-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Стивен Кинг
-
- Темная башня: Стрелок
-
- Стр. 57/63
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
The
gunslinger
left
them
there
,
staring
at
each
other
across
the
dusty
,
droppings
-
strewn
floor
,
he
with
his
sick
grin
,
she
with
dumb
,
inanimate
defiance
.
Outside
the
heat
was
still
like
a
hammer
.
He
walked
the
mule
up
the
center
of
the
street
,
his
boots
sending
up
squirts
of
dust
His
waterbags
were
strapped
across
the
mule
’
s
back
.
He
stopped
at
Sheb
’
s
,
and
Allie
was
not
there
.
The
place
was
deserted
,
battened
for
the
storm
,
but
still
dirty
from
the
night
before
.
She
had
not
begun
her
cleaning
and
the
place
was
as
fetid
as
a
wet
dog
.
He
filled
his
tote
sack
with
corn
meal
,
dried
and
roasted
corn
,
and
half
of
the
raw
hamburg
in
the
cooler
.
He
left
four
gold
pieces
stacked
on
the
planked
counter
.
Allie
did
not
come
down
.
Sheb
’
s
piano
bid
him
a
silent
,
yellow
-
toothed
good
-
by
.
He
stepped
back
out
and
cinched
the
tote
sack
across
the
mule
’
s
back
.
There
was
a
tight
feeling
in
his
throat
.
He
might
still
avoid
the
trap
,
but
the
chances
were
small
.
He
was
,
after
all
,
the
interloper
.
He
walked
past
the
shuttered
,
waiting
buildings
,
feeling
the
eyes
that
peered
through
cracks
and
chinks
.
The
man
in
black
had
played
God
in
Tull
.
Was
it
only
a
sense
of
the
cosmic
comic
,
or
a
matter
of
desperation
?
It
was
a
question
of
some
importance
.
There
was
a
shrill
,
harried
scream
from
behind
him
,
and
doors
suddenly
threw
themselves
open
.
Forms
lunged
.
The
trap
was
sprung
,
then
.
Men
in
long
handles
and
men
in
dirty
dungarees
.
Women
in
slacks
and
in
faded
dresses
.
Even
children
,
tagging
after
their
parents
.
And
in
every
hand
there
was
a
chunk
of
wood
or
a
knife
.
His
reaction
was
automatic
,
instantaneous
,
inbred
.
He
whirled
on
his
heels
while
his
hands
pulled
the
guns
from
their
holsters
,
the
hafts
heavy
and
sure
in
his
hands
.
It
was
Allie
,
and
of
course
it
had
to
be
Allie
,
coming
at
him
with
her
face
distorted
,
the
scar
a
hellish
purple
in
the
lowering
light
He
saw
that
she
was
held
hostage
;
the
distorted
,
grimacing
face
of
Sheb
peered
over
her
shoulder
like
a
witch
’
s
familiar
.
She
was
his
shield
and
sacrifice
.
He
saw
it
all
,
clear
and
shadowless
in
the
frozen
deathless
light
of
the
sterile
calm
,
and
heard
her
:
"
He
’
s
got
me
0
Jesus
don
’
t
shoot
don
’
t
don
’
t
don
’
t
-
"
