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- Рэй Брэдбери
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- Стр. 102/264
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A
loon
flew
over
the
sky
,
crying
.
Somebody
shivered
.
Mr
.
Tridden
worked
on
his
gloves
.
"
Well
,
time
to
go
.
Parents
’
ll
think
I
stole
you
all
for
good
.
"
The
trolley
was
silent
and
cool
dark
,
like
the
inside
of
an
ice
-
cream
drugstore
.
With
a
soft
green
rustling
of
velvet
buff
,
the
seats
were
turned
by
the
quiet
children
so
they
sat
with
their
backs
to
the
silent
lake
,
the
deserted
bandstand
and
the
wooden
planks
that
made
a
kind
of
music
if
you
walked
down
the
shore
on
them
into
other
lands
.
Bing
!
went
the
soft
bell
under
Mr
.
Tridden
’
s
foot
and
they
soared
back
over
sun
-
abandoned
,
withered
flower
meadows
,
through
woods
,
toward
a
town
that
seemed
to
crush
the
sides
of
the
trolley
with
bricks
and
asphalt
and
wood
when
Mr
.
Tridden
stopped
to
let
the
children
out
in
shady
streets
.
Charlie
and
Douglas
were
the
last
to
stand
near
the
opened
tongue
of
the
trolley
,
the
folding
step
,
breathing
electricity
,
watching
Mr
.
Tridden
’
s
gloves
on
the
brass
controls
.
Douglas
ran
his
fingers
on
the
green
creek
moss
,
looked
at
the
silver
,
the
brass
,
the
wine
color
of
the
ceiling
.
"
Well
.
.
.
so
long
again
,
Mr
.
Tridden
.
"
"
Good
-
by
,
boys
.
"
"
See
you
around
,
Mr
.
Tridden
.
"
