-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Колин Маккалоу
-
- Поющие в терновнике
-
- Стр. 209/535
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
Luke
stopped
the
car
,
got
out
and
came
round
to
open
Meggie
's
door
.
She
stepped
down
beside
him
,
trembling
a
little
;
was
he
going
to
spoil
everything
by
trying
to
kiss
her
?
It
was
so
quiet
,
so
far
from
anyone
!
There
was
a
decaying
dogleg
wooden
fence
wandering
off
to
one
side
,
and
holding
her
elbow
lightly
to
make
sure
she
did
n't
stumble
in
her
frivolous
shoes
,
Luke
helped
Meggie
across
the
uneven
ground
,
the
rabbit
holes
.
Gripping
the
fence
tightly
and
looking
out
over
the
plains
,
she
was
speechless
;
first
from
terror
,
then
,
her
panic
dying
as
he
made
no
move
to
touch
her
,
from
wonder
.
Almost
as
clearly
as
the
sun
could
,
the
moon
's
still
pale
light
picked
out
vast
sweeping
stretches
of
distance
,
the
grass
shimmering
and
rippling
like
a
restless
sigh
,
silver
and
white
and
grey
.
Leaves
on
trees
sparkled
suddenly
like
points
of
fire
when
the
wind
turned
their
glossy
tops
upward
,
and
great
yawning
gulfs
of
shadows
spread
under
timber
stands
as
mysteriously
as
mouths
of
the
underworld
.
Lifting
her
head
,
she
tried
to
count
the
stars
and
could
not
;
as
delicate
as
drops
of
dew
on
a
wheeling
spider
's
web
the
pinpoints
flared
,
went
out
,
flared
,
went
out
,
in
a
rhythm
as
timeless
as
God
.
They
seemed
to
hang
over
her
like
a
net
,
so
beautiful
,
so
very
silent
,
so
watchful
and
searching
of
the
soul
,
like
jewel
eyes
of
insects
turned
brilliant
in
a
spotlight
,
blind
as
to
expression
and
infinite
as
to
seeing
power
.
The
only
sounds
were
the
wind
hot
in
the
grass
,
hissing
trees
,
an
occasional
clank
from
the
cooling
Rolls
,
and
a
sleepy
bird
somewhere
close
complaining
because
they
had
broken
its
rest
;
the
sole
smell
the
fragrant
,
indefinable
scent
of
the
bush
.
Luke
turned
his
back
on
the
night
,
pulled
out
his
tobacco
pouch
and
booklet
of
rice
papers
,
and
began
to
roll
himself
a
cigarette
.
"
Were
you
born
out
here
,
Meghann
?
"
he
asked
,
rubbing
the
strands
of
leaf
back
and
forth
in
his
palm
,
lazily
.
"
No
,
I
was
born
in
New
Zealand
.
We
came
to
Drogheda
thirteen
years
ago
.
"
He
slipped
the
shaped
tendrils
into
their
paper
sheath
,
twiddled
it
expertly
between
thumb
and
forefinger
,
then
licked
it
shut
,
poked
a
few
wisps
back
inside
the
tube
with
a
match
end
,
struck
the
match
and
lit
up
.
"
You
enjoyed
yourself
tonight
,
did
n't
you
?
"
"
Oh
,
yes
!
"
