-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Рэй Брэдбери
-
- Вино из одуванчиков
-
- Стр. 206/264
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
"
We
got
caught
reading
nights
with
flashlights
under
our
sheets
,
right
?
So
,
nobody
’
ll
suspect
an
old
jar
of
fireflies
;
folks
’
ll
think
it
’
s
just
a
night
museum
.
"
"
Doug
,
you
’
re
a
genius
!
"
But
Doug
did
not
answer
.
Very
gravely
he
placed
the
intermittently
signaling
light
source
upon
the
night
table
and
picked
up
his
pencil
and
began
to
write
large
and
long
on
his
tablet
.
With
the
fireflies
burning
,
dying
,
burning
,
dying
,
and
his
eyes
glinting
with
three
dozen
fugitive
bits
of
pale
green
color
,
he
block
printed
for
ten
and
then
twenty
minutes
,
aligning
and
realigning
,
writing
and
rewriting
the
facts
that
he
had
gathered
all
too
swiftly
during
the
season
.
Tom
watched
,
hypnotized
by
the
small
bonfire
of
insects
leaping
and
furling
within
the
jar
,
until
he
froze
,
sleeping
,
raised
on
elbow
,
while
Douglas
wrote
on
.
He
summed
it
all
up
on
a
final
page
:
YOU
CAN
’
T
DEPEND
ON
THINGS
BECAUSE
.
.
.
.
.
.
like
machines
,
for
instance
,
they
fall
apart
or
rust
or
rot
,
or
maybe
never
get
finished
at
all
.
.
.
or
wind
up
in
garages
.
.
.
.
.
.
like
tennis
shoes
,
you
can
only
run
so
far
,
so
fast
,
and
then
the
earth
’
s
got
you
again
.
.
.
.
.
.
like
trolleys
.
Trolleys
,
big
as
they
are
,
always
come
to
the
end
of
the
line
.
.
.
YOU
CAN
’
T
DEPEND
ON
PEOPLE
BECAUSE
.
.
.
