-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Люси Мод Монтгомери
-
- Аня из Авонлеи
-
- Стр. 190/198
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
“
I
can
’
t
see
that
it
’
s
so
terribly
romantic
at
all
,
”
said
Marilla
rather
crisply
.
Marilla
thought
Anne
was
too
worked
up
about
it
and
had
plenty
to
do
with
getting
ready
for
college
without
“
traipsing
”
to
Echo
Lodge
two
days
out
of
three
helping
Miss
Lavendar
.
“
In
the
first
place
two
young
fools
quarrel
and
turn
sulky
;
then
Steve
Irving
goes
to
the
States
and
after
a
spell
gets
married
up
there
and
is
perfectly
happy
from
all
accounts
.
Then
his
wife
dies
and
after
a
decent
interval
he
thinks
he
’
ll
come
home
and
see
if
his
first
fancy
’
ll
have
him
.
Meanwhile
,
she
’
s
been
living
single
,
probably
because
nobody
nice
enough
came
along
to
want
her
,
and
they
meet
and
agree
to
be
married
after
all
.
Now
,
where
is
the
romance
in
all
that
?
”
“
Oh
,
there
isn
’
t
any
,
when
you
put
it
that
way
,
”
gasped
Anne
,
rather
as
if
somebody
had
thrown
cold
water
over
her
.
“
I
suppose
that
’
s
how
it
looks
in
prose
.
But
it
’
s
very
different
if
you
look
at
it
through
poetry
.
.
.
and
I
think
it
’
s
nicer
.
.
.
”
Anne
recovered
herself
and
her
eyes
shone
and
her
cheeks
flushed
.
.
.
“
to
look
at
it
through
poetry
.
”
Marilla
glanced
at
the
radiant
young
face
and
refrained
from
further
sarcastic
comments
.
Perhaps
some
realization
came
to
her
that
after
all
it
was
better
to
have
,
like
Anne
,
“
the
vision
and
the
faculty
divine
”
.
.
.
that
gift
which
the
world
cannot
bestow
or
take
away
,
of
looking
at
life
through
some
transfiguring
.
.
.
or
revealing
?
.
.
.
medium
,
whereby
everything
seemed
apparelled
in
celestial
light
,
wearing
a
glory
and
a
freshness
not
visible
to
those
who
,
like
herself
and
Charlotta
the
Fourth
,
looked
at
things
only
through
prose
.
“
When
’
s
the
wedding
to
be
?
”
she
asked
after
a
pause
.
“
The
last
Wednesday
in
August
.
They
are
to
be
married
in
the
garden
under
the
honeysuckle
trellis
.
.
.
the
very
spot
where
Mr
.
Irving
proposed
to
her
twenty
-
five
years
ago
.
Marilla
,
that
IS
romantic
,
even
in
prose
.
There
’
s
to
be
nobody
there
except
Mrs
.
Irving
and
Paul
and
Gilbert
and
Diana
and
I
,
and
Miss
Lavendar
’
s
cousins
.
And
they
will
leave
on
the
six
o
’
clock
train
for
a
trip
to
the
Pacific
coast
.
When
they
come
back
in
the
fall
Paul
and
Charlotta
the
Fourth
are
to
go
up
to
Boston
to
live
with
them
.
But
Echo
Lodge
is
to
be
left
just
as
it
is
.
.
.
only
of
course
they
’
ll
sell
the
hens
and
cow
,
and
board
up
the
windows
.
.
.
and
every
summer
they
’
re
coming
down
to
live
in
it
.
I
’
m
so
glad
.
It
would
have
hurt
me
dreadfully
next
winter
at
Redmond
to
think
of
that
dear
stone
house
all
stripped
and
deserted
,
with
empty
rooms
.
.
.
or
far
worse
still
,
with
other
people
living
in
it
.
But
I
can
think
of
it
now
,
just
as
I
’
ve
always
seen
it
,
waiting
happily
for
the
summer
to
bring
life
and
laughter
back
to
it
again
.
”
There
was
more
romance
in
the
world
than
that
which
had
fallen
to
the
share
of
the
middle
-
aged
lovers
of
the
stone
house
.
Anne
stumbled
suddenly
on
it
one
evening
when
she
went
over
to
Orchard
Slope
by
the
wood
cut
and
came
out
into
the
Barry
garden
.
Diana
Barry
and
Fred
Wright
were
standing
together
under
the
big
willow
.
Diana
was
leaning
against
the
gray
trunk
,
her
lashes
cast
down
on
very
crimson
cheeks
.
One
hand
was
held
by
Fred
,
who
stood
with
his
face
bent
toward
her
,
stammering
something
in
low
earnest
tones
.
There
were
no
other
people
in
the
world
except
their
two
selves
at
that
magic
moment
;
so
neither
of
them
saw
Anne
,
who
,
after
one
dazed
glance
of
comprehension
,
turned
and
sped
noiselessly
back
through
the
spruce
wood
,
never
stopping
till
she
gained
her
own
gable
room
,
where
she
sat
breathlessly
down
by
her
window
and
tried
to
collect
her
scattered
wits
.
“
Diana
and
Fred
are
in
love
with
each
other
,
”
she
gasped
.
“
Oh
,
it
does
seem
so
.
.
.
so
.
.
.
so
HOPELESSLY
grown
up
.
”
Anne
,
of
late
,
had
not
been
without
her
suspicions
that
Diana
was
proving
false
to
the
melancholy
Byronic
hero
of
her
early
dreams
.
But
as
“
things
seen
are
mightier
than
things
heard
,
”
or
suspected
,
the
realization
that
it
was
actually
so
came
to
her
with
almost
the
shock
of
perfect
surprise
.
This
was
succeeded
by
a
queer
,
little
lonely
feeling
.
.
.
as
if
,
somehow
,
Diana
had
gone
forward
into
a
new
world
,
shutting
a
gate
behind
her
,
leaving
Anne
on
the
outside
.