-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Фрэнк Герберт
-
- Дюна
-
- Стр. 231/972
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
He
shook
his
head
.
Beside
each
plate
on
the
long
table
stood
a
flagon
of
water
.
There
was
enough
water
along
the
table
,
the
Duke
estimated
,
to
keep
a
poor
Arrakeen
family
for
more
than
a
year
.
Flanking
the
doorway
in
which
he
stood
were
broad
laving
basins
of
ornate
yellow
and
green
tile
.
Each
basin
had
its
rack
of
towels
.
It
was
the
custom
,
the
housekeeper
had
explained
,
for
guests
as
they
entered
to
dip
their
hands
ceremoniously
into
a
basin
,
slop
several
cups
of
water
onto
the
floor
,
dry
their
hands
on
a
towel
and
fling
the
towel
into
the
growing
puddle
at
the
door
.
After
the
dinner
,
beggars
gathered
outside
to
get
the
water
squeezings
from
the
towels
.
How
typical
of
a
Harkonnen
fief
,
the
Duke
thought
.
Every
degradation
of
the
spirit
that
can
be
conceived
.
He
took
a
deep
breath
,
feeling
rage
tighten
his
stomach
.
“
The
custom
stops
here
!
”
he
muttered
.
He
saw
a
serving
woman
—
one
of
the
old
and
gnarled
ones
the
housekeeper
had
recommended
—
hovering
at
the
doorway
from
the
kitchen
across
from
him
.
The
Duke
signaled
with
upraised
hand
.
She
moved
out
of
the
shadows
,
scurried
around
the
table
toward
him
,
and
he
noted
the
leathery
face
,
the
blue
-
within
-
blue
eyes
.
“
My
Lord
wishes
?
”
She
kept
her
head
bowed
,
eyes
shielded
.
He
gestured
.
“
Have
these
basins
and
towels
removed
.
”
“
But
.
.
.
Noble
Born
.
.
.
.
”
She
looked
up
,
mouth
gaping
.
