-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Лев Толстой
-
- Война и мир
-
- Стр. 382/1273
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
One
of
the
players
said
he
hoped
he
might
be
trusted
.
"
Yes
,
you
might
,
but
I
am
afraid
of
getting
the
accounts
mixed
.
So
I
ask
you
to
put
the
money
on
your
cards
,
"
replied
Dólokhov
.
"
Do
n't
stint
yourself
,
we
'll
settle
afterwards
,
"
he
added
,
turning
to
Rostóv
.
The
game
continued
;
a
waiter
kept
handing
round
champagne
.
All
Rostóv
's
cards
were
beaten
and
he
had
eight
hundred
rubles
scored
up
against
him
.
He
wrote
"
800
rubles
"
on
a
card
,
but
while
the
waiter
filled
his
glass
he
changed
his
mind
and
altered
it
to
his
usual
stake
of
twenty
rubles
.
"
Leave
it
,
"
said
Dólokhov
,
though
he
did
not
seem
to
be
even
looking
at
Rostóv
,
"
you
'll
win
it
back
all
the
sooner
.
I
lose
to
the
others
but
win
from
you
.
Or
are
you
afraid
of
me
?
"
he
asked
again
.
Rostóv
submitted
.
He
let
the
eight
hundred
remain
and
laid
down
a
seven
of
hearts
with
a
torn
corner
,
which
he
had
picked
up
from
the
floor
.
He
well
remembered
that
seven
afterwards
.
He
laid
down
the
seven
of
hearts
,
on
which
with
a
broken
bit
of
chalk
he
had
written
"
800
rubles
"
in
clear
upright
figures
;
he
emptied
the
glass
of
warm
champagne
that
was
handed
him
,
smiled
at
Dólokhov
's
words
,
and
with
a
sinking
heart
,
waiting
for
a
seven
to
turn
up
,
gazed
at
Dólokhov
's
hands
which
held
the
pack
.
Much
depended
on
Rostóv
's
winning
or
losing
on
that
seven
of
hearts
.
On
the
previous
Sunday
the
old
count
had
given
his
son
two
thousand
rubles
,
and
though
he
always
disliked
speaking
of
money
difficulties
had
told
Nicholas
that
this
was
all
he
could
let
him
have
till
May
,
and
asked
him
to
be
more
economical
this
time
.
Nicholas
had
replied
that
it
would
be
more
than
enough
for
him
and
that
he
gave
his
word
of
honor
not
to
take
anything
more
till
the
spring
.
Now
only
twelve
hundred
rubles
was
left
of
that
money
,
so
that
this
seven
of
hearts
meant
for
him
not
only
the
loss
of
sixteen
hundred
rubles
,
but
the
necessity
of
going
back
on
his
word
.
With
a
sinking
heart
he
watched
Dólokhov
's
hands
and
thought
,
"
Now
then
,
make
haste
and
let
me
have
this
card
and
I
'll
take
my
cap
and
drive
home
to
supper
with
Denísov
,
Natásha
,
and
Sónya
,
and
will
certainly
never
touch
a
card
again
.
"
At
that
moment
his
home
life
,
jokes
with
Pétya
,
talks
with
Sónya
,
duets
with
Natásha
,
piquet
with
his
father
,
and
even
his
comfortable
bed
in
the
house
on
the
Povarskáya
rose
before
him
with
such
vividness
,
clearness
,
and
charm
that
it
seemed
as
if
it
were
all
a
lost
and
unappreciated
bliss
,
long
past
.
He
could
not
conceive
that
a
stupid
chance
,
letting
the
seven
be
dealt
to
the
right
rather
than
to
the
left
,
might
deprive
him
of
all
this
happiness
,
newly
appreciated
and
newly
illumined
,
and
plunge
him
into
the
depths
of
unknown
and
undefined
misery
.
That
could
not
be
,
yet
he
awaited
with
a
sinking
heart
the
movement
of
Dólokhov
's
hands
.
Those
broad
,
reddish
hands
,
with
hairy
wrists
visible
from
under
the
shirt
cuffs
,
laid
down
the
pack
and
took
up
a
glass
and
a
pipe
that
were
handed
him
.
"
So
you
are
not
afraid
to
play
with
me
?
"
repeated
Dólokhov
,
and
as
if
about
to
tell
a
good
story
he
put
down
the
cards
,
leaned
back
in
his
chair
,
and
began
deliberately
with
a
smile
:
"
Yes
,
gentlemen
,
I
've
been
told
there
's
a
rumor
going
about
Moscow
that
I
'm
a
sharper
,
so
I
advise
you
to
be
careful
.
"
