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- Рэй Брэдбери
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- Вино из одуванчиков
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- Стр. 264/264
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He
waited
again
.
"
Now
,
"
he
said
at
last
,
"
out
with
the
lights
!
"
He
blinked
.
And
the
town
winked
out
its
lights
,
sleepily
,
here
,
there
,
as
the
courthouse
clock
struck
ten
,
ten
-
thirty
,
eleven
,
and
drowsy
midnight
.
"
The
last
ones
now
.
.
.
there
.
.
.
there
.
.
.
"
He
lay
in
his
bed
and
the
town
slept
around
him
and
the
ravine
was
dark
and
the
lake
was
moving
quietly
on
its
shore
and
everyone
,
his
family
,
his
friends
,
the
old
people
and
the
young
,
slept
on
one
street
or
another
,
in
one
house
or
another
,
or
slept
in
the
far
country
churchyards
.
He
shut
his
eyes
.
June
dawns
,
July
noons
,
August
evenings
over
,
finished
,
done
,
and
gone
forever
with
only
the
sense
of
it
all
left
here
in
his
head
.
Now
,
a
whole
autumn
,
a
white
winter
,
a
cool
and
greening
spring
to
figure
sums
and
totals
of
summer
past
.
And
if
he
should
forget
,
the
dandelion
wine
stood
in
the
cellar
,
numbered
huge
for
each
and
every
day
.
He
would
go
there
often
,
stare
straight
into
the
sun
until
he
could
stare
no
more
,
then
close
his
eyes
and
consider
the
burned
spots
,
the
fleeting
scars
left
dancing
on
his
warm
eyelids
;
arranging
,
rearranging
each
fire
and
reflection
until
the
pattern
was
clear
.
.
.
So
thinking
,
he
slept
.