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- Джон Стейнбек
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- Гроздья гнева
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- Стр. 115/563
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Casy
walked
quickly
to
the
tent
and
went
inside
.
A
double
mattress
was
on
the
ground
,
the
blankets
spread
neatly
;
and
a
little
tin
stove
stood
on
iron
legs
,
and
the
fire
in
it
burned
unevenly
.
A
bucket
of
water
,
a
wooden
box
of
supplies
,
and
a
box
for
a
table
,
that
was
all
.
The
light
of
the
setting
sun
came
pinkly
through
the
tent
walls
.
Sairy
Wilson
knelt
on
the
ground
,
beside
the
mattress
,
and
Grampa
lay
on
his
back
.
His
eyes
were
open
,
staring
upward
,
and
his
cheeks
were
flushed
.
He
breathed
heavily
.
Casy
took
the
skinny
old
wrist
in
his
fingers
.
"
Feeling
kinda
tired
,
Grampa
?
"
he
asked
.
The
staring
eyes
moved
toward
his
voice
but
did
not
find
him
.
The
lips
practiced
a
speech
but
did
not
speak
it
.
Casy
felt
the
pulse
and
he
dropped
the
wrist
and
put
his
hand
on
Grampa
’
s
forehead
.
A
struggle
began
in
the
old
man
’
s
body
,
his
legs
moved
restlessly
and
his
hands
stirred
.
He
said
a
whole
string
of
blurred
sounds
that
were
not
words
,
and
his
face
was
red
under
the
spiky
white
whiskers
.
Sairy
Wilson
spoke
softly
to
Casy
.
"
Know
what
’
s
wrong
?
"
He
looked
up
at
the
wrinkled
face
and
the
burning
eyes
.
"
Do
you
?
"
"
I
—
think
so
.
"
"
What
?
"
Casy
asked
.
"
Might
be
wrong
.
I
wouldn
’
like
to
say
.
"
Casy
looked
back
at
the
twitching
red
face
.
"
Would
you
say
—
maybe
he
’
s
workin
’
up
a
stroke
?
"
"
I
’
d
say
that
,
"
said
Sairy
.
"
I
seen
it
three
times
before
.
"
From
outside
came
the
sounds
of
camp
-
making
,
wood
chopping
,
and
the
rattle
of
pans
.
Ma
looked
through
the
flaps
.
"
Granma
wants
to
come
in
.
Would
she
better
?
"
