-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Колин Маккалоу
-
- Поющие в терновнике
-
- Стр. 286/535
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
His
head
turned
toward
her
.
Those
beautiful
,
distant
blue
eyes
were
very
intelligent
and
very
hard
to
fool
.
Oh
,
yes
,
he
was
a
born
diplomat
!
He
knew
exactly
what
she
was
saying
,
and
every
reason
at
the
back
of
her
mind
.
Anne
found
herself
hanging
breathlessly
on
his
answer
,
but
for
a
long
time
he
said
nothing
,
just
sat
staring
out
over
the
emerald
cane
toward
the
brimming
river
,
with
the
baby
forgotten
in
the
crook
of
his
arm
.
Fascinated
,
she
stared
at
his
profile
--
the
curve
of
eyelid
,
the
straight
nose
,
the
secretive
mouth
,
the
determined
chin
.
What
forces
was
he
marshaling
while
he
contemplated
the
view
?
What
complicated
balances
of
love
,
desire
,
duty
,
expediency
,
will
power
,
longing
,
did
he
weigh
in
his
mind
,
and
which
against
which
?
His
hand
lifted
the
cigarette
to
his
lips
;
Anne
saw
the
fingers
tremble
and
soundlessly
let
go
her
breath
.
He
was
not
indifferent
,
then
.
For
perhaps
ten
minutes
he
said
nothing
;
Anne
lit
him
another
Capstan
,
handed
it
to
him
in
place
of
the
burned-out
stub
.
It
,
too
,
he
smoked
down
steadiliy
,
not
once
lifting
his
gaze
from
the
far
mountains
and
the
monsoon
clouds
lowering
the
sky
.
"
Where
is
she
?
"
he
asked
then
in
a
perfectly
normal
voice
,
throwing
the
second
stub
over
the
veranda
railing
after
the
first
.
And
on
what
she
answered
depended
his
decision
;
it
was
her
turn
to
think
.
Was
one
right
to
push
other
human
beings
on
a
course
which
led
one
knew
not
where
,
or
to
what
?
Her
loyalty
was
all
to
Meggie
;
she
did
n't
honestly
care
an
iota
what
happened
to
this
man
.
In
his
way
he
was
no
better
than
Luke
.
Off
after
some
male
thing
with
never
the
time
or
the
inclination
to
put
a
woman
ahead
of
it
,
running
and
clutching
at
some
dream
which
probably
only
existed
in
has
addled
head
.
No
more
substance
than
the
smoke
from
the
mill
dissipating
itself
in
the
heavy
,
molasses-laden
air
.
But
it
was
what
he
wanted
,
and
he
would
spend
himself
and
his
life
in
chasing
it
.
He
had
n't
lost
his
good
sense
,
no
matter
what
Meggie
meant
to
him
.
Not
even
for
her
--
and
Anne
was
beginning
to
believe
he
loved
Meggie
more
than
anything
except
that
strange
ideal
--
would
he
jeopardize
the
chance
of
grasping
what
he
wanted
in
his
hands
one
day
.
No
,
not
even
for
her
.
So
if
she
answered
that
Meggie
was
in
some
crowded
resort
hotel
where
he
might
be
recognized
,
he
would
n't
go
.
No
one
knew
better
than
he
that
he
was
n't
the
sort
who
could
become
anonymous
in
a
crowd
.
She
licked
her
lips
,
found
her
voice
.
"
Meggie
's
in
a
cottage
on
Matlock
Island
.
"
"
On
where
?
"
"
Matlock
Island
.
It
's
a
resort
just
off
Whitsunday
Passage
,
and
it
's
specially
designed
for
privacy
.
Besides
,
at
this
time
of
the
year
there
's
hardly
a
soul
on
it
.
"
She
could
n't
resist
adding
,
"
Do
n't
worry
,
no
one
will
see
you
!
"
"
How
reassuring
.
"
Very
gently
he
eased
the
sleeping
baby
out
of
his
arms
,
handed
her
to
Anne
.
"
Thank
you
,
"
he
said
,
going
to
the
steps
.
Then
he
turned
back
,
in
his
eyes
a
rather
pathetic
appeal
.
"
You
're
quite
wrong
,
"
he
said
.
"
I
just
want
to
see
her
,
no
more
than
that
.
I
shall
never
involve
Meggie
in
anything
which
might
endanger
her
immortal
soul
.
"
