-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Говард Лавкрафт
-
- Тень над Иннсмутом
-
- Стр. 37/41
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
As
my
uncle
began
slowly
and
grudgingly
to
unwrap
the
things
he
urged
me
not
to
be
shocked
by
the
strangeness
and
frequent
hideousness
of
the
designs
.
Artists
and
archaeologists
who
had
seen
them
pronounced
their
workmanship
superlatively
and
exotically
exquisite
,
though
no
one
seemed
able
to
define
their
exact
material
or
assign
them
to
any
specific
art
tradition
.
There
were
two
armlets
,
a
tiara
,
and
a
kind
of
pectoral
;
the
latter
having
in
high
relief
certain
figures
of
almost
unbearable
extravagance
.
During
this
description
I
had
kept
a
tight
rein
on
my
emotions
,
but
my
face
must
have
betrayed
my
mounting
fears
.
My
uncle
looked
concerned
,
and
paused
in
his
unwrapping
to
study
my
countenance
.
I
motioned
to
him
to
continue
,
which
he
did
with
renewed
signs
of
reluctance
.
He
seemed
to
expect
some
demonstration
when
the
first
piece
--
the
tiara
--
became
visible
,
but
I
doubt
if
he
expected
quite
what
actually
happened
.
I
did
not
expect
it
,
either
,
for
I
thought
I
was
thoroughly
forewarned
regarding
what
the
jewellery
would
turn
out
to
be
.
What
I
did
was
to
faint
silently
away
,
just
as
I
had
done
in
that
brier-choked
railway
cut
a
year
before
.
From
that
day
on
my
life
has
been
a
nightmare
of
brooding
and
apprehension
nor
do
I
know
how
much
is
hideous
truth
and
how
much
madness
.
My
great-grandmother
had
been
a
Marsh
of
unknown
source
whose
husband
lived
in
Arkham
--
and
did
not
old
Zadok
say
that
the
daughter
of
Obed
Marsh
by
a
monstrous
mother
was
married
to
an
Arkham
man
through
trick
?
What
was
it
the
ancient
toper
had
muttered
about
the
line
of
my
eyes
to
Captain
Obed
's
?
In
Arkham
,
too
,
the
curator
had
told
me
I
had
the
true
Marsh
eyes
.
Was
Obed
Marsh
my
own
great-great-grandfather
?
Who
--
or
what
--
then
,
was
my
great-great-grandmother
?
But
perhaps
this
was
all
madness
.
Those
whitish-gold
ornaments
might
easily
have
been
bought
from
some
Innsmouth
sailor
by
the
father
of
my
great-grandmother
,
whoever
he
was
.
And
that
look
in
the
staring-eyed
faces
of
my
grandmother
and
self-slain
uncle
might
be
sheer
fancy
on
my
part
--
sheer
fancy
,
bolstered
up
by
the
Innsmouth
shadow
which
had
so
darkly
coloured
my
imagination
.
But
why
had
my
uncle
killed
himself
after
an
ancestral
quest
in
New
England
?
For
more
than
two
years
I
fought
off
these
reflections
with
partial
success
.
My
father
secured
me
a
place
in
an
insurance
office
,
and
I
buried
myself
in
routine
as
deeply
as
possible
.
In
the
winter
of
1930
--
31
,
however
,
the
dreams
began
.
They
were
very
sparse
and
insidious
at
first
,
but
increased
in
frequency
and
vividness
as
the
weeks
went
by
.
Great
watery
spaces
opened
out
before
me
,
and
I
seemed
to
wander
through
titanic
sunken
porticos
and
labyrinths
of
weedy
cyclopean
walls
with
grotesque
fishes
as
my
companions
.
Then
the
other
shapes
began
to
appear
,
filling
me
with
nameless
horror
the
moment
I
awoke
.
But
during
the
dreams
they
did
not
horrify
me
at
all
--
I
was
one
with
them
;
wearing
their
unhuman
trappings
,
treading
their
aqueous
ways
,
and
praying
monstrously
at
their
evil
sea-bottom
temples
.
There
was
much
more
than
I
could
remember
,
but
even
what
I
did
remember
each
morning
would
be
enough
to
stamp
me
as
a
madman
or
a
genius
if
ever
I
dared
write
it
down
.
Some
frightful
influence
,
I
felt
,
was
seeking
gradually
to
drag
me
out
of
the
sane
world
of
wholesome
life
into
unnamable
abysses
of
blackness
and
alienage
;
and
the
process
told
heavily
on
me
.
My
health
and
appearance
grew
steadily
worse
,
till
finally
I
was
forced
to
give
up
my
position
and
adopt
the
static
,
secluded
life
of
an
invalid
.
Some
odd
nervous
affliction
had
me
in
its
grip
,
and
I
found
myself
at
times
almost
unable
to
shut
my
eyes
.
It
was
then
that
I
began
to
study
the
mirror
with
mounting
alarm
.
The
slow
ravages
of
disease
are
not
pleasant
to
watch
,
but
in
my
case
there
was
something
subtler
and
more
puzzling
in
the
background
.
My
father
seemed
to
notice
it
,
too
,
for
he
began
looking
at
me
curiously
and
almost
affrightedly
.
What
was
taking
place
in
me
?
Could
it
be
that
I
was
coming
to
resemble
my
grandmother
and
uncle
Douglas
?
One
night
I
had
a
frightful
dream
in
which
I
met
my
grandmother
under
the
sea
.
She
lived
in
a
phosphorescent
palace
of
many
terraces
,
with
gardens
of
strange
leprous
corals
and
grotesque
brachiate
efflorescences
,
and
welcomed
me
with
a
warmth
that
may
have
been
sardonic
.
She
had
changed
--
as
those
who
take
to
the
water
change
--
and
told
me
she
had
never
died
.
Instead
,
she
had
gone
to
a
spot
her
dead
son
had
learned
about
,
and
had
leaped
to
a
realm
whose
wonders
--
destined
for
him
as
well
--
he
had
spurned
with
a
smoking
pistol
.
This
was
to
be
my
realm
,
too
--
I
could
not
escape
it
.
I
would
never
die
,
but
would
live
with
those
who
had
lived
since
before
man
ever
walked
the
earth
.
