-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Стивен Кинг
-
- Кладбище домашних животных
-
- Стр. 360/409
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
At
last
the
path
began
to
slant
downward
more
steeply
and
constantly
.
A
short
time
later
one
foot
splashed
through
thin
water
and
became
mired
in
the
sludgy
stuff
underneath
...
the
quicksand
,
if
Jud
was
to
be
believed
.
Louis
looked
down
and
could
see
the
standing
water
between
growths
of
reeds
and
low
,
ugly
bushes
with
leaves
so
broad
they
were
almost
tropical
.
He
remembered
that
the
light
had
seemed
brighter
that
other
night
too
.
More
electrical
.
This
next
bit
is
like
the
deadfall
--
you
got
to
walk
steady
and
easy
.
Just
follow
me
and
do
n't
look
down
.
Yes
,
okay
...
and
just
by
the
bye
,
have
you
ever
seen
plants
like
these
in
Maine
before
?
In
Maine
or
anywhere
else
?
What
in
Christ
's
name
are
they
?
Never
mind
,
Louis
.
Just
...
let
's
go
.
He
began
to
walk
again
,
looking
at
the
wet
,
marshy
undergrowth
just
long
enough
to
sight
the
first
tussock
and
then
only
looking
ahead
of
himself
,
his
feet
moving
from
one
grassy
hump
to
the
next
--
faith
is
accepting
gravity
as
a
postulate
,
he
thought
;
nothing
he
had
been
told
in
a
college
theology
or
philosophy
course
,
but
something
his
high
school
physics
instructor
had
once
tossed
off
near
the
end
of
a
period
...
something
Louis
had
never
forgotten
.
He
accepted
the
ability
of
the
Micmac
burying
ground
to
resurrect
the
dead
and
walked
into
Little
God
Swamp
with
his
son
in
his
arms
,
not
looking
down
or
back
.
These
marshy
bottoms
were
noisier
now
than
they
had
been
at
the
tag
end
of
autumn
.
Peepers
sang
constantly
in
the
reeds
,
a
shrill
chorus
which
Louis
found
alien
and
uninviting
.
An
occasional
frog
twanged
a
deep
elastic
somewhere
in
its
throat
.
Twenty
paces
or
so
into
Little
God
Swamp
he
was
buzz-bombed
by
some
shape
...
a
bat
,
perhaps
.
The
groundmist
began
to
swirl
around
him
,
first
covering
his
shoes
,
then
his
shins
,
finally
enclosing
him
in
a
glowing
white
capsule
.
It
seemed
to
him
that
the
light
was
brighter
,
a
pulsing
effulgence
like
the
beat
of
some
strange
heart
.
He
had
never
before
felt
so
strongly
the
presence
of
nature
as
a
kind
of
coalescing
force
,
a
real
being
...
possibly
sentient
.
The
swamp
was
alive
,
but
not
with
the
sound
of
music
.
If
asked
to
define
either
the
sense
or
the
nature
of
that
aliveness
,
he
would
have
been
unable
.
He
only
knew
that
it
was
rich
with
possibility
and
textured
with
strength
.
Inside
it
,
Louis
felt
very
small
and
very
mortal
.
Then
there
was
a
sound
,
and
he
remembered
this
from
the
last
time
as
well
:
a
high
,
gobbling
laugh
that
became
a
sob
.
There
was
silence
for
a
moment
and
then
the
laugh
came
again
,
this
time
rising
to
a
maniacal
shriek
that
froze
Louis
's
blood
.
The
mist
drifted
dreamily
around
him
.
The
laughter
faded
,
leaving
only
the
drone
of
the
wind
,
heard
but
no
longer
felt
.
Of
course
not
;
this
had
to
be
some
sort
of
geological
cup
in
the
earth
.
If
the
wind
could
have
penetrated
here
,
it
would
have
torn
this
mist
to
tatters
...
and
Louis
was
n't
sure
he
would
want
to
see
what
might
have
been
revealed
.
You
may
hear
sounds
like
voices
,
but
they
are
the
loons
down
south
toward
Prospect
.
The
sound
carries
.
It
's
funny
.
