-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Фрэнсис Скотт Фицджеральд
-
- По эту сторону рая
-
- Стр. 292/348
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
"
I
hate
woods
,
"
Amory
said
,
shuddering
.
"
Any
kind
of
foliage
or
underbrush
at
night
.
Out
here
it
's
so
broad
and
easy
on
the
spirit
.
"
"
The
long
slope
of
a
long
hill
.
"
"
And
the
cold
moon
rolling
moonlight
down
it
.
"
"
And
thee
and
me
,
last
and
most
important
.
"
It
was
quiet
that
night
--
the
straight
road
they
followed
up
to
the
edge
of
the
cliff
knew
few
footsteps
at
any
time
.
Only
an
occasional
negro
cabin
,
silver-gray
in
the
rock-ribbed
moonlight
,
broke
the
long
line
of
bare
ground
;
behind
lay
the
black
edge
of
the
woods
like
a
dark
frosting
on
white
cake
,
and
ahead
the
sharp
,
high
horizon
.
It
was
much
colder
--
so
cold
that
it
settled
on
them
and
drove
all
the
warm
nights
from
their
minds
.
"
The
end
of
summer
,
"
said
Eleanor
softly
.
"
Listen
to
the
beat
of
our
horses
'
hoofs
--
'
tump-tump-tump-a-tump
.
'
Have
you
ever
been
feverish
and
had
all
noises
divide
into
'
tump-tump-tump
'
until
you
could
swear
eternity
was
divisible
into
so
many
tumps
?
That
's
the
way
I
feel
--
old
horses
go
tump-tump
...
I
guess
that
's
the
only
thing
that
separates
horses
and
clocks
from
us
.
Human
beings
ca
n't
go
'
tump-tump-tump
'
without
going
crazy
.
"
The
breeze
freshened
and
Eleanor
pulled
her
cape
around
her
and
shivered
.
"
Are
you
very
cold
?
"
asked
Amory
.
"
No
,
I
'm
thinking
about
myself
--
my
black
old
inside
self
,
the
real
one
,
with
the
fundamental
honesty
that
keeps
me
from
being
absolutely
wicked
by
making
me
realize
my
own
sins
.
"
