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- Джон Толкин
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- Стр. 160/163
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"
Indeed
I
can
!
"
said
the
wizard
.
"
But
share
and
share
alike
!
You
may
find
you
have
more
needs
than
you
expect
.
"
So
they
put
the
gold
in
bags
and
slung
them
on
the
ponies
,
who
were
not
at
all
pleased
about
it
.
After
that
their
going
was
slower
,
for
most
of
the
time
they
walked
.
But
the
land
was
green
and
there
was
much
grass
through
which
the
hobbit
strolled
along
contentedly
.
He
mopped
his
face
with
a
red
silk
handkerchief-no
!
not
a
single
one
of
his
own
had
survived
,
he
had
borrowed
this
one
from
Elrond
-
for
now
June
had
brought
summer
,
and
the
weather
was
bright
and
hot
again
.
As
all
things
come
to
an
end
,
even
this
story
,
a
day
came
at
last
when
they
were
in
sight
of
the
country
where
Bilbo
had
been
born
and
bred
,
where
the
shapes
of
the
land
and
of
the
trees
were
as
well
known
to
him
as
his
hands
and
toes
.
Coming
to
a
rise
he
could
see
his
own
Hill
in
the
distance
,
and
he
stopped
suddenly
and
said
:
"
Roads
go
ever
ever
on
,
Over
rock
and
under
tree
,
By
caves
where
never
sun
has
shone
,
By
streams
that
never
find
the
sea
;
Over
snow
by
winter
sown
,
And
through
the
merry
flowers
of
June
,
