-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Роберт Льюис Стивенсон
-
- Похищенный
-
- Стр. 114/166
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
At
this
I
begged
and
besought
that
we
might
lie
down
and
sleep
.
"
There
shall
be
no
sleep
the
night
!
"
said
Alan
.
"
From
now
on
,
these
weary
dragoons
of
yours
will
keep
the
crown
of
the
muirland
,
and
none
will
get
out
of
Appin
but
winged
fowls
.
We
got
through
in
the
nick
of
time
,
and
shall
we
jeopard
what
we
've
gained
?
Na
,
na
,
when
the
day
comes
,
it
shall
find
you
and
me
in
a
fast
place
on
Ben
Alder
.
"
"
Alan
,
"
I
said
,
"
it
's
not
the
want
of
will
:
it
's
the
strength
that
I
want
.
If
I
could
,
I
would
;
but
as
sure
as
I
'm
alive
I
can
not
.
"
"
Very
well
,
then
,
"
said
Alan
.
"
I
'll
carry
ye
.
"
I
looked
to
see
if
he
were
jesting
;
but
no
,
the
little
man
was
in
dead
earnest
;
and
the
sight
of
so
much
resolution
shamed
me
.
"
Lead
away
!
"
said
I.
"
I
'll
follow
.
"
He
gave
me
one
look
as
much
as
to
say
,
"
Well
done
,
David
!
"
and
off
he
set
again
at
his
top
speed
.
It
grew
cooler
and
even
a
little
darker
(
but
not
much
)
with
the
coming
of
the
night
.
The
sky
was
cloudless
;
it
was
still
early
in
July
,
and
pretty
far
north
;
in
the
darkest
part
of
that
night
,
you
would
have
needed
pretty
good
eyes
to
read
,
but
for
all
that
,
I
have
often
seen
it
darker
in
a
winter
mid-day
.
Heavy
dew
fell
and
drenched
the
moor
like
rain
;
and
this
refreshed
me
for
a
while
.
When
we
stopped
to
breathe
,
and
I
had
time
to
see
all
about
me
,
the
clearness
and
sweetness
of
the
night
,
the
shapes
of
the
hills
like
things
asleep
,
and
the
fire
dwindling
away
behind
us
,
like
a
bright
spot
in
the
midst
of
the
moor
,
anger
would
come
upon
me
in
a
clap
that
I
must
still
drag
myself
in
agony
and
eat
the
dust
like
a
worm
.
By
what
I
have
read
in
books
,
I
think
few
that
have
held
a
pen
were
ever
really
wearied
,
or
they
would
write
of
it
more
strongly
.
I
had
no
care
of
my
life
,
neither
past
nor
future
,
and
I
scarce
remembered
there
was
such
a
lad
as
David
Balfour
.
I
did
not
think
of
myself
,
but
just
of
each
fresh
step
which
I
was
sure
would
be
my
last
,
with
despair
--
and
of
Alan
,
who
was
the
cause
of
it
,
with
hatred
.
Alan
was
in
the
right
trade
as
a
soldier
;
this
is
the
officer
's
part
to
make
men
continue
to
do
things
,
they
know
not
wherefore
,
and
when
,
if
the
choice
was
offered
,
they
would
lie
down
where
they
were
and
be
killed
.
