-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Рэй Брэдбери
-
- Марсианские хроники
-
- Стр. 249/287
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
He
called
into
the
hut
,
"
I
’
m
going
to
take
a
walk
.
"
"
All
right
,
"
his
wife
said
.
He
moved
quietly
down
through
a
series
of
ruins
.
"
Made
in
New
York
,
"
he
read
from
a
piece
of
metal
as
he
passed
.
"
And
all
these
things
from
Earth
will
be
gone
long
before
the
old
Martian
towns
.
"
He
looked
toward
the
fifty
-
centuries
-
old
village
that
lay
among
the
blue
mountains
.
He
came
to
a
solitary
Martian
graveyard
,
a
series
of
small
hexagonal
stones
on
a
hill
swept
by
the
lonely
wind
.
He
stood
looking
down
at
four
graves
with
crude
wooden
crosses
on
them
,
and
names
.
Tears
did
not
come
to
his
eyes
.
They
had
dried
long
ago
.
"
Do
you
forgive
me
for
what
I
’
ve
done
?
"
he
asked
of
the
crosses
.
"
I
was
very
much
alone
.
You
do
understand
,
don
’
t
you
?
"
He
returned
to
the
stone
hut
and
once
more
,
just
before
going
in
,
shaded
his
eyes
,
searching
the
black
sky
.
"
You
keep
waiting
and
waiting
and
looking
,
"
he
said
,
"
and
one
night
,
perhaps
—
"
There
was
a
tiny
red
flame
on
the
sky
.
He
stepped
away
from
the
light
of
the
hut
.
