-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Колин Маккалоу
-
- Поющие в терновнике
-
- Стр. 358/535
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
Fee
got
up
,
walked
over
to
the
fire
and
threw
the
front
page
of
the
Herald
onto
the
flames
.
Ralph
Raoul
,
Cardinal
de
Bricassart
shuddered
,
winked
at
her
,
and
then
shriveled
up
.
"
What
will
you
do
if
he
comes
back
,
Meggie
?
"
Meggie
sniffed
.
"
Fat
chance
!
"
"
He
might
,
"
said
Fee
enigmatically
.
He
did
,
in
December
.
Very
quietly
,
without
anyone
knowing
,
driving
an
Aston
Martin
sports
car
all
the
way
from
Sydney
himself
.
Not
a
word
about
his
presence
in
Australia
had
reached
the
press
,
so
no
one
on
Drogheda
had
the
remotest
suspicion
he
was
coming
.
When
the
car
pulled
in
to
the
gravelly
area
at
one
side
of
the
house
there
was
no
one
about
,
and
apparently
no
one
had
heard
him
arrive
,
for
no
one
came
out
onto
the
veranda
.
He
had
felt
the
miles
from
Gilly
in
every
cell
of
his
body
,
inhaled
the
odors
of
the
bush
,
the
sheep
,
the
dry
grass
sparkling
restlessly
in
the
sun
.
Kangaroos
and
emus
,
galahs
and
goannas
,
millions
of
insects
buzzing
and
flipping
,
ants
marching
across
the
road
in
treacly
columns
,
fat
pudgy
sheep
everywhere
.
He
loved
it
so
,
for
in
one
curious
aspect
it
conformed
to
what
he
loved
in
all
things
;
the
passing
years
scarcely
seemed
to
brush
it
.
Only
the
fly
screening
was
different
,
but
he
noted
with
amusement
that
Fee
had
n't
permitted
the
big
house
veranda
facing
the
Gilly
road
to
be
enclosed
like
the
rest
,
only
the
windows
opening
onto
it
.
She
was
right
,
of
course
;
a
great
expanse
of
mesh
would
have
ruined
the
lines
of
that
lovely
Georgian
facade
.
How
long
did
ghost
gums
live
?
These
must
have
been
transplanted
from
the
Dead
Heart
interior
eighty
years
ago
.
The
bougainvillaea
in
their
high
branches
was
one
sliding
mass
of
copper
and
purple
.
It
was
already
summer
,
two
weeks
left
before
Christmas
,
and
the
Drogheda
roses
were
at
their
height
.
There
were
roses
everywhere
,
pink
and
white
and
yellow
,
crimson
like
heart
's
blood
,
scarlet
like
a
cardinal
's
soutane
.
In
among
the
wistaria
,
green
now
,
rambling
roses
drowsed
pink
and
white
,
fell
off
the
veranda
roof
,
down
the
wire
mesh
,
clung
lovingly
to
the
black
shutters
of
the
second
story
,
stretched
tendrils
past
them
to
the
sky
.
The
tank
stands
were
quite
smothered
from
sight
now
,
so
were
the
tanks
themselves
.
And
one
color
was
everywhere
among
the
roses
,
a
pale
pinkish-grey
.
Ashes
of
roses
?
Yes
,
that
was
the
name
of
the
color
.
Meggie
must
have
planted
them
,
it
had
to
be
Meggie
.
