-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Рэй Брэдбери
-
- Вино из одуванчиков
-
- Стр. 231/264
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
"
Junk
!
Junk
!
No
,
sir
,
not
Junk
!
Junk
!
Junk
!
No
,
ma
’
am
,
not
Junk
!
Bricabracs
,
brickbats
!
Knitting
needles
,
knick
-
knacks
!
Kickshaws
!
Curies
!
Camisoles
!
Cameos
!
But
.
.
.
Junk
!
Junk
!
No
,
sir
,
not
.
.
.
Junk
!
"
As
anyone
could
tell
who
had
heard
the
songs
Mr
.
Jonas
made
up
as
he
passed
,
he
was
no
ordinary
junkman
.
To
all
appearances
,
yes
,
the
way
he
dressed
in
tatters
of
moss
-
corduroy
and
the
felt
cap
on
his
head
,
covered
with
old
presidential
campaign
buttons
going
back
before
Manila
Bay
.
But
he
was
unusual
in
this
way
:
not
only
did
he
tread
the
sunlight
,
but
often
you
could
see
him
and
his
horse
swimming
along
the
moonlit
streets
,
circling
and
recircling
by
night
the
islands
,
the
blocks
where
all
the
people
lived
he
had
known
all
of
his
life
.
And
in
that
wagon
he
carried
things
he
had
picked
up
here
and
there
and
carried
for
a
day
or
a
week
or
a
year
until
someone
wanted
and
needed
them
.
Then
all
they
had
to
say
was
,
"
I
want
that
clock
,
"
or
"
How
about
the
mattress
?
"
And
Jonas
would
hand
it
over
,
take
no
money
,
and
drive
away
,
considering
the
words
for
another
tune
.
So
it
happened
that
often
he
was
the
only
man
alive
in
all
Green
Town
at
three
in
the
morning
and
often
people
with
headaches
,
seeing
him
amble
by
with
his
moon
-
shimmered
horse
,
would
run
out
to
see
if
by
chance
he
had
aspirin
,
which
he
did
.
More
than
once
he
had
delivered
babies
at
four
in
the
morning
and
only
then
had
people
noticed
how
incredibly
clean
his
hands
and
fingernails
were
—
the
hands
of
a
rich
man
who
had
another
life
somewhere
they
could
not
guess
.
Sometimes
he
would
drive
people
to
work
downtown
,
or
sometimes
,
when
men
could
not
sleep
,
go
up
on
their
porch
and
bring
cigars
and
sit
with
them
and
smoke
and
talk
until
dawn
.
Whoever
he
was
or
whatever
he
was
and
no
matter
how
different
and
crazy
he
seemed
,
he
was
not
crazy
.
As
he
himself
had
often
explained
gently
,
he
had
tired
of
business
in
Chicago
many
years
before
and
looked
around
for
a
way
to
spend
the
rest
of
his
life
.
Couldn
’
t
stand
churches
,
though
he
appreciated
their
ideas
,
and
having
a
tendency
toward
preaching
and
decanting
knowledge
,
he
bought
the
horse
and
wagon
and
set
out
to
spend
the
rest
of
his
life
seeing
to
it
that
one
part
of
town
had
a
chance
to
pick
over
what
the
other
part
of
town
had
cast
off
.
He
looked
upon
himself
as
a
kind
of
process
,
like
osmosis
,
that
made
various
cultures
within
the
city
limits
available
one
to
another
.
He
could
not
stand
waste
,
for
he
knew
that
one
man
’
s
junk
is
another
man
’
s
luxury
.
So
adults
,
and
especially
children
,
clambered
up
to
peer
over
into
the
vast
treasure
horde
in
the
back
of
the
wagon
.
"
Now
,
remember
,
"
said
Mr
.
Jonas
,
"
you
can
have
what
you
want
if
you
really
want
it
.
The
test
is
,
ask
yourself
,
Do
I
want
it
with
all
my
heart
?
Could
I
live
through
the
day
without
it
?
If
you
figure
to
be
dead
by
sundown
,
grab
the
darned
thing
and
run
.
I
’
ll
be
happy
to
let
you
have
whatever
it
is
.
"
And
the
children
searched
the
vast
heaps
of
parchments
and
brocades
and
bolts
of
wallpaper
and
marble
ash
trays
and
vests
and
roller
skates
and
great
fat
overstuffed
chairs
and
end
tables
and
crystal
chandeliers
.
For
a
while
you
just
heard
whispering
and
rattling
and
tinkling
.
Mr
.
Jonas
watched
,
comfortably
puffing
on
his
pipe
,
and
the
children
knew
he
watched
.
Sometimes
their
hands
reached
out
for
a
game
of
checkers
or
a
string
of
beads
or
an
old
chair
,
and
just
as
they
touched
it
they
looked
up
and
there
were
Mr
.
Jonas
’
s
eyes
gently
questioning
them
.
And
they
pulled
their
hand
away
and
looked
further
on
.
Until
at
last
each
of
them
put
their
hand
on
a
single
item
and
left
it
there
.
Their
faces
came
up
and
this
time
their
faces
were
so
bright
Mr
.
Jonas
had
to
laugh
.
He
put
up
his
hand
as
if
to
fend
off
the
brightness
of
their
faces
from
his
eyes
.
He
covered
his
eyes
for
a
moment
.
When
he
did
this
,
the
children
yelled
their
thanks
,
grabbed
their
roller
skates
or
clay
tiles
or
bumbershoots
and
,
dropping
off
,
ran
.
And
the
children
came
back
in
a
moment
with
something
of
their
own
in
their
hands
,
a
doll
or
a
game
they
had
grown
tired
of
,
something
the
fun
had
gone
out
of
,
like
the
flavor
from
gum
,
and
now
it
was
time
for
it
to
pass
on
to
some
other
part
of
town
where
,
seen
for
the
first
time
,
it
would
be
revivified
and
would
revivify
others
.
These
tokens
of
exchange
were
shyly
dropped
over
the
rim
of
the
wagon
down
into
unseen
riches
and
then
the
wagon
was
trundling
on
,
flickering
light
on
its
great
spindling
sunflower
wheels
and
Mr
.
.
.
Jonas
singing
again
.
.
.
