-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Люси Мод Монтгомери
-
- Аня с острова Принца Эдуарда
-
- Стр. 171/200
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
Jane
Andrews
'
mother
scolded
her
frightfully
because
she
had
so
many
handkerchiefs
in
the
wash
that
week
.
It
's
a
harrowing
tale
of
the
wanderings
of
a
Methodist
minister
's
wife
.
I
made
her
a
Methodist
because
it
was
necessary
that
she
should
wander
.
She
buried
a
child
every
place
she
lived
in
.
There
were
nine
of
them
and
their
graves
were
severed
far
apart
,
ranging
from
Newfoundland
to
Vancouver
.
I
described
the
children
,
pictured
their
several
death
beds
,
and
detailed
their
tombstones
and
epitaphs
.
I
had
intended
to
bury
the
whole
nine
but
when
I
had
disposed
of
eight
my
invention
of
horrors
gave
out
and
I
permitted
the
ninth
to
live
as
a
hopeless
cripple
.
"
While
Stella
read
My
Graves
,
punctuating
its
tragic
paragraphs
with
chuckles
,
and
Rusty
slept
the
sleep
of
a
just
cat
who
has
been
out
all
night
curled
up
on
a
Jane
Andrews
tale
of
a
beautiful
maiden
of
fifteen
who
went
to
nurse
in
a
leper
colony
--
of
course
dying
of
the
loathsome
disease
finally
--
Anne
glanced
over
the
other
manuscripts
and
recalled
the
old
days
at
Avonlea
school
when
the
members
of
the
Story
Club
,
sitting
under
the
spruce
trees
or
down
among
the
ferns
by
the
brook
,
had
written
them
.
What
fun
they
had
had
!
How
the
sunshine
and
mirth
of
those
olden
summers
returned
as
she
read
.
Not
all
the
glory
that
was
Greece
or
the
grandeur
that
was
Rome
could
weave
such
wizardry
as
those
funny
,
tearful
tales
of
the
Story
Club
.
Among
the
manuscripts
Anne
found
one
written
on
sheets
of
wrapping
paper
.
A
wave
of
laughter
filled
her
gray
eyes
as
she
recalled
the
time
and
place
of
its
genesis
It
was
the
sketch
she
had
written
the
day
she
fell
through
the
roof
of
the
Cobb
duckhouse
on
the
Tory
Road
.
Anne
glanced
over
it
,
then
fell
to
reading
it
intently
.
It
was
a
little
dialogue
between
asters
and
sweet-peas
,
wild
canaries
in
the
lilac
bush
,
and
the
guardian
spirit
of
the
garden
.
After
she
had
read
it
,
she
sat
,
staring
into
space
;
and
when
Stella
had
gone
she
smoothed
out
the
crumpled
manuscript
.
"
I
believe
I
will
,
"
she
said
resolutely
.
"
Here
is
a
letter
with
an
Indian
stamp
for
you
,
Aunt
Jimsie
,
"
said
Phil
.
"
Here
are
three
for
Stella
,
and
two
for
Pris
,
and
a
glorious
fat
one
for
me
from
Jo
.
There
's
nothing
for
you
,
Anne
,
except
a
circular
.
"
Nobody
noticed
Anne
's
flush
as
she
took
the
thin
letter
Phil
tossed
her
carelessly
.
But
a
few
minutes
later
Phil
looked
up
to
see
a
transfigured
Anne
.
"
Honey
,
what
good
thing
has
happened
?
"
"
The
Youth
's
Friend
has
accepted
a
little
sketch
I
sent
them
a
fortnight
ago
,
"
said
Anne
,
trying
hard
to
speak
as
if
she
were
accustomed
to
having
sketches
accepted
every
mail
,
but
not
quite
succeeding
.
"
Anne
Shirley
!
How
glorious
!
What
was
it
?
When
is
it
to
be
published
?
Did
they
pay
you
for
it
?
"
