-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Джон Стейнбек
-
- И проиграли бой
-
- Стр. 68/317
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
The
Ford
rattled
and
chuckled
homeward
,
and
pushed
its
nose
up
against
the
bunk
house
.
Mac
and
Jim
parted
from
London
and
went
to
their
dark
little
room
.
Jim
lay
on
the
floor
wrapped
in
a
piece
of
carpet
and
a
comforter
.
Mac
leaned
against
the
wall
,
smoking
a
cigarette
.
After
a
while
he
crushed
out
the
spark
.
"
Jim
,
you
awake
?
"
"
Sure
.
"
"
That
was
a
smart
thing
,
Jim
.
She
was
beginning
to
drag
when
you
brought
in
that
thing
about
that
cotton
.
That
was
a
smart
thing
.
"
"
I
want
to
help
,
"
Jim
cried
.
"
God
,
Mac
,
this
thing
is
singing
all
over
me
.
I
don
’
t
want
to
sleep
.
I
want
to
go
right
on
helping
.
"
"
You
better
go
to
sleep
,
"
Mac
said
.
"
We
’
re
going
to
do
a
lot
of
night
work
.
"
The
wind
swept
down
the
rows
,
next
morning
,
swaying
the
branches
of
the
trees
,
and
the
windfalls
dropped
on
the
ground
with
soft
thuds
.
Frost
was
in
the
wind
,
and
between
the
gusts
the
curious
stillness
of
autumn
.
The
pickers
scurried
at
their
work
,
coats
buttoned
close
over
their
chests
.
When
the
trucks
went
by
between
the
rows
,
a
wall
of
dust
rolled
out
and
went
sailing
down
the
wind
.
The
checker
at
the
loading
station
wore
a
sheepskin
coat
,
and
when
he
was
not
tallying
,
thrust
hands
and
book
and
pencil
into
his
breast
pocket
and
moved
his
feet
restlessly
.
Jim
carried
his
bucket
to
the
station
.
"
Cold
enough
for
you
?
"
"
Not
as
cold
as
it
will
be
if
this
wind
doesn
’
t
change
.
Freeze
the
balls
off
a
brass
monkey
,
"
the
checker
said
.
A
sullen
looking
boy
came
up
and
dumped
his
bucket
.
His
dark
brows
grew
low
to
his
eyes
and
his
dark
,
stiff
hair
grew
low
on
his
forehead
.
His
eyes
were
red
and
hot
.
He
dumped
his
bucketful
of
apples
into
a
box
.
