-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Джон Стейнбек
-
- Зима тревоги нашей
-
- Стр. 277/385
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
"
I
am
.
I
get
pretty
tired
of
other
people
’
s
money
.
I
got
a
hot
date
for
the
weekend
and
I
’
ll
probably
be
too
pooped
to
warm
up
to
it
.
"
He
nudged
a
gum
wrapper
into
the
lock
,
went
in
,
saying
,
"
See
you
,
"
and
closed
the
door
.
I
pushed
the
back
door
open
.
"
Joey
!
You
want
a
sandwich
today
?
"
"
No
thanks
,
"
he
called
out
of
the
dim
,
floor
-
oil
-
smelling
interior
.
"
Maybe
Friday
,
Saturday
sure
.
"
"
Don
’
t
you
close
at
noon
?
"
"
I
told
you
.
The
bank
closes
but
Morphy
don
’
t
.
"
"
Just
call
on
me
.
"
"
Thanks
—
thanks
,
Mr
.
Hawley
.
"
I
had
nothing
to
say
to
my
forces
on
the
shelves
that
morning
except
"
Good
morning
gentlemen
—
at
ease
!
"
At
a
few
moments
before
nine
,
aproned
and
broomed
,
I
was
out
front
,
sweeping
the
sidewalk
.
Mr
.
Baker
is
so
regular
you
can
hear
him
tick
and
I
’
m
sure
there
’
s
a
hairspring
in
his
chest
.
Eight
fifty
-
six
,
fifty
-
seven
,
there
he
came
down
Elm
Street
;
eight
fifty
-
eight
,
he
crossed
;
eight
fifty
-
nine
—
he
was
at
the
glass
doors
,
where
I
,
with
broom
at
carry
arms
,
intercepted
him
.
"
Mr
.
Baker
,
I
want
to
talk
to
you
.
"
"
Morning
,
Ethan
.
Can
you
wait
a
minute
?
Come
on
in
.
"
I
followed
him
,
and
it
was
just
as
Joey
said
—
like
a
religious
ceremony
.