-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Фрэнк Норрис
-
- Спрут: Калифорнийская история
-
- Стр. 17/416
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
In
all
those
years
he
did
not
seem
to
have
grown
older
by
a
single
day
.
At
this
time
,
Presley
knew
him
to
be
thirty
-
six
years
of
age
.
But
since
the
first
day
the
two
had
met
,
the
shepherd
’
s
face
and
bearing
had
,
to
his
eyes
,
remained
the
same
.
At
this
moment
,
Presley
was
looking
into
the
same
face
he
had
first
seen
many
,
many
years
ago
.
It
was
a
face
stamped
with
an
unspeakable
sadness
,
a
deathless
grief
,
the
permanent
imprint
of
a
tragedy
long
past
,
but
yet
a
living
issue
.
Presley
told
himself
that
it
was
impossible
to
look
long
into
Vanamee
’
s
eyes
without
knowing
that
here
was
a
man
whose
whole
being
had
been
at
one
time
shattered
and
riven
to
its
lowest
depths
,
whose
life
had
suddenly
stopped
at
a
certain
moment
of
its
development
.
The
two
friends
sat
down
upon
the
ledge
of
the
watering
-
trough
,
their
eyes
wandering
incessantly
toward
the
slow
moving
herd
,
grazing
on
the
wheat
stubble
,
moving
southward
as
they
grazed
.
“
Where
have
you
come
from
this
time
?
”
Presley
had
asked
.
“
Where
have
you
kept
yourself
?
”
The
other
swept
the
horizon
to
the
south
and
east
with
a
vague
gesture
.
“
Off
there
,
down
to
the
south
,
very
far
off
.
So
many
places
that
I
can
’
t
remember
.
I
went
the
Long
Trail
this
time
;
a
long
,
long
ways
.
Arizona
,
The
Mexicos
,
and
,
then
,
afterwards
,
Utah
and
Nevada
,
following
the
horizon
,
travelling
at
hazard
.
Into
Arizona
first
,
going
in
by
Monument
Pass
,
and
then
on
to
the
south
,
through
the
country
of
the
Navajos
,
down
by
the
Aga
Thia
Needle
—
a
great
blade
of
red
rock
jutting
from
out
the
desert
,
like
a
knife
thrust
.
Then
on
and
on
through
The
Mexicos
,
all
through
the
Southwest
,
then
back
again
in
a
great
circle
by
Chihuahua
and
Aldama
to
Laredo
,
to
Torreon
,
and
Albuquerque
.
From
there
across
the
Uncompahgre
plateau
into
the
Uintah
country
;
then
at
last
due
west
through
Nevada
to
California
and
to
the
valley
of
the
San
Joaquin
.
”
His
voice
lapsed
to
a
monotone
,
his
eyes
becoming
fixed
;
he
continued
to
speak
as
though
half
awake
,
his
thoughts
elsewhere
,
seeing
again
in
the
eye
of
his
mind
the
reach
of
desert
and
red
hill
,
the
purple
mountain
,
the
level
stretch
of
alkali
,
leper
white
,
all
the
savage
,
gorgeous
desolation
of
the
Long
Trail
.
He
ignored
Presley
for
the
moment
,
but
,
on
the
other
hand
,
Presley
himself
gave
him
but
half
his
attention
.
The
return
of
Vanamee
had
stimulated
the
poet
’
s
memory
.
He
recalled
the
incidents
of
Vanamee
’
s
life
,
reviewing
again
that
terrible
drama
which
had
uprooted
his
soul
,
which
had
driven
him
forth
a
wanderer
,
a
shunner
of
men
,
a
sojourner
in
waste
places
.
He
was
,
strangely
enough
,
a
college
graduate
and
a
man
of
wide
reading
and
great
intelligence
,
but
he
had
chosen
to
lead
his
own
life
,
which
was
that
of
a
recluse
.
Of
a
temperament
similar
in
many
ways
to
Presley
’
s
,
there
were
capabilities
in
Vanamee
that
were
not
ordinarily
to
be
found
in
the
rank
and
file
of
men
.
Living
close
to
nature
,
a
poet
by
instinct
,
where
Presley
was
but
a
poet
by
training
,
there
developed
in
him
a
great
sensitiveness
to
beauty
and
an
almost
abnormal
capacity
for
great
happiness
and
great
sorrow
;
he
felt
things
intensely
,
deeply
.
He
never
forgot
.
It
was
when
he
was
eighteen
or
nineteen
,
at
the
formative
and
most
impressionable
period
of
his
life
,
that
he
had
met
Angele
Varian
.
Presley
barely
remembered
her
as
a
girl
of
sixteen
,
beautiful
almost
beyond
expression
,
who
lived
with
an
aged
aunt
on
the
Seed
ranch
back
of
the
Mission
.
At
this
moment
he
was
trying
to
recall
how
she
looked
,
with
her
hair
of
gold
hanging
in
two
straight
plaits
on
either
side
of
her
face
,
making
three
-
cornered
her
round
,
white
forehead
;
her
wonderful
eyes
,
violet
blue
,
heavy
lidded
,
with
their
astonishing
upward
slant
toward
the
temples
,
the
slant
that
gave
a
strange
,
oriental
cast
to
her
face
,
perplexing
,
enchanting
.
He
remembered
the
Egyptian
fulness
of
the
lips
,
the
strange
balancing
movement
of
her
head
upon
her
slender
neck
,
the
same
movement
that
one
sees
in
a
snake
at
poise
.
Never
had
he
seen
a
girl
more
radiantly
beautiful
,
never
a
beauty
so
strange
,
so
troublous
,
so
out
of
all
accepted
standards
.
It
was
small
wonder
that
Vanamee
had
loved
her
,
and
less
wonder
,
still
,
that
his
love
had
been
so
intense
,
so
passionate
,
so
part
of
himself
.
Angele
had
loved
him
with
a
love
no
less
than
his
own
.
It
was
one
of
those
legendary
passions
that
sometimes
occur
,
idyllic
,
untouched
by
civilisation
,
spontaneous
as
the
growth
of
trees
,
natural
as
dew
-
fall
,
strong
as
the
firm
-
seated
mountains
.
At
the
time
of
his
meeting
with
Angele
,
Vanamee
was
living
on
the
Los
Muertos
ranch
.
It
was
there
he
had
chosen
to
spend
one
of
his
college
vacations
.
