-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Колин Маккалоу
-
- Поющие в терновнике
-
- Стр. 188/535
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
"
Dominic
,
I
hate
to
ask
it
of
you
,
but
when
these
people
come
in
they
're
going
to
be
half
dead
.
We
'll
have
to
hold
the
funerals
tomorrow
,
and
even
if
the
Gilly
undertaker
could
make
the
coffins
in
time
,
we
'd
never
get
them
out
through
the
mud
.
Can
any
of
you
have
a
go
at
making
a
couple
of
coffins
?
I
only
need
one
man
to
swim
the
creek
with
me
.
"
The
O'Rourke
sons
nodded
;
they
did
n't
want
to
see
what
the
fire
had
done
to
Paddy
or
the
boar
to
Stuart
.
"
We
'll
do
it
,
Dad
,
"
said
Liam
.
Dragging
the
drums
behind
their
horses
,
Father
Ralph
and
Dominic
O'Rourke
rode
down
to
the
creek
and
swam
it
.
"
There
's
one
thing
,
Father
!
"
shouted
Dominic
.
"
We
do
n't
have
to
dig
graves
in
this
bloody
mud
!
I
used
to
think
old
Mary
was
putting
on
the
dog
a
bit
too
much
when
she
put
a
marble
vault
in
her
backyard
for
Michael
,
but
right
at
this
minute
if
she
was
here
,
I
'd
kiss
her
!
"
"
Too
right
!
"
yelled
Father
Ralph
.
They
lashed
the
drums
under
the
sheet
of
iron
,
six
on
either
side
,
tied
the
canvas
shroud
down
firmly
,
and
swam
the
exhausted
draft
horses
across
on
the
rope
which
would
finally
tow
the
raft
.
Dominic
and
Tom
sat
astride
the
great
beasts
,
and
at
the
top
of
the
Drogheda-side
bank
paused
,
looking
back
,
while
those
still
marooned
hooked
up
the
makeshift
barge
,
pushed
it
to
the
bank
and
shoved
it
in
.
The
draft
horses
began
walking
,
Tom
and
Dominic
cooeeing
shrilly
as
the
raft
began
to
float
.
It
bobbed
and
wallowed
badly
,
but
it
stayed
afloat
long
enough
to
be
hauled
out
safely
;
rather
than
waste
time
dismantling
the
pontoons
,
the
two
impromptu
postilions
urged
their
mounts
up
the
track
toward
the
big
house
,
the
sheet
of
iron
sliding
along
on
its
drums
better
than
it
had
without
them
.
There
was
a
ramp
up
to
great
doors
at
the
baling
end
of
the
shearing
shed
,
so
they
put
the
raft
and
its
burden
in
the
huge
empty
building
amid
the
reeks
of
tar
,
sweat
,
lanolin
and
dung
.
Muffled
in
oilskins
,
Minnie
and
Cat
had
come
down
from
the
big
house
to
take
first
vigil
,
and
knelt
one
on
either
side
of
the
iron
bier
,
rosary
beads
clicking
,
voices
rising
and
falling
in
cadences
too
well
known
to
need
the
effort
of
memory
.
The
house
was
filling
up
.
Duncan
Gordon
had
arrived
from
Each-Uisge
,
Gareth
Davies
from
Narrengang
,
Horry
Hopeton
from
Beel-Beel
,
Eden
Carmichael
from
Barcoola
.
Old
Angus
MacQueen
had
flagged
down
one
of
the
ambling
local
goods
trains
and
ridden
with
the
engine
driver
to
Gilly
,
where
he
borrowed
a
horse
from
Harry
Gough
and
rode
out
with
him
.
He
had
covered
over
two
hundred
miles
of
mud
,
one
way
or
another
.
