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- Рэй Брэдбери
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- Стр. 192/287
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"
Where
’
ve
you
been
?
"
"
Near
the
town
.
I
almost
didn
’
t
come
back
.
I
was
almost
"
—
the
boy
sought
for
a
word
—
"
trapped
.
"
"
How
do
you
mean
,
«
trapped
»
?
"
"
I
passed
a
small
tin
house
by
the
canal
and
I
was
almost
made
so
I
couldn
’
t
come
back
here
ever
again
to
see
you
.
I
don
’
t
know
how
to
explain
it
to
you
,
there
’
s
no
way
,
I
can
’
t
tell
you
,
even
I
don
’
t
know
;
it
’
s
strange
,
I
don
’
t
want
to
talk
about
it
.
"
"
We
won
’
t
then
.
Better
wash
up
,
boy
.
Suppertime
.
"
The
boy
ran
.
Perhaps
ten
minutes
later
a
boat
floated
down
the
serene
surface
of
the
canal
,
a
tall
lank
man
with
black
hair
poling
it
along
with
leisurely
drives
of
his
arms
.
"
Evening
,
Brother
LaFarge
,
"
he
said
,
pausing
at
his
task
.
"
Evening
Saul
,
what
’
s
the
word
?
"
"
All
kinds
of
words
tonight
.
You
know
that
fellow
named
Nomland
who
lives
down
the
canal
in
the
tin
hut
?
"
LaFarge
stiffened
.
"
Yes
?
"
