-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Терри Пратчетт
-
- Стража! Стража!
-
- Стр. 149/477
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
"
Million
to
one
chance
.
It
’
d
escaped
from
a
menagerie
,
or
something
,
and
was
lying
low
in
his
back
yard
.
He
went
to
feel
under
his
doormat
for
his
doorkey
and
it
had
him
by
the
funes
.
"
Brother
Watchtower
fumbled
under
his
robe
and
produced
a
grubby
brown
envelope
.
"
We
’
re
having
a
whip
-
round
to
buy
him
some
grapes
and
that
,
I
don
’
t
know
whether
you
’
d
like
to
,
er
.
.
.
"
"
Put
me
down
for
three
dollars
,
"
said
the
Supreme
Grand
Master
.
Brother
Watchtower
nodded
.
"
Funny
thing
,
"
he
said
,
"
I
already
have
.
"
Just
a
few
more
nights
,
thought
the
Supreme
Grand
Master
.
By
tomorrow
the
people
’
ll
be
so
desperate
,
they
’
d
crown
even
a
one
-
legged
troll
if
he
got
rid
of
the
dragon
.
And
we
’
ll
have
a
king
,
and
he
’
ll
have
an
advisor
,
a
trusted
man
,
of
course
,
and
this
stupid
rabble
can
go
back
to
the
gutter
.
No
more
dressing
up
,
no
more
ritual
.
No
more
summoning
the
dragon
.
I
can
give
it
up
,
he
thought
.
I
can
give
it
up
any
time
I
like
.
The
streets
outside
the
Patrician
’
s
palace
were
thronged
.
There
was
a
manic
air
of
carnival
.
Vimes
ran
a
practised
eye
over
the
assortment
before
him
.
It
was
the
usual
Ankh
-
Morpork
mob
in
times
of
crisis
;
half
of
them
were
here
to
complain
,
a
quarter
of
them
were
here
to
watch
the
other
half
,
and
the
remainder
were
here
to
rob
,
importune
or
sell
hot
-
dogs
to
the
rest
.
There
were
a
few
new
faces
,
though
.
There
were
a
number
of
grim
men
with
big
swords
slung
over
their
shoulders
and
whips
slung
on
their
belts
,
striding
through
the
crowds
.
"
News
spreads
quick
,
don
’
t
it
,
"
observed
a
familiar
voice
by
his
ear
.
"
Morning
,
Captain
.
"
Vimes
looked
into
the
grinning
,
cadaverous
face
of
Cut
-
me
-
own
-
Throat
Dibbler
,
purveyor
of
absolutely
anything
that
could
be
sold
hurriedly
from
an
open
suitcase
in
a
busy
street
and
was
guaranteed
to
have
fallen
off
the
back
of
an
oxcart
.
"
Morning
,
Throat
,
"
said
Vimes
absently
.
"
What
’
re
you
selling
?
"
