-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Терри Пратчетт
-
- Мор - ученик смерти
-
- Стр. 198/357
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
’
She
meant
to
!
She
was
crossed
in
love
!
’
’
All
I
can
remember
was
that
she
used
to
take
baths
in
asses
’
milk
.
Funny
thing
,
history
,
’
said
Cutwell
reflectively
.
’
You
become
a
queen
,
reign
for
thirty
years
,
make
laws
,
declare
war
on
people
and
then
the
only
thing
you
get
remembered
for
is
that
you
smelled
like
yoghurt
and
were
bitten
in
the
—
’
’
She
’
s
a
distant
ancestor
of
mine
,
’
snapped
Keli
.
’
I
won
’
t
listen
to
this
sort
of
thing
.
’
’
Will
you
both
be
quiet
and
listen
to
me
!
’
shouted
Mort
.
Silence
descended
like
a
shroud
.
Then
Cutwell
sighted
carefully
and
shot
Mort
in
the
back
.
The
night
shed
its
early
casualties
and
journeyed
onwards
.
Even
the
wildest
parties
had
ended
,
their
guests
lurching
home
to
their
beds
,
or
someone
’
s
bed
at
any
rate
.
Shorn
of
these
fellow
travellers
,
mere
daytime
people
who
had
strayed
out
of
their
temporal
turf
,
the
true
survivors
of
the
night
got
down
to
the
serious
commerce
of
the
dark
.
This
wasn
’
t
so
very
different
from
Ankh
-
Morpork
’
s
daytime
business
,
except
that
the
knives
were
more
obvious
and
people
didn
’
t
smile
so
much
.
The
Shades
were
silent
,
save
only
for
the
whistled
signals
of
thieves
and
the
velvety
hush
of
dozens
of
people
going
about
their
private
business
in
careful
silence
.