-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Фрэнк Герберт
-
- Дюна
-
- Стр. 242/972
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
“
Give
us
a
tune
,
Gurney
.
”
A
minor
chord
from
the
baliset
floated
out
of
the
alcove
.
Servants
began
putting
plates
of
food
on
the
table
at
the
Duke
’
s
gesture
releasing
them
—
roast
desert
hare
in
sauce
cepeda
,
aplomage
sirian
,
chukka
under
glass
,
coffee
with
melange
(
a
rich
cinnamon
odor
from
the
spice
wafted
across
the
table
)
,
a
true
pot
-
a
-
oie
served
with
sparkling
Caladan
wine
.
Still
,
the
Duke
remained
standing
.
As
the
guests
waited
,
their
attention
torn
between
the
dishes
placed
before
them
and
the
standing
Duke
,
Leto
said
:
“
In
olden
times
,
it
was
the
duty
of
the
host
to
entertain
his
guests
with
his
own
talents
.
”
His
knuckles
turned
white
,
so
fiercely
did
he
grip
his
water
flagon
.
“
I
cannot
sing
,
but
I
give
you
the
words
of
Gurney
’
s
song
.
Consider
it
another
toast
—
a
toast
to
all
who
’
ve
died
bringing
us
to
this
station
.
”
An
uncomfortable
stirring
sounded
around
the
table
.
Jessica
lowered
her
gaze
,
glanced
at
the
people
seated
nearest
her
—
there
was
the
round
-
faced
water
-
shipper
and
his
woman
,
the
pale
and
austere
Guild
Bank
representative
(
he
seemed
a
whistlefaced
scarecrow
with
his
eyes
fixed
on
Leto
)
,
the
rugged
and
scar
-
faced
Tuek
,
his
blue
-
within
-
blue
eyes
downcast
.
“
Review
,
friends
—
troops
long
past
review
,
”
the
Duke
intoned
.
“
All
to
fate
a
weight
of
pains
and
dollars
.
Their
spirits
wear
our
silver
collars
.
Review
,
friends
—
troops
long
past
review
:
Each
a
dot
of
time
without
pretense
or
guile
.
With
them
passes
the
lure
of
fortune
.
Review
,
friends
—
troops
long
past
review
.
When
our
time
ends
on
its
rictus
smile
,
we
’
ll
pass
the
lure
of
fortune
.
”
The
Duke
allowed
his
voice
to
trail
off
on
the
last
line
,
took
a
deep
drink
from
his
water
flagon
,
slammed
it
back
onto
the
table
.
Water
slopped
over
the
brim
onto
the
linen
.
