-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Лев Толстой
-
- Анна Каренина
-
- Стр. 275/828
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
Still
more
delightful
were
the
moments
when
they
reached
the
stream
where
the
rows
ended
,
and
the
old
man
rubbed
his
scythe
with
the
wet
,
thick
grass
,
rinsed
its
blade
in
the
fresh
water
of
the
stream
,
ladled
out
a
little
in
a
tin
dipper
,
and
offered
Levin
a
drink
.
“
What
do
you
say
to
my
home
-
brew
,
eh
?
Good
,
eh
?
”
said
he
,
winking
.
And
truly
Levin
had
never
drunk
any
liquor
so
good
as
this
warm
water
with
green
bits
floating
in
it
,
and
a
taste
of
rust
from
the
tin
dipper
.
And
immediately
after
this
came
the
delicious
,
slow
saunter
,
with
his
hand
on
the
scythe
,
during
which
he
could
wipe
away
the
streaming
sweat
,
take
deep
breaths
of
air
,
and
look
about
at
the
long
string
of
mowers
and
at
what
was
happening
around
in
the
forest
and
the
country
.
The
longer
Levin
mowed
,
the
oftener
he
felt
the
moments
of
unconsciousness
in
which
it
seemed
not
his
hands
that
swung
the
scythe
,
but
the
scythe
mowing
of
itself
,
a
body
full
of
life
and
consciousness
of
its
own
,
and
as
though
by
magic
,
without
thinking
of
it
,
the
work
turned
out
regular
and
well
-
finished
of
itself
.
These
were
the
most
blissful
moments
.
It
was
only
hard
work
when
he
had
to
break
off
the
motion
,
which
had
become
unconscious
,
and
to
think
;
when
he
had
to
mow
round
a
hillock
or
a
tuft
of
sorrel
.
The
old
man
did
this
easily
.
When
a
hillock
came
he
changed
his
action
,
and
at
one
time
with
the
heel
,
and
at
another
with
the
tip
of
his
scythe
,
clipped
the
hillock
round
both
sides
with
short
strokes
.
And
while
he
did
this
he
kept
looking
about
and
watching
what
came
into
his
view
:
at
one
moment
he
picked
a
wild
berry
and
ate
it
or
offered
it
to
Levin
,
then
he
flung
away
a
twig
with
the
blade
of
the
scythe
,
then
he
looked
at
a
quail
’
s
nest
,
from
which
the
bird
flew
just
under
the
scythe
,
or
caught
a
snake
that
crossed
his
path
,
and
lifting
it
on
the
scythe
as
though
on
a
fork
showed
it
to
Levin
and
threw
it
away
.
For
both
Levin
and
the
young
peasant
behind
him
,
such
changes
of
position
were
difficult
.
Both
of
them
,
repeating
over
and
over
again
the
same
strained
movement
,
were
in
a
perfect
frenzy
of
toil
,
and
were
incapable
of
shifting
their
position
and
at
the
same
time
watching
what
was
before
them
.
Levin
did
not
notice
how
time
was
passing
.
If
he
had
been
asked
how
long
he
had
been
working
he
would
have
said
half
an
hour
—
and
it
was
getting
on
for
dinner
time
.
As
they
were
walking
back
over
the
cut
grass
,
the
old
man
called
Levin
’
s
attention
to
the
little
girls
and
boys
who
were
coming
from
different
directions
,
hardly
visible
through
the
long
grass
,
and
along
the
road
towards
the
mowers
,
carrying
sacks
of
bread
dragging
at
their
little
hands
and
pitchers
of
the
sour
rye
-
beer
,
with
cloths
wrapped
round
them
.
“
Look
’
ee
,
the
little
emmets
crawling
!
”
he
said
,
pointing
to
them
,
and
he
shaded
his
eyes
with
his
hand
to
look
at
the
sun
.
They
mowed
two
more
rows
;
the
old
man
stopped
.
“
Come
,
master
,
dinner
time
!
”
he
said
briskly
.
