwards
.
Of
course
it
was
the
old
,
old
vulgar
tragedy
.
She
had
loved
and
been
deceived
--
or
had
deceived
herself
.
Anyhow
,
she
had
sinned
--
some
of
us
do
now
and
then
--
and
her
family
and
friends
,
naturally
shocked
and
indignant
,
had
closed
their
doors
against
her
.
Left
to
fight
the
world
alone
,
with
the
millstone
of
her
shame
around
her
neck
,
she
had
sunk
ever
lower
and
lower
.
For
a
while
she
had
kept
both
herself
and
the
child
on
the
twelve
shillings
a
week
that
twelve
hours
'
drudgery
a
day
procured
her
,
paying
six
shillings
out
of
it
for
the
child
,
and
keeping
her
own
body
and
soul
together
on
the
remainder
.
Six
shillings
a
week
does
not
keep
body
and
soul
together
very
unitedly
.
They
want
to
get
away
from
each
other
when
there
is
only
such
a
very
slight
bond
as
that
between
them
;
and
one
day
,
I
suppose
,
the
pain
and
the
dull
monotony
of
it
all
had
stood
before
her
eyes
plainer
than
usual
,
and
the
mocking
spectre
had
frightened
her
.
She
had
made
one
last
appeal
to
friends
,
but
,
against
the
chill
wall
of
their
respectability
,
the
voice
of
the
erring
outcast
fell
unheeded
;
and
then
she
had
gone
to
see
her
child
--
had
held
it
in
her
arms
and
kissed
it
,
in
a
weary
,
dull
sort
of
way
,
and
without
betraying
any
particular
emotion
of
any
kind
,
and
had
left
it
,
after
putting
into
its
hand
a
penny
box
of
chocolate
she
had
bought
it
,
and
afterwards
,
with
her
last
few
shillings
,
had
taken
a
ticket
and
come
down
to
Goring
.
It
seemed
that
the
bitterest
thoughts
of
her
life
must
have
centred
about
the
wooded
reaches
and
the
bright
green
meadows
around
Goring
;
but
women
strangely
hug
the
knife
that
stabs
them
,
and
,
perhaps
,
amidst
the
gall
,
there
may
have
mingled
also
sunny
memories
of
sweetest
hours
,
spent
upon
those
shadowed
deeps
over
which
the
great
trees
bend
their
branches
down
so
low
.
She
had
wandered
about
the
woods
by
the
river
's
brink
all
day
,
and
then
,
when
evening
fell
and
the
grey
twilight
spread
its
dusky
robe
upon
the
waters
,
she
stretched
her
arms
out
to
the
silent
river
that
had
known
her
sorrow
and
her
joy
.
And
the
old
river
had
taken
her
into
its
gentle
arms
,
and
had
laid
her
weary
head
upon
its
bosom
,
and
had
hushed
away
the
pain
.
Thus
had
she
sinned
in
all
things
--
sinned
in
living
and
in
dying
.
God
help
her
!
and
all
other
sinners
,
if
any
more
there
be
.
Goring
on
the
left
bank
and
Streatley
on
the
right
are
both
or
either
charming
places
to
stay
at
for
a
few
days
.
The
reaches
down
to
Pangbourne
woo
one
for
a
sunny
sail
or
for
a
moonlight
row
,
and
the
country
round
about
is
full
of
beauty
.
We
had
intended
to
push
on
to
Wallingford
that
day
,
but
the
sweet
smiling
face
of
the
river
here
lured
us
to
linger
for
a
while
;
and
so
we
left
our
boat
at
the
bridge
,
and
went
up
into
Streatley
,
and
lunched
at
the
"
Bull
,
"
much
to
Montmorency
's
satisfaction
.
They
say
that
the
hills
on
each
ride
of
the
stream
here
once
joined
and
formed
a
barrier
across
what
is
now
the
Thames
,
and
that
then
the
river
ended
there
above
Goring
in
one
vast
lake
.
I
am
not
in
a
position
either
to
contradict
or
affirm
this
statement
.
I
simply
offer
it
.
It
is
an
ancient
place
,
Streatley
,
dating
back
,
like
most
river-side
towns
and
villages
,
to
British
and
Saxon
times
.
Goring
is
not
nearly
so
pretty
a
little
spot
to
stop
at
as
Streatley
,
if
you
have
your
choice
;
but
it
is
passing
fair
enough
in
its
way
,
and
is
nearer
the
railway
in
case
you
want
to
slip
off
without
paying
your
hotel
bill
.
