-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Кеннет Грэм
-
- Ветер в ивах
-
- Стр. 43/117
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
"
No
bread
!
"
groaned
the
Mole
dolorously
;
"
no
butter
,
no
--
"
"
No
pâté
de
foie
gras
,
no
champagne
!
"
continued
the
Rat
,
grinning
.
"
And
that
reminds
me
--
what
's
that
little
door
at
the
end
of
the
passage
?
Your
cellar
,
of
course
!
Every
luxury
in
this
house
!
Just
you
wait
a
minute
.
"
He
made
for
the
cellar-door
,
and
presently
reappeared
,
somewhat
dusty
,
with
a
bottle
of
beer
in
each
paw
and
another
under
each
arm
,
"
Self-indulgent
beggar
you
seem
to
be
,
Mole
,
"
he
observed
.
"
Deny
yourself
nothing
.
This
is
really
the
jolliest
little
place
I
ever
was
in
.
Now
,
wherever
did
you
pick
up
those
prints
?
Make
the
place
look
so
home-like
,
they
do
.
No
wonder
you
're
so
fond
of
it
,
Mole
.
Tell
us
all
about
it
,
and
how
you
came
to
make
it
what
it
is
.
"
Then
,
while
the
Rat
busied
himself
fetching
plates
,
and
knives
and
forks
,
and
mustard
which
he
mixed
in
an
egg-cup
,
the
Mole
,
his
bosom
still
heaving
with
the
stress
of
his
recent
emotion
,
related
--
somewhat
shyly
at
first
,
but
with
more
freedom
as
he
warmed
to
his
subject
--
how
this
was
planned
,
and
how
that
was
thought
out
,
and
how
this
was
got
through
a
windfall
from
an
aunt
,
and
that
was
a
wonderful
find
and
a
bargain
,
and
this
other
thing
was
bought
out
of
laborious
savings
and
a
certain
amount
of
"
going
without
.
"
His
spirits
finally
quite
restored
,
he
must
needs
go
and
caress
his
possessions
,
and
take
a
lamp
and
show
off
their
points
to
his
visitor
and
expatiate
on
them
,
quite
forgetful
of
the
supper
they
both
so
much
needed
;
Rat
,
who
was
desperately
hungry
but
strove
to
conceal
it
,
nodding
seriously
,
examining
with
a
puckered
brow
,
and
saying
,
"
wonderful
,
"
and
"
most
remarkable
,
"
at
intervals
,
when
the
chance
for
an
observation
was
given
him
.
At
last
the
Rat
succeeded
in
decoying
him
to
the
table
,
and
had
just
got
seriously
to
work
with
the
sardine-opener
when
sounds
were
heard
from
the
fore-court
without
--
sounds
like
the
scuffling
of
small
feet
in
the
gravel
and
a
confused
murmur
of
tiny
voices
,
while
broken
sentences
reached
them
--
"
Now
,
all
in
a
line
--
hold
the
lantern
up
a
bit
,
Tommy
--
clear
your
throats
first
--
no
coughing
after
I
say
one
,
two
,
three
.
--
Where
's
young
Bill
?
--
Here
,
come
on
,
do
,
we
're
all
a-waiting
--
"
"
What
's
up
?
"
inquired
the
Rat
,
pausing
in
his
labours
.
"
I
think
it
must
be
the
field-mice
,
"
replied
the
Mole
,
with
a
touch
of
pride
in
his
manner
.
"
They
go
round
carol-singing
regularly
at
this
time
of
the
year
.
They
're
quite
an
institution
in
these
parts
.
And
they
never
pass
me
over
--
they
come
to
Mole
End
last
of
all
;
and
I
used
to
give
them
hot
drinks
,
and
supper
too
sometimes
,
when
I
could
afford
it
.
It
will
be
like
old
times
to
hear
them
again
.
"
"
Let
's
have
a
look
at
them
!
"
cried
the
Rat
,
jumping
up
and
running
to
the
door
.
It
was
a
pretty
sight
,
and
a
seasonable
one
,
that
met
their
eyes
when
they
flung
the
door
open
.
In
the
fore-court
,
lit
by
the
dim
rays
of
a
horn
lantern
,
some
eight
or
ten
little
field-mice
stood
in
a
semicircle
,
red
worsted
comforters
round
their
throats
,
their
fore-paws
thrust
deep
into
their
pockets
,
their
feet
jigging
for
warmth
.
With
bright
beady
eyes
they
glanced
shyly
at
each
other
,
sniggering
a
little
,
sniffing
and
applying
coat-sleeves
a
good
deal
.
As
the
door
opened
,
one
of
the
elder
ones
that
carried
the
lantern
was
just
saying
,
"
Now
then
,
one
,
two
,
three
!
"
and
forthwith
their
shrill
little
voices
uprose
on
the
air
,
singing
one
of
the
old-time
carols
that
their
forefathers
composed
in
fields
that
were
fallow
and
held
by
frost
,
or
when
snow-bound
in
chimney
corners
,
and
handed
down
to
be
sung
in
the
miry
street
to
lamp-lit
windows
at
Yule-time
.
