-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Джон Стейнбек
-
- И проиграли бой
-
- Стр. 202/317
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
"
We
got
to
stick
,
"
Jim
cried
.
"
We
simply
got
to
stick
.
If
we
lose
this
,
we
’
re
sunk
;
and
not
only
us
,
either
.
Every
other
working
stiff
in
the
country
gets
a
little
of
it
.
"
The
fat
man
nodded
.
"
It
all
fits
together
,
"
he
agreed
.
"
There
ain
’
t
nothing
separate
.
Guys
think
they
want
to
get
something
soft
for
themselves
,
but
they
can
’
t
without
everybody
gets
it
.
"
A
middle
-
aged
man
who
had
been
lying
down
toward
the
rear
of
the
tent
sat
up
.
"
You
know
the
trouble
with
workin
’
men
?
"
he
asked
.
"
Well
,
I
’
ll
tell
you
.
They
do
too
God
-
damn
much
talkin
’
.
If
they
did
more
sluggin
’
an
’
less
arguin
’
,
they
’
d
get
someplace
.
"
He
stopped
.
The
men
in
the
tent
listened
.
From
outside
there
came
the
sound
of
a
little
bustling
,
the
mutter
of
footsteps
,
the
murmur
of
voices
,
the
sound
of
people
,
penetrating
as
an
odor
,
and
soft
.
The
men
in
the
tent
sat
still
and
listened
.
The
sound
of
people
grew
a
little
louder
.
Footsteps
were
slushing
in
the
mud
.
A
group
walked
past
the
tent
.
Jim
stood
up
and
walked
to
the
entrance
just
as
a
head
was
thrust
in
.
"
They
’
re
goin
’
to
bring
out
the
coffin
.
Come
on
,
you
guys
.
"
Jim
stepped
out
between
the
tent
-
flaps
.
The
mist
still
fell
,
blowing
sideways
,
drifting
like
tiny
,
light
snowflakes
.
Here
and
there
the
loose
canvas
of
a
tent
moved
soddenly
in
the
wind
.
Jim
looked
down
the
street
.
The
news
had
traveled
.
Out
of
the
tents
men
and
women
came
.
They
moved
slowly
in
together
and
converged
on
the
platform
.
And
as
their
group
became
more
and
more
compact
,
the
sound
of
their
many
voices
blended
into
one
voice
,
and
the
sound
of
their
footsteps
became
a
great
restlessness
.
Jim
looked
at
the
faces
.
There
was
a
blindness
in
the
eyes
.
The
heads
were
tipped
back
as
though
they
sniffed
for
something
.
They
drew
in
about
the
platform
and
crowded
close
.
Out
of
London
’
s
tent
six
men
came
,
bearing
the
box
.
There
were
no
handles
on
the
coffin
.
Each
pair
of
men
locked
hands
underneath
,
and
bore
the
burden
on
their
forearms
.
They
hesitated
jerkily
,
trying
to
get
in
step
,
and
having
established
the
swinging
rhythm
,
moved
slowly
through
the
slush
toward
the
platform
.
Their
heads
were
bare
,
and
the
drops
of
moisture
stood
out
on
their
hair
like
grey
dust
.
The
little
wind
raised
a
corner
of
the
soiled
flag
,
and
dropped
it
,
and
raised
it
again
.
In
front
of
the
casket
a
lane
opened
through
the
people
,
and
the
bearers
moved
on
,
their
faces
stiff
with
ceremonial
solemnity
,
necks
straight
,
chins
down
.
The
people
on
the
edge
of
the
lane
stared
at
the
box
.
They
grew
quiet
during
the
movement
of
its
passage
,
and
when
it
was
by
whispered
nervously
to
one
another
.
A
few
men
surreptitiously
crossed
themselves
.
The
bearers
reached
the
platform
.
The
leading
pair
laid
the
end
on
the
planks
,
and
the
others
pushed
the
box
forward
until
it
rested
safely
.
Jim
hurried
to
London
’
s
tent
.
London
and
Mac
were
there
.
"
Jesus
,
I
wish
you
’
d
do
the
talkin
’
,
I
can
’
t
talk
.
"
"
No
.
You
’
ll
do
fine
.
’
Member
what
I
told
you
.
Try
to
get
’
em
answering
you
.
Once
you
get
responses
started
,
you
’
ve
got
’
em
.
Regular
old
camp
-
meeting
stuff
;
but
it
sure
works
on
a
crowd
.
"
London
looked
frightened
.
"
You
do
it
,
Mac
.
Honest
to
God
I
can
’
t
.
I
didn
’
t
even
know
the
guy
.
"
Mac
looked
disgusted
.
"
Well
,
you
get
up
there
and
make
a
try
.
If
you
fall
down
,
I
’
ll
be
there
to
pick
it
up
.
"
