-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Джон Фоулз
-
- Коллекционер
-
- Стр. 137/299
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
Literally
.
Daylight
.
I
can
’
t
stand
the
absolute
darkness
.
He
’
s
bought
me
night
-
lights
.
I
go
to
sleep
with
one
glowing
beside
me
now
.
Before
that
I
left
the
light
on
.
Waking
up
is
the
worst
thing
.
I
wake
up
and
for
a
moment
I
think
I
’
m
at
home
or
at
Caroline
’
s
.
Then
it
hits
me
.
I
don
’
t
know
if
I
believe
in
God
.
I
prayed
to
him
furiously
in
the
van
when
I
thought
I
was
going
to
die
(
that
’
s
a
proof
against
,
I
can
hear
G
.
P
.
saying
)
.
But
praying
makes
things
easier
.
It
’
s
all
bits
and
pieces
.
I
can
’
t
concentrate
.
I
’
ve
thought
so
many
things
,
and
now
I
can
’
t
think
of
one
.
But
it
makes
me
feel
calmer
.
The
illusion
,
anyway
.
Like
working
out
how
much
money
one
’
s
spent
.
And
how
much
is
left
.
October
15th
He
has
never
had
any
parents
,
he
’
s
been
brought
up
by
an
aunt
.
I
can
see
her
.
A
thin
woman
with
a
white
face
and
a
nasty
tight
mouth
and
mean
grey
eyes
and
dowdy
beige
tea
-
cosy
hats
and
a
thing
about
dirt
and
dust
.
Dirt
and
dust
being
everything
outside
her
foul
little
back
-
street
world
.
I
told
him
he
was
looking
for
the
mother
he
’
d
never
had
,
but
of
course
he
wouldn
’
t
listen
.
