-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Колин Маккалоу
-
- Поющие в терновнике
-
- Стр. 4/535
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
The
house
lay
on
top
of
a
small
hill
about
one
hundred
feet
higher
than
the
barn
and
stables
.
Like
all
New
Zealand
houses
,
it
was
wooden
,
rambling
over
many
squares
and
of
one
story
only
,
on
the
theory
that
if
an
earthquake
struck
,
some
of
it
might
be
left
standing
.
Around
it
gorse
grew
everywhere
,
at
the
moment
smothered
in
rich
yellow
flowers
;
the
grass
was
green
and
luxuriant
,
like
all
New
Zealand
grass
.
Not
even
in
the
middle
of
winter
,
when
the
frost
sometimes
lay
unmelted
all
day
in
the
shade
,
did
the
grass
turn
brown
,
and
the
long
,
mild
summer
only
tinted
it
an
even
richer
green
.
The
rains
fell
gently
without
bruising
the
tender
sweetness
of
all
growing
things
,
there
was
no
snow
,
and
the
sun
had
just
enough
strength
to
cherish
,
never
enough
to
sap
.
New
Zealand
's
scourges
thundered
up
out
of
the
bowels
of
the
earth
rather
than
descended
from
the
skies
.
There
was
always
a
suffocated
sense
of
waiting
,
an
intangible
shuddering
and
thumping
that
actually
transmitted
itself
through
the
feet
.
For
beneath
the
ground
lay
awesome
power
,
power
of
such
magnitude
that
thirty
years
before
a
whole
towering
mountain
had
disappeared
;
steam
gushed
howling
out
of
cracks
in
the
sides
of
innocent
hills
,
volcanoes
spumed
smoke
into
the
sky
and
the
alpine
streams
ran
warm
.
Huge
lakes
of
mud
boiled
oilily
,
the
seas
lapped
uncertainly
at
cliffs
which
might
not
be
there
to
greet
the
next
incoming
tide
,
and
in
places
the
earth
's
crust
was
only
nine
hundred
feet
thick
.
Yet
it
was
a
gentle
,
gracious
land
.
Beyond
the
house
stretched
an
undulating
plain
as
green
as
the
emerald
in
Fiona
Cleary
's
engagement
ring
,
dotted
with
thousands
of
creamy
bundles
close
proximity
revealed
as
sheep
.
Where
the
curving
hills
scalloped
the
edge
of
the
light-blue
sky
Mount
Egmont
soared
ten
thousand
feet
,
sloping
into
the
clouds
,
its
sides
still
white
with
snow
,
its
symmetry
so
perfect
that
even
those
like
Frank
who
saw
it
every
day
of
their
lives
never
ceased
to
marvel
.
It
was
quite
a
pull
from
the
barn
to
the
house
,
but
Frank
hurried
because
he
knew
he
ought
not
to
be
going
;
his
father
's
orders
were
explicit
.
Then
as
he
rounded
the
corner
of
the
house
he
saw
the
little
group
by
the
gorse
bush
.
Frank
had
driven
his
mother
into
Wahine
to
buy
Meggie
's
doll
,
and
he
was
still
wondering
what
had
prompted
her
to
do
it
.
She
was
n't
given
to
impractical
birthday
presents
,
there
was
n't
the
money
for
them
,
and
she
had
never
given
a
toy
to
anyone
before
.
They
all
got
clothes
;
birthdays
and
Christmases
replenished
sparse
wardrobes
.
But
apparently
Meggie
had
seen
the
doll
on
her
one
and
only
trip
into
town
,
and
Fiona
had
not
forgotten
.
When
Frank
questioned
her
,
she
muttered
something
about
a
girl
needing
a
doll
,
and
quickly
changed
the
subject
.
Jack
and
Hughie
had
the
doll
between
them
on
the
front
path
,
manipulating
its
joints
callously
.
All
Frank
could
see
of
Meggie
was
her
back
,
as
she
stood
watching
her
brothers
desecrate
Agnes
.
Her
neat
white
socks
had
slipped
in
crinkled
folds
around
her
little
black
boots
,
and
the
pink
of
her
legs
was
visible
for
three
or
four
inches
below
the
hem
of
her
brown
velvet
Sunday
dress
.
Down
her
back
cascaded
a
mane
of
carefully
curled
hair
,
sparkling
in
the
sun
;
not
red
and
not
gold
,
but
somewhere
in
between
.
The
white
taffeta
bow
which
held
the
front
curls
back
from
her
face
hung
draggled
and
limp
;
dust
smeared
her
dress
.
She
held
the
doll
's
clothes
tightly
in
one
hand
,
the
other
pushing
vainly
at
Hughie
.
"
You
bloody
little
bastards
!
"
Jack
and
Hughie
scrambled
to
their
feet
and
ran
,
the
doll
forgotten
;
when
Frank
swore
it
was
politic
to
run
.
"
If
I
catch
you
flaming
little
twerps
touching
that
doll
again
I
'll
brand
your
shitty
little
arses
!
"
Frank
yelled
after
them
.
