-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Нил Гейман
-
- Никогде
-
- Стр. 4/82
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
The
next
morning
he
boarded
the
train
for
the
six
-
hour
journey
south
that
would
bring
him
to
the
strange
gothic
spires
and
arches
of
St
.
Pancras
Station
.
His
mother
gave
him
a
small
walnut
cake
that
she
had
made
for
the
journey
and
a
thermos
filled
with
tea
;
and
Richard
Mayhew
went
to
London
feeling
like
hell
.
She
had
been
running
for
four
days
now
,
a
harum
-
scarum
tumbling
flight
through
passages
and
tunnels
.
She
was
hungry
,
and
exhausted
,
and
more
tired
than
a
body
could
stand
,
and
each
successive
door
was
proving
harder
to
open
.
After
four
days
of
flight
,
she
had
found
a
hiding
place
,
a
tiny
stone
burrow
,
under
the
world
,
where
she
would
be
safe
,
or
so
she
prayed
,
and
at
last
she
slept
.
Mr
.
Croup
had
hired
Ross
at
the
last
Floating
Market
,
which
had
been
held
in
Westminster
Abbey
.
"
Think
of
him
,
"
he
told
Mr
.
Vandemar
,
"
as
a
canary
.
"
"
Sings
?
"
asked
Mr
.
Vandemar
.
"
I
doubt
it
;
I
sincerely
and
utterly
doubt
it
.
"
Mr
.
Croup
ran
a
hand
through
his
lank
orange
hair
.
"
No
,
my
fine
friend
,
I
was
thinking
metaphorically
—
more
along
the
lines
of
the
birds
they
take
down
mines
.
"
Mr
.
Vandemar
nodded
,
comprehension
dawning
slowly
:
yes
,
a
canary
.
Mr
.
Ross
had
no
other
resemblance
to
a
canary
.
He
was
huge
—
almost
as
big
as
Mr
.
Vandemar
—
and
extremely
grubby
,
and
quite
hairless
,
and
he
said
very
little
,
although
he
had
made
a
point
of
telling
each
of
them
that
he
liked
to
kill
things
,
and
he
was
good
at
it
;
and
this
amused
Mr
.
Croup
and
Mr
.
Vandemar
.
But
he
was
a
canary
,
and
he
never
knew
it
.
So
Mr
.
Ross
went
first
,
in
his
filthy
T
-
shirt
and
his
crusted
blue
-
jeans
,
and
Croup
and
Vandemar
walked
behind
him
,
in
their
elegant
black
suits
.
There
are
four
simple
ways
for
the
observant
to
tell
Mr
.
Croup
and
Mr
.
Vandemar
apart
:
first
,
Mr
.
Vandemar
is
two
and
a
half
heads
taller
than
Mr
.
Croup
;
second
,
Mr
.
Croup
has
eyes
of
a
faded
china
blue
,
while
Mr
.
Vandemar
’
s
eyes
are
brown
;
third
,
while
Mr
.
Vandemar
fashioned
the
rings
he
wears
on
his
right
hand
out
of
the
skulls
of
four
ravens
,
Mr
.
Croup
has
no
obvious
jewelery
;
fourth
,
Mr
.
Croup
likes
words
,
while
Mr
.
Vandemar
is
always
hungry
.
Also
,
they
look
nothing
at
all
alike
.
A
rustle
in
the
tunnel
darkness
;
Mr
.
Vandemar
’
s
knife
was
in
his
hand
,
and
then
it
was
no
longer
in
his
hand
,
and
it
was
quivering
gently
almost
thirty
feet
away
.
He
walked
over
to
his
knife
and
picked
it
up
by
the
hilt
.
There
was
a
gray
rat
impaled
on
the
blade
,
its
mouth
opening
and
closing
impotently
as
the
life
fled
.
He
crushed
its
skull
between
finger
and
thumb
.
"
Now
,
there
’
s
one
rat
that
won
’
t
be
telling
any
more
tales
,
"
said
Mr
.
Croup
.
He
chuckled
at
his
own
joke
.
Mr
.
Vandemar
did
not
respond
.
"
Rat
.
Tales
.
Get
it
?
"
Mr
.
Vandemar
pulled
the
rat
from
the
blade
and
began
to
munch
on
it
,
thoughtfully
,
head
first
.
Mr
.
Croup
slapped
it
out
of
his
hands
.
"
Stop
that
,
"
he
said
.
Mr
.
Vandemar
put
his
knife
away
,
a
little
sullenly
.
"
Buck
up
,
"
hissed
Mr
.
Croup
,
encouragingly
.
"
There
will
always
be
another
rat
.
Now
:
onward
.
Things
to
do
.
People
to
damage
.
"
