-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Рэй Брэдбери
-
- Вино из одуванчиков
-
- Стр. 163/264
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
"
Some
afternoon
in
1985
or
1990
a
young
man
named
Tom
Smith
or
John
Green
or
a
name
like
that
,
will
be
walking
downtown
and
will
stop
in
the
drugstore
and
order
,
appropriately
,
a
dish
of
some
unusual
ice
cream
.
A
young
girl
the
same
age
will
be
sitting
there
and
when
she
hears
the
name
of
that
ice
cream
,
something
will
happen
.
I
can
’
t
say
what
or
how
.
She
won
’
t
know
why
or
how
,
assuredly
.
Nor
will
the
young
man
.
It
will
simply
be
that
the
name
of
that
ice
cream
will
be
a
very
good
thing
to
both
of
them
.
They
’
ll
talk
.
And
later
,
when
they
know
each
other
’
s
names
,
they
’
ll
walk
from
the
drugstore
together
.
"
She
smiled
at
him
.
"
This
is
all
very
neat
,
but
forgive
an
old
lady
for
tying
things
in
neat
packets
.
It
’
s
a
silly
trifle
to
leave
you
.
Now
let
’
s
talk
of
something
else
.
What
shall
we
talk
about
?
Is
there
any
place
in
the
world
we
haven
’
t
traveled
to
yet
?
Have
we
been
to
Stockholm
?
"
"
Yes
,
it
’
s
a
fine
town
.
"
"
Glasgow
?
Yes
?
Where
then
?
"
"
Why
not
Green
Town
,
Illinois
?
"
he
said
.
"
Here
.
We
haven
’
t
really
visited
our
own
town
together
at
all
.
"
She
settled
back
,
as
did
he
,
and
she
said
,
"
I
’
ll
tell
you
how
it
was
,
then
,
when
I
was
only
nineteen
,
in
this
town
,
a
long
time
ago
.
.
.
"
It
was
a
night
in
winter
and
she
was
skating
lightly
over
a
pond
of
white
moon
ice
,
her
image
gliding
and
whispering
under
her
.
It
was
a
night
in
summer
in
this
town
of
fire
in
the
air
,
in
the
cheeks
,
in
the
heart
,
your
eyes
full
of
the
glowing
and
shutting
-
off
color
of
fireflies
.
It
was
a
rustling
night
in
October
,
and
there
she
stood
,
pulling
taffy
from
a
hook
in
the
kitchen
,
singing
,
and
there
she
was
,
running
on
the
moss
by
the
river
,
and
swimming
in
the
granite
pit
beyond
town
on
a
spring
night
,
in
the
soft
deep
warm
waters
,
and
now
it
was
the
Fourth
of
July
with
rockets
slamming
the
sky
and
every
porch
full
of
now
red
-
fire
,
now
blue
-
fire
,
now
white
-
fire
faces
,
hers
dazzling
bright
among
them
as
the
last
rocket
died
.
"
Can
you
see
all
these
things
?
"
asked
Helen
Loomis
.
"
Can
you
see
me
doing
them
and
being
with
them
?
"
