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- Стивен Кинг
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- Кладбище домашних животных
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- Стр. 397/409
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Then
something
moved
overhead
,
something
scraped
,
and
the
word
broke
off
between
the
lips
.
It
had
been
soft
,
it
had
been
stealthy
,
but
it
had
been
deliberate
.
Oh
yes
,
he
was
convinced
of
that
.
A
sound
he
had
been
meant
to
hear
.
His
hands
wanted
to
tremble
,
but
he
would
not
allow
them
.
He
stepped
over
to
the
kitchen
table
with
its
checkered
oil
cloth
covering
and
reached
into
his
pocket
.
He
removed
three
more
Becton-Dickson
syringes
,
stripped
them
of
their
paper
coverings
,
and
laid
them
out
in
a
neat
row
.
He
removed
three
more
multidose
vials
and
filled
each
of
the
syringes
with
enough
morphine
to
kill
a
horse
--
or
Hanratty
the
bull
,
if
it
came
to
that
.
He
put
them
in
his
pocket
again
.
He
left
the
kitchen
,
crossed
the
living
room
,
and
stood
at
the
base
of
the
stairs
.
"
Gage
?
"
From
somewhere
in
the
shadows
above
there
came
a
giggling
--
a
cold
and
sunless
laughter
that
made
the
skin
on
Louis
's
back
prickle
.
He
started
up
.
It
was
a
long
walk
to
the
top
of
those
stairs
.
He
could
well
imagine
a
condemned
man
taking
a
walk
almost
as
long
(
and
as
horribly
short
)
to
the
platform
of
a
scaffold
with
his
hands
tied
behind
his
back
,
knowing
that
he
would
piss
when
he
could
no
longer
whistle
.
He
reached
the
top
at
last
,
one
hand
in
his
pocket
,
staring
only
at
the
wall
.
How
long
did
he
stand
that
way
?
He
did
not
know
.
He
could
now
feel
his
sanity
beginning
to
give
way
.
This
was
an
actual
sensation
,
a
true
thing
.
It
was
interesting
.
He
imagined
a
tree
overloaded
with
ice
in
a
terrible
storm
would
feel
this
way
--
if
trees
could
feel
anything
--
shortly
before
toppling
.
It
was
interesting
...
and
it
was
sort
of
amusing
.
"
Gage
,
want
to
go
to
Florida
with
me
?
"
