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- Джон Уиндем
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- День триффидов
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At
the
far
end
of
the
wide
corridor
were
the
doors
of
a
ward
.
The
panels
were
frosted
save
for
ovals
of
clear
glass
at
face
level
,
I
opened
the
door
.
It
was
pretty
dark
in
there
.
The
curtains
had
evidently
been
drawn
after
the
previous
night
’
s
display
was
over
-
and
they
were
still
drawn
.
"
Sister
?
"
I
inquired
.
"
She
ain
’
t
’
ere
,
"
a
man
’
s
voice
said
.
"
What
’
s
more
,
"
it
went
on
,
"
she
ain
’
t
been
’
ere
’
for
ruddy
hours
,
neither
.
Can
’
t
you
pull
them
ruddy
curtains
,
mate
,
and
let
’
s
’
ave
some
flippin
’
light
?
Don
’
t
know
what
’
s
come
over
the
bloody
place
this
morning
.
"
"
Okay
,
"
I
agreed
.
Even
if
the
whole
place
were
disorganized
,
it
didn
’
t
seem
to
be
any
good
reason
why
the
unfortunate
patients
should
have
to
lie
in
the
dark
.
I
pulled
back
the
curtains
on
the
nearest
window
and
let
in
a
shaft
of
bright
sunlight
.
It
was
a
surgical
ward
with
about
twenty
patients
,
all
bedridden
.
Leg
injuries
mostly
;
several
amputations
,
by
the
look
of
it
.
"
Stop
foolin
’
about
with
‘
em
,
mate
,
and
pull
‘
em
back
,
"
said
the
same
voice
.
I
turned
and
looked
at
the
man
who
spoke
.
He
was
a
dark
,
burly
fellow
with
a
weather
-
beaten
skin
.
He
was
sitting
up
in
bed
,
facing
directly
at
me
—
and
at
the
light
.
His
eyes
seemed
to
be
gazing
into
my
own
;
so
did
his
neighbor
’
s
,
and
the
next
man
’
s
.
