-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Колин Маккалоу
-
- Поющие в терновнике
-
- Стр. 116/535
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
But
excitement
was
running
high
,
and
would
run
higher
.
The
old
spider
in
her
wing
chair
at
the
exact
center
of
her
web
issued
a
never-ending
stream
of
orders
;
this
was
to
be
done
,
that
was
to
be
done
,
such
and
such
was
to
be
taken
out
of
storage
,
or
put
into
storage
.
The
two
Irish
maids
ran
polishing
silver
and
washing
the
best
Haviland
china
,
turning
the
chapel
back
into
a
reception
room
and
readying
its
adjacent
dining
rooms
.
Hindered
rather
than
helped
by
the
little
Cleary
boys
,
Stuart
and
a
team
of
rouseabouts
mowed
and
scythed
the
lawn
,
weeded
the
flower
beds
,
sprinkled
damp
sawdust
on
the
verandas
to
clear
dust
from
between
the
Spanish
tiles
,
and
dry
chalk
on
the
reception
room
floor
to
make
it
fit
for
dancing
.
Clarence
O'Toole
's
band
was
coming
all
the
way
from
Sydney
,
along
with
oysters
and
prawns
,
crabs
and
lobsters
;
several
women
from
Gilly
were
being
hired
as
temporary
helpers
.
The
whole
district
from
Rudna
Hunish
to
Inishmurray
to
Bugela
to
Narrengang
was
in
a
ferment
.
As
the
marble
hallways
echoed
to
unaccustomed
sounds
of
objects
being
moved
and
people
shouting
,
Mary
Carson
shifted
herself
from
her
wing
chair
to
her
desk
,
drew
a
sheet
of
parchment
forward
,
dipped
her
pen
in
the
standish
,
and
began
to
write
.
There
was
no
hesitation
,
not
so
much
as
a
pause
to
consider
the
positioning
of
a
comma
.
For
the
last
five
years
she
had
worked
out
every
intricate
phrase
in
her
mind
,
until
it
was
absolutely
word
perfect
.
It
did
not
take
her
long
to
finish
;
there
were
two
sheets
of
paper
,
the
second
one
with
a
good
quarter
of
it
blank
.
But
for
a
moment
,
the
last
sentence
complete
,
she
sat
on
in
her
chair
.
The
roll-top
desk
stood
alongside
one
of
the
big
windows
,
so
that
by
simply
turning
her
head
she
could
look
out
across
the
lawns
.
A
laugh
from
outside
made
her
do
so
,
idly
at
first
,
then
in
stiffening
rage
.
God
damn
him
and
his
obsession
!
Father
Ralph
had
taught
Meggie
to
ride
;
daughter
of
a
country
family
,
she
had
never
sat
astride
a
horse
until
the
priest
remedied
the
deficiency
.
For
oddly
enough
,
the
daughters
of
poor
country
families
did
not
often
ride
.
Riding
was
a
pastime
for
the
rich
young
women
of
country
and
city
alike
.
Oh
,
girls
of
Meggie
's
background
could
drive
buggies
and
teams
of
heavy
horses
,
even
tractors
and
sometimes
cars
,
but
rarely
did
they
ride
.
It
cost
too
much
to
mount
a
daughter
.
Father
Ralph
had
brought
elastic-sided
ankle
boots
and
twill
jodhpurs
from
Gilly
and
plumped
them
down
on
the
Cleary
kitchen
table
noisily
.
Paddy
had
looked
up
from
his
after-dinner
book
,
mildly
surprised
.
"
Well
,
what
have
you
got
there
,
Father
?
"
he
asked
.
"
Riding
clothes
for
Meggie
.
"
"
What
?
"
bellowed
Paddy
's
voice
.
"
What
?
"
squeaked
Meggie
's
.
