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- Джон Стейнбек
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- Гроздья гнева
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- Стр. 311/563
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And
the
voice
was
close
this
time
,
the
same
slow
,
tuneless
singing
,
«
Oh
,
the
night
that
Maggie
died
,
she
called
me
to
her
side
,
an
’
give
to
me
them
ol
’
red
flannel
drawers
that
Maggie
wore
.
They
was
baggy
at
the
knees
—
"
Tom
moved
cautiously
forward
.
He
saw
the
black
form
sitting
on
the
ground
,
and
he
stole
near
and
sat
down
.
Uncle
John
tilted
the
pint
and
the
liquor
gurgled
out
of
the
neck
of
the
bottle
.
Tom
said
quietly
,
«
Hey
,
wait
!
Where
do
I
come
in
?
»
Uncle
John
turned
his
head
.
«
Who
you
?
»
«
You
forgot
me
awready
?
You
had
four
drinks
to
my
one
.
»
«
No
,
Tom
.
Don
’
t
try
fool
me
.
I
’
m
all
alone
here
.
You
ain
’
t
been
here
.
»
«
Well
,
I
’
m
sure
here
now
.
How
’
bout
givin
’
me
a
snort
?
»
Uncle
John
raised
the
pint
again
and
the
whisky
gurgled
.
He
shook
the
bottle
.
It
was
empty
.
«
No
more
,
"
he
said
.
«
Wanta
die
so
bad
.
Wanta
die
awful
.
Die
a
little
bit
.
Got
to
.
Like
sleepin
’
.
Die
a
little
bit
.
So
tar
’
d
.
Tar
’
d
.
Maybe
—
don
’
wake
up
no
more
.
»
His
voice
crooned
off
.
«
Gonna
wear
a
crown
—
a
golden
crown
.
»
Tom
said
,
«
Listen
here
to
me
,
Uncle
John
.
We
’
re
gonna
move
on
.
You
come
along
,
an
’
you
can
go
right
to
sleep
up
on
the
load
.
»
John
shook
his
head
.
«
No
.
Go
on
.
Ain
’
t
goin
’
.
Gonna
res
’
here
.
No
good
goin
’
back
.
No
good
to
nobody
—
jus
’
a
-
draggin
’
my
sins
like
dirty
drawers
’
mongst
nice
folks
.
No
.
Ain
’
t
goin
’
.
»
