-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Фрэнк Норрис
-
- Спрут: Калифорнийская история
-
- Стр. 21/416
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
Presley
and
Vanamee
went
down
the
long
colonnade
to
the
last
door
next
the
belfry
tower
,
and
Vanamee
pulled
the
leather
thong
that
hung
from
a
hole
in
the
door
,
setting
a
little
bell
jangling
somewhere
in
the
interior
.
The
place
,
but
for
this
noise
,
was
shrouded
in
a
Sunday
stillness
,
an
absolute
repose
.
Only
at
intervals
,
one
heard
the
trickle
of
the
unseen
fountain
,
and
the
liquid
cooing
of
doves
in
the
garden
.
Father
Sarria
opened
the
door
.
He
was
a
small
man
,
somewhat
stout
,
with
a
smooth
and
shiny
face
.
He
wore
a
frock
coat
that
was
rather
dirty
,
slippers
,
and
an
old
yachting
cap
of
blue
cloth
,
with
a
broken
leather
vizor
.
He
was
smoking
a
cheap
cigar
,
very
fat
and
black
.
But
instantly
he
recognised
Vanamee
.
His
face
went
all
alight
with
pleasure
and
astonishment
.
It
seemed
as
if
he
would
never
have
finished
shaking
both
his
hands
;
and
,
as
it
was
,
he
released
but
one
of
them
,
patting
him
affectionately
on
the
shoulder
with
the
other
.
He
was
voluble
in
his
welcome
,
talking
partly
in
Spanish
,
partly
in
English
.
So
he
had
come
back
again
,
this
great
fellow
,
tanned
as
an
Indian
,
lean
as
an
Indian
,
with
an
Indian
’
s
long
,
black
hair
.
But
he
had
not
changed
,
not
in
the
very
least
.
His
beard
had
not
grown
an
inch
.
Aha
!
The
rascal
,
never
to
give
warning
,
to
drop
down
,
as
it
were
,
from
out
the
sky
.
Such
a
hermit
!
To
live
in
the
desert
!
A
veritable
Saint
Jerome
.
Did
a
lion
feed
him
down
there
in
Arizona
,
or
was
it
a
raven
,
like
Elijah
?
The
good
God
had
not
fattened
him
,
at
any
rate
,
and
,
apropos
,
he
was
just
about
to
dine
himself
.
He
had
made
a
salad
from
his
own
lettuce
.
The
two
would
dine
with
him
,
eh
?
For
this
,
my
son
,
that
was
lost
is
found
again
.
But
Presley
excused
himself
.
Instinctively
,
he
felt
that
Sarria
and
Vanamee
wanted
to
talk
of
things
concerning
which
he
was
an
outsider
.
It
was
not
at
all
unlikely
that
Vanamee
would
spend
half
the
night
before
the
high
altar
in
the
church
.
He
took
himself
away
,
his
mind
still
busy
with
Vanamee
’
s
extraordinary
life
and
character
.
But
,
as
he
descended
the
hill
,
he
was
startled
by
a
prolonged
and
raucous
cry
,
discordant
,
very
harsh
,
thrice
repeated
at
exact
intervals
,
and
,
looking
up
,
he
saw
one
of
Father
Sarria
’
s
peacocks
balancing
himself
upon
the
topmost
wire
of
the
fence
,
his
long
tail
trailing
,
his
neck
outstretched
,
filling
the
air
with
his
stupid
outcry
,
for
no
reason
than
the
desire
to
make
a
noise
.
About
an
hour
later
,
toward
four
in
the
afternoon
,
Presley
reached
the
spring
at
the
head
of
the
little
canyon
in
the
northeast
corner
of
the
Quien
Sabe
ranch
,
the
point
toward
which
he
had
been
travelling
since
early
in
the
forenoon
.
The
place
was
not
without
its
charm
.
Innumerable
live
-
oaks
overhung
the
canyon
,
and
Broderson
Creek
—
there
a
mere
rivulet
,
running
down
from
the
spring
—
gave
a
certain
coolness
to
the
air
.
It
was
one
of
the
few
spots
thereabouts
that
had
survived
the
dry
season
of
the
last
year
.
Nearly
all
the
other
springs
had
dried
completely
,
while
Mission
Creek
on
Derrick
’
s
ranch
was
nothing
better
than
a
dusty
cutting
in
the
ground
,
filled
with
brittle
,
concave
flakes
of
dried
and
sun
-
cracked
mud
.
Presley
climbed
to
the
summit
of
one
of
the
hills
—
the
highest
—
that
rose
out
of
the
canyon
,
from
the
crest
of
which
he
could
see
for
thirty
,
fifty
,
sixty
miles
down
the
valley
,
and
,
filling
his
pipe
,
smoked
lazily
for
upwards
of
an
hour
,
his
head
empty
of
thought
,
allowing
himself
to
succumb
to
a
pleasant
,
gentle
inanition
,
a
little
drowsy
comfortable
in
his
place
,
prone
upon
the
ground
,
warmed
just
enough
by
such
sunlight
as
filtered
through
the
live
-
oaks
,
soothed
by
the
good
tobacco
and
the
prolonged
murmur
of
the
spring
and
creek
.
By
degrees
,
the
sense
of
his
own
personality
became
blunted
,
the
little
wheels
and
cogs
of
thought
moved
slower
and
slower
;
consciousness
dwindled
to
a
point
,
the
animal
in
him
stretched
itself
,
purring
.
A
delightful
numbness
invaded
his
mind
and
his
body
.
He
was
not
asleep
,
he
was
not
awake
,
stupefied
merely
,
lapsing
back
to
the
state
of
the
faun
,
the
satyr
.
After
a
while
,
rousing
himself
a
little
,
he
shifted
his
position
and
,
drawing
from
the
pocket
of
his
shooting
coat
his
little
tree
-
calf
edition
of
the
Odyssey
,
read
far
into
the
twenty
-
first
book
,
where
,
after
the
failure
of
all
the
suitors
to
bend
Ulysses
’
s
bow
,
it
is
finally
put
,
with
mockery
,
into
his
own
hands
.
Abruptly
the
drama
of
the
story
roused
him
from
all
his
languor
.
