-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Лев Толстой
-
- Война и мир
-
- Стр. 966/1273
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
It
was
two
o'clock
in
the
afternoon
.
The
French
had
already
entered
Moscow
.
Pierre
knew
this
,
but
instead
of
acting
he
only
thought
about
his
undertaking
,
going
over
its
minutest
details
in
his
mind
.
In
his
fancy
he
did
not
clearly
picture
to
himself
either
the
striking
of
the
blow
or
the
death
of
Napoleon
,
but
with
extraordinary
vividness
and
melancholy
enjoyment
imagined
his
own
destruction
and
heroic
endurance
.
"
Yes
,
alone
,
for
the
sake
of
all
,
I
must
do
it
or
perish
!
"
he
thought
.
"
Yes
,
I
will
approach
...
and
then
suddenly
...
with
pistol
or
dagger
?
But
that
is
all
the
same
!
'
It
is
not
I
but
the
hand
of
Providence
that
punishes
thee
,
'
I
shall
say
,
"
thought
he
,
imagining
what
he
would
say
when
killing
Napoleon
.
"
Well
then
,
take
me
and
execute
me
!
"
he
went
on
,
speaking
to
himself
and
bowing
his
head
with
a
sad
but
firm
expression
.
While
Pierre
,
standing
in
the
middle
of
the
room
,
was
talking
to
himself
in
this
way
,
the
study
door
opened
and
on
the
threshold
appeared
the
figure
of
Makár
Alexéevich
,
always
so
timid
before
but
now
quite
transformed
.
His
dressing
gown
was
unfastened
,
his
face
red
and
distorted
.
He
was
obviously
drunk
.
On
seeing
Pierre
he
grew
confused
at
first
,
but
noticing
embarrassment
on
Pierre
's
face
immediately
grew
bold
and
,
staggering
on
his
thin
legs
,
advanced
into
the
middle
of
the
room
.
"
They
're
frightened
,
"
he
said
confidentially
in
a
hoarse
voice
.
"
I
say
I
wo
n't
surrender
,
I
say
...
Am
I
not
right
,
sir
?
"
He
paused
and
then
suddenly
seeing
the
pistol
on
the
table
seized
it
with
unexpected
rapidity
and
ran
out
into
the
corridor
.
Gerásim
and
the
porter
,
who
had
followed
Makár
Alexéevich
,
stopped
him
in
the
vestibule
and
tried
to
take
the
pistol
from
him
.
Pierre
,
coming
out
into
the
corridor
,
looked
with
pity
and
repulsion
at
the
half-crazy
old
man
Makár
Alexéevich
,
frowning
with
exertion
,
held
on
to
the
pistol
and
screamed
hoarsely
,
evidently
with
some
heroic
fancy
in
his
head
.
"
To
arms
!
Board
them
!
No
,
you
sha
n't
get
it
,
"
he
yelled
.