-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Стивен Кинг
-
- Кладбище домашних животных
-
- Стр. 275/409
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
...
oh
dear
God
,
his
cap
is
full
of
blood
.
Louis
woke
up
in
the
cold
dead
light
of
a
rainy
seven
o'clock
,
clutching
his
pillow
in
his
arms
.
His
head
thumped
monstrously
with
his
heartbeat
;
the
ache
swelled
and
faded
,
swelled
and
faded
.
He
burped
acid
that
tasted
like
old
beer
,
and
his
stomach
heaved
miserably
.
He
had
been
weeping
;
the
pillow
was
wet
with
his
tears
,
as
if
he
had
somehow
stumbled
in
and
then
out
of
one
of
those
hokey
country-and-western
laments
in
his
sleep
.
Even
in
the
dream
,
he
thought
,
some
part
of
him
had
known
the
truth
and
had
cried
for
it
.
He
got
up
and
stumbled
to
the
bathroom
,
heart
racing
threadily
in
his
chest
,
consciousness
itself
fragmented
by
the
fierceness
of
his
hangover
.
He
reached
the
toilet
bowl
barely
in
time
and
threw
up
a
glut
of
last
night
's
beer
.
He
kneeled
on
the
floor
,
eyes
closed
,
until
he
felt
capable
of
actually
making
it
to
his
feet
.
He
groped
for
the
handle
and
flushed
the
john
.
He
went
to
the
mirror
to
see
how
badly
bloodshot
his
eyes
were
,
but
the
glass
had
been
covered
with
a
square
of
sheeting
.
Then
he
recalled
.
Drawing
almost
randomly
on
a
past
she
professed
to
barely
remember
,
Rachel
had
covered
all
the
mirrors
in
the
house
,
and
she
took
off
her
shoes
before
entering
through
the
door
.
No
Olympic
swimming
team
,
Louis
thought
dully
as
he
walked
back
to
his
bed
and
sat
down
on
it
.
The
sour
taste
of
beer
coated
his
mouth
and
throat
,
and
he
swore
to
himself
(
not
for
the
first
time
or
the
last
)
that
he
would
never
touch
that
poison
again
.
No
Olympic
swimming
team
,
no
3.0
in
college
,
no
little
Catholic
girlfriend
or
conversion
,
no
Camp
Agawam
,
no
nothing
.
His
sneakers
had
been
torn
off
;
his
jumper
turned
inside
out
;
his
sweet
little
boy
's
body
,
so
tough
and
sturdy
,
nearly
dismembered
.
His
cap
had
been
full
of
blood
Now
,
sitting
on
his
bed
in
the
grip
of
this
numbing
hangover
,
rainwater
spilling
its
lazy
courses
down
the
window
beside
him
,
his
grief
came
for
him
fully
,
like
some
gray
matron
from
Ward
Nine
in
purgatory
.
It
came
and
dissolved
him
,
unmanned
him
,
took
away
whatever
defenses
remained
,
and
he
put
his
face
in
his
hands
and
cried
,
rocking
back
and
forth
on
his
bed
,
thinking
he
would
do
anything
to
have
a
second
chance
,
anything
at
all
.
Gage
was
buried
at
two
o'clock
that
afternoon
.
By
then
the
rain
had
stopped
.
Tattered
clouds
still
moved
overhead
,
and
most
of
the
mourners
arrived
carrying
black
umbrellas
provided
by
the
undertaker
.
At
Rachel
's
request
,
the
funeral
director
,
who
officiated
at
the
short
,
nonsectarian
graveside
service
,
read
the
passage
from
Matthew
which
begins
"
Suffer
the
little
children
to
come
unto
Me
.
"
Louis
,
standing
on
one
side
of
the
grave
,
looked
across
at
his
father-in-law
.
For
a
moment
Goldman
looked
back
at
him
,
and
then
he
dropped
his
eyes
.
There
was
no
fight
left
in
him
today
.
The
pouches
under
his
eyes
now
resembled
mailbags
,
and
around
his
black
silk
skullcap
,
hair
as
fine
and
white
as
tattered
spiderwebs
flew
randomly
in
the
breeze
.
With
his
grayish-black
beard
scragging
his
cheeks
,
he
looked
more
like
a
wino
than
ever
.
He
gave
Louis
the
impression
of
a
man
who
did
not
really
know
where
he
was
.
Louis
tried
but
could
still
find
no
pity
in
his
heart
for
him
.
Gage
's
small
white
coffin
,
its
latch
presumably
repaired
,
sat
on
a
pair
of
chromed
runners
over
the
grave
liner
.
The
verges
of
the
grave
had
been
carpeted
with
Astroturf
so
violently
green
it
hurt
Louis
's
eyes
.
Several
baskets
of
flowers
had
been
set
on
top
of
this
artificial
and
strangely
gay
surface
.
Louis
's
eyes
looked
over
the
funeral
director
's
shoulder
.
Here
was
a
low
hill
,
covered
with
graves
,
family
plots
,
one
Romanesque
monument
with
the
name
PHIPPS
engraved
on
it
.
Just
above
the
sloping
roof
of
PHIPPS
,
he
could
see
a
sliver
of
yellow
.
