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- Джон Уиндем
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- День триффидов
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- Стр. 138/223
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He
frowned
.
"
Well
,
damn
me
,
mate
,
so
it
is
,
"
he
admitted
.
I
began
to
feel
the
lightening
of
spirit
that
Coker
was
already
showing
.
The
sight
of
the
open
country
gave
one
hope
of
a
son
.
It
was
true
that
the
young
green
crops
would
never
be
harvested
when
they
had
ripened
,
nor
the
fruit
from
the
trees
gathered
;
that
the
countryside
might
never
again
look
as
trim
and
neat
as
it
did
that
day
,
but
for
all
that
it
would
go
on
,
after
its
own
fashion
.
It
was
not
,
like
the
towns
,
sterile
,
stopped
forever
.
It
was
a
place
one
could
work
and
tend
,
and
still
find
a
future
.
It
made
my
existence
of
the
previous
week
seem
like
that
of
a
rat
living
on
crumbs
and
ferreting
in
garbage
heaps
.
As
I
looked
out
over
the
fields
I
felt
my
spirits
expanding
.
Places
on
our
route
,
towns
like
Reading
or
Newbury
,
brought
back
the
London
mood
for
a
while
,
but
they
were
no
more
then
dips
in
a
graph
of
revival
.
There
is
an
inability
to
sustain
the
tragic
mood
,
a
phoenix
quality
of
the
mind
.
It
may
be
helpful
or
harmful
,
it
is
just
a
part
of
the
will
to
survive
—
yet
,
also
,
it
has
made
it
possible
for
us
to
engage
in
one
weakening
war
after
another
.
But
it
is
a
necessary
part
of
our
mechanism
that
we
should
be
able
to
cry
only
for
a
time
over
even
an
ocean
of
spilt
milk
—
the
spectacular
must
soon
become
the
commonplace
if
life
is
to
be
supportable
.
Under
a
wide
blue
sky
where
a
few
clouds
sailed
like
celestial
icebergs
the
cities
became
a
less
oppressive
memory
,
and
the
sense
of
living
freshened
us
again
like
a
clean
wind
.
It
does
not
,
perhaps
,
excuse
,
but
it
does
at
least
explain
why
from
time
to
time
I
was
surprised
to
find
myself
singing
as
I
drove
.
At
Hungerford
we
stopped
for
more
food
and
fuel
The
feeling
of
release
continued
to
mount
as
we
passed
through
miles
of
untouched
country
.
It
did
not
seem
lonely
yet
,
only
sleeping
and
friendly
.
Even
the
sight
of
occasional
little
groups
of
triffids
swaying
across
a
field
,
or
of
others
resting
with
their
roots
dug
into
the
soil
,
held
no
hostility
to
spoil
my
mood
.
They
were
,
once
again
,
the
simple
objects
of
my
professional
interest
.
Short
of
Devizes
we
pulled
up
once
more
to
consult
the
map
.
A
little
farther
on
we
turned
down
a
side
road
to
the
right
and
drove
into
the
village
of
Tynsham
.
There
was
little
likelihood
of
anyone
missing
the
Manor
.
Beyond
the
few
cottages
which
constituted
the
village
of
Tynsham
the
high
wall
of
an
estate
ran
beside
the
road
.
We
followed
it
until
we
came
to
massive
wrought
-
iron
gates
.
Behind
them
stood
a
young
woman
on
whose
face
the
sober
seriousness
of
responsibility
had
suppressed
all
human
expression
.
She
was
equipped
with
a
shotgun
which
she
clasped
in
inappropriate
places
.
I
signaled
to
Coker
to
stop
,
and
called
to
her
as
I
drew
up
.
Her
mouth
moved
,
but
not
a
word
penetrated
the
clatter
of
the
engine
.
I
switched
off
.
