-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Джордж Мартин
-
- Битва королей
-
- Стр. 560/853
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
Davos
used
the
oars
to
slow
them
,
and
they
drifted
against
it
almost
gently
.
"
This
is
as
far
as
we
go
,
unless
you
have
a
man
inside
to
lift
the
gate
for
us
.
"
His
whispers
scurried
across
the
lapping
water
like
a
line
of
mice
on
soft
pink
feet
.
"
Have
we
passed
within
the
walls
?
"
"
Yes
.
Beneath
.
But
we
can
go
no
farther
.
The
portcullis
goes
all
the
way
to
the
bottom
.
And
the
bars
are
too
closely
spaced
for
even
a
child
to
squeeze
through
.
"
There
was
no
answer
but
a
soft
rustling
.
And
then
a
light
bloomed
amidst
the
darkness
.
Davos
raised
a
hand
to
shield
his
eyes
,
and
his
breath
caught
in
his
throat
.
Melisandre
had
thrown
back
her
cowl
and
shrugged
out
of
the
smothering
robe
.
Beneath
,
she
was
naked
,
and
huge
with
child
.
Swollen
breasts
hung
heavy
against
her
chest
,
and
her
belly
bulged
as
if
near
to
bursting
.
"
Gods
preserve
us
,
"
he
whispered
,
and
heard
her
answering
laugh
,
deep
and
throaty
.
Her
eyes
were
hot
coals
,
and
the
sweat
that
dappled
her
skin
seemed
to
glow
with
a
light
of
its
own
.
Melisandre
shone
.
Panting
,
she
squatted
and
spread
her
legs
.
Blood
ran
down
her
thighs
,
black
as
ink
.
Her
cry
might
have
been
agony
or
ecstasy
or
both
.
And
Davos
saw
the
crown
of
the
child
’
s
head
push
its
way
out
of
her
.
Two
arms
wriggled
free
,
grasping
,
black
fingers
coiling
around
Melisandre
’
s
straining
thighs
,
pushing
,
until
the
whole
of
the
shadow
slid
out
into
the
world
and
rose
taller
than
Davos
,
tall
as
the
tunnel
,
towering
above
the
boat
He
had
only
an
instant
to
look
at
it
before
it
was
gone
,
twisting
between
the
bars
of
the
portcullis
and
racing
across
the
surface
of
the
water
,
but
that
instant
was
long
enough
.
He
knew
that
shadow
.
As
he
knew
the
man
who
’
d
cast
it
.
The
call
came
drifting
through
the
black
of
night
.
Jon
pushed
himself
onto
an
elbow
,
his
hand
reaching
for
Longclaw
by
force
of
habit
as
the
camp
began
to
stir
.
The
horn
that
wakes
the
sleepers
,
he
thought
.