-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Рэй Брэдбери
-
- Марсианские хроники
-
- Стр. 127/287
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
"
It
’
s
dead
.
"
"
It
’
s
alive
!
"
protested
the
Martian
,
laughing
more
now
.
"
Oh
,
you
’
re
quite
wrong
.
See
all
the
carnival
lights
?
There
are
beautiful
boats
as
slim
as
women
,
beautiful
women
as
slim
as
boats
,
women
the
color
of
sand
,
women
with
fire
flowers
in
their
hands
.
I
can
see
them
,
small
,
running
in
the
streets
there
.
That
’
s
where
I
’
m
going
now
,
to
the
festival
;
we
’
ll
float
on
the
waters
all
night
long
;
we
’
ll
sing
,
we
’
ll
drink
,
we
’
ll
make
love
,
Can
’
t
you
see
it
?
"
"
Mister
,
that
city
is
dead
as
a
dried
lizard
.
Ask
any
of
our
party
.
Me
,
I
’
m
on
my
way
to
Green
City
tonight
;
that
’
s
the
new
colony
we
just
raised
over
near
Illinois
Highway
.
You
’
re
mixed
up
.
We
brought
in
a
million
board
feet
of
Oregon
lumber
and
a
couple
dozen
tons
of
good
steel
nails
and
hammered
together
two
of
the
nicest
little
villages
you
ever
saw
.
Tonight
we
’
re
warming
one
of
them
.
A
couple
rockets
are
coming
in
from
Earth
,
bringing
our
wives
and
girl
friends
.
There
’
ll
be
barn
dances
and
whisky
—
"
The
Martian
was
now
disquieted
.
"
You
say
it
is
over
that
way
?
"
"
There
are
the
rockets
.
"
Tomas
walked
him
to
the
edge
of
the
hill
and
pointed
down
.
"
See
?
"
"
No
.
"
"
Damn
it
,
there
they
are
!
Those
long
silver
things
.
"
"
No
.
"
Now
Tomas
laughed
.
"
You
’
re
blind
!
"