-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Стивен Кинг
-
- Мгла
-
- Стр. 32/164
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
We
all
got
into
the
front
seat
of
the
Scout
(
in
the
far
corner
of
the
garage
my
scarred
Fisher
plow
blade
sat
glimmering
yellow
,
like
the
ghost
of
Christmas
yet-to-come
)
and
I
backed
out
,
crunching
over
a
litter
of
storm-blown
twigs
.
Steff
was
standing
on
the
cement
path
which
leads
to
the
vegetable
patch
at
the
extreme
west
end
of
,
our
property
.
She
had
a
pair
of
clippers
in
one
gloved
hand
and
the
weeding
claw
in
the
other
.
She
had
put
on
her
old
floppy
sunhat
,
and
it
cast
a
band
of
shadow
over
her
face
.
I
tapped
the
horn
twice
,
lightly
,
and
she
raised
the
hand
holding
the
clippers
in
answer
.
We
pulled
out
.
I
have
n't
seen
my
wife
since
then
.
We
had
to
stop
once
on
our
way
up
to
Kansas
Road
.
Since
the
power
truck
had
driven
through
,
a
pretty
fair-sized
pine
had
dropped
across
the
road
.
Norton
and
I
got
out
and
moved
it
enough
so
I
could
inch
the
Scout
by
,
getting
our
hands
all
pitchy
in
the
process
.
Billy
wanted
to
help
but
I
waved
him
back
.
I
was
afraid
he
might
get
poked
in
the
eye
.
Old
trees
have
always
reminded
me
of
the
Ents
in
Tolkien
's
wonderful
Rings
saga
,
only
Ents
that
have
gone
bad
.
Old
trees
want
to
hurt
you
.
It
does
n't
matter
if
you
're
snowshoeing
,
cross-country
skiing
,
or
just
taking
a
walk
in
the
woods
.
Old
trees
want
to
hurt
you
,
and
I
think
they
'd
kill
you
if
they
could
.
Kansas
Road
itself
was
clear
,
but
in
several
places
we
saw
more
lines
down
.
About
a
quarter-mile
past
the
Vicki-Linn
Campground
there
was
a
power
pole
lying
full-length
in
the
ditch
,
heavy
wires
snarled
around
its
top
like
wild
hair
.
"
That
was
some
storm
,
"
Norton
said
in
his
mellifluous
,
courtroom
-
trained
voice
;
but
he
did
n't
seem
to
be
pontificating
now
,
only
solemn
.
"
Yeah
,
it
was
.
"
"
Look
,
Dad
!
"
He
was
pointing
at
the
remains
of
the
Ellitches
'
barn
.
For
twelve
years
it
had
been
sagging
tiredly
in
Tommy
Ellitch
's
back
field
,
up
to
its
h
*
ps
in
sunflowers
,
goldenrod
,
and
Lolly-come-see-me
.
Every
fall
I
would
think
it
could
not
last
through
another
winter
.
And
every
spring
it
would
still
be
there
.
But
it
was
n't
anymore
.
All
that
remained
was
a
splintered
wreckage
and
a
roof
that
had
been
mostly
stripped
of
shingles
.
Its
number
had
come
up
.
And
for
some
reason
that
echoed
solemnly
,
even
ominously
,
inside
me
.
The
storm
had
come
and
smashed
it
flat
.
Norton
drained
his
beer
,
crushed
the
can
in
one
hand
,
and
dropped
it
indifferently
to
the
floor
of
the
Scout
.
Billy
opened
his
mouth
to
say
something
and
then
closed
it
again-good
boy
.
Norton
came
from
New
Jersey
,
where
there
was
no
bottle-can-law
;
I
guess
he
could
be
forgiven
for
squashing
my
nickel
when
I
could
barely
remember
not
to
do
it
myself
.
