-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Эрнест Хэмингуэй
-
- По ком звонит колокол
-
- Стр. 51/617
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
Then
he
shut
his
notebook
,
pushed
the
pencil
into
its
leather
holder
in
the
edge
of
the
flap
,
put
the
notebook
in
his
pocket
and
buttoned
the
pocket
.
While
he
had
sketched
,
Anselmo
had
been
watching
the
road
,
the
bridge
and
the
sentry
boxes
.
He
thought
they
had
come
too
close
to
the
bridge
for
safety
and
when
the
sketching
was
finished
,
he
was
relieved
.
As
Robert
Jordan
buttoned
the
flap
of
his
pocket
and
then
lay
flat
behind
the
pine
trunk
,
looking
out
from
behind
it
,
Anselmo
put
his
hand
on
his
elbow
and
pointed
with
one
finger
.
In
the
sentry
box
that
faced
toward
them
up
the
road
,
the
sentry
was
sitting
holding
his
rifle
,
the
bayonet
fixed
,
between
his
knees
.
He
was
smoking
a
cigarette
and
he
wore
a
knitted
cap
and
blanket
style
cape
.
At
fifty
yards
,
you
could
not
see
anything
about
his
face
.
Robert
Jordan
put
up
his
field
glasses
,
shading
the
lenses
carefully
with
his
cupped
hands
even
though
there
was
now
no
sun
to
make
a
glint
,
and
there
was
the
rail
of
the
bridge
as
clear
as
though
you
could
reach
out
and
touch
it
and
there
was
the
face
of
the
senty
so
clear
he
could
see
the
sunken
cheeks
,
the
ash
on
the
cigarette
and
the
greasy
shine
of
the
bayonet
.
It
was
a
peasant
’
s
face
,
the
cheeks
hollow
under
the
high
cheekbones
,
the
beard
stubbled
,
the
eyes
shaded
by
the
heavy
brows
,
big
hands
holding
the
rifle
,
heavy
boots
showing
beneath
the
folds
of
the
blanket
cape
.
There
was
a
worn
,
blackened
leather
wine
bottle
on
the
wall
of
the
sentry
box
,
there
were
some
newspapers
and
there
was
no
telephone
.
There
could
,
of
course
,
be
a
telephone
on
the
side
he
could
not
see
;
but
there
were
no
wires
running
from
the
box
that
were
visible
.
A
telephone
line
ran
along
the
road
and
its
wires
were
carried
over
the
bridge
.
There
was
a
charcoal
brazier
outside
the
sentry
box
,
made
from
an
old
petrol
tin
with
the
top
cut
off
and
holes
punched
in
it
,
which
rested
on
two
stones
;
but
he
held
no
fire
.
There
were
some
fire
-
blackened
empty
tins
in
the
ashes
under
it
.
Robert
Jordan
handed
the
glasses
to
Anselmo
who
lay
flat
beside
him
.
The
old
man
grinned
and
shook
his
head
.
He
tapped
his
skull
beside
his
eye
with
one
finger
.
"
Ya
lo
veo
,
"
he
said
in
Spanish
.
"
I
have
seen
him
,
"
speaking
from
the
front
of
his
mouth
with
almost
no
movement
of
his
lips
in
the
way
that
is
quieter
than
any
whisper
.
He
looked
at
the
sentry
as
Robert
Jordan
smiled
at
him
and
,
pointing
with
one
finger
,
drew
the
other
across
his
throat
.
Robert
Jordan
nodded
but
he
did
not
smile
.
The
sentry
box
at
the
far
end
of
the
bridge
faced
away
from
them
and
down
the
road
and
they
could
not
see
into
it
.
The
road
,
which
was
broad
and
oiled
and
well
constructed
,
made
a
turn
to
the
left
at
the
far
end
of
the
bridge
and
then
swung
out
of
sight
around
a
curve
to
the
right
.
At
this
point
it
was
enlarged
from
the
old
road
to
its
present
width
by
cutting
into
the
solid
bastion
of
the
rock
on
the
far
side
of
the
gorge
;
and
its
left
or
western
edge
,
looking
down
from
the
pass
and
the
bridge
,
was
marked
and
protected
by
a
line
of
upright
cut
blocks
of
stone
where
its
edge
fell
sheer
away
to
the
gorge
.
The
gorge
was
almost
a
canyon
here
,
where
the
brook
,
that
the
bridge
was
flung
over
,
merged
with
the
main
stream
of
the
pass
.
"
And
the
other
post
?
"
Robert
Jordan
asked
Anselmo
.
"
Five
hundred
meters
below
that
turn
.
In
the
roadmender
’
s
hut
that
is
built
into
the
side
of
the
rock
.
"
