-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Терри Пратчетт
-
- Мор - ученик смерти
-
- Стр. 100/357
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
She
walked
towards
him
like
a
snake
in
a
four
-
wheel
drift
.
’
I
didn
’
t
hear
you
,
’
she
purred
.
’
V
-
v
-
very
nice
,
’
he
said
.
’
Is
that
who
you
were
?
’
’
It
’
s
who
I
’
ve
always
been
.
’
’
Oh
.
’
Mort
stared
at
his
feet
.
’
I
’
m
supposed
to
take
you
away
,
’
he
said
.
’
I
know
,
’
she
said
,
’
but
I
’
m
going
to
stay
.
’
’
You
can
’
t
do
that
!
I
mean
—
’
he
fumbled
for
words
–
’
you
see
,
if
you
stay
you
sort
of
spread
out
and
get
thinner
,
until
—
’
’
I
shall
enjoy
it
,
’
she
said
firmly
.
She
leaned
forward
and
gave
him
a
kiss
as
insubstantial
as
a
mayfly
’
s
sigh
,
fading
as
she
did
so
until
only
the
kiss
was
left
,
just
like
a
Cheshire
cat
only
much
more
erotic
.
’
Have
a
care
,
Mort
,
’
said
her
voice
in
his
head
.
’
You
may
want
to
hold
on
to
your
job
,
but
will
you
ever
be
able
to
let
go
?
’
Mort
stood
idiotically
holding
his
cheek
.
The
trees
around
the
clearing
trembled
for
a
moment
,
there
was
the
sound
of
laughter
on
the
breeze
,
and
then
the
freezing
silence
closed
in
again
.