-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Терри Пратчетт
-
- Мор - ученик смерти
-
- Стр. 294/357
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
Of
course
,
all
that
was
behind
them
now
,
but
the
Guild
of
Merchants
’
annual
knife
-
and
-
fork
supper
would
have
been
held
in
the
Drum
’
s
upstairs
room
the
following
evening
,
and
all
the
Eighth
Level
wizards
had
been
sent
complimentary
tickets
;
there
would
have
been
roast
swan
and
two
kinds
of
trifle
and
lots
of
fraternal
toasts
to
’
Our
esteemed
,
nay
,
distinguished
guests
’
until
it
was
time
for
the
college
porters
to
turn
up
with
the
wheelbarrows
.
Albert
strutted
along
the
row
,
poking
the
occasional
paunch
with
his
staff
.
His
mind
danced
and
sang
.
Go
back
?
Never
!
This
was
power
,
this
was
living
;
he
’
d
challenge
old
boniface
and
spit
in
his
empty
eye
.
’
By
the
Smoking
Mirror
of
Grism
,
there
’
s
going
to
be
a
few
changes
around
here
!
’
Those
wizards
who
had
studied
history
nodded
uncomfortably
.
It
would
be
back
to
the
stone
floors
and
getting
up
when
it
was
still
dark
and
no
alcohol
under
any
circumstances
and
memorising
the
true
names
of
everything
until
the
brain
squeaked
.
’
What
’
s
that
man
doing
!
’
A
wizard
who
had
absent
-
mindedly
reached
for
his
tobacco
pouch
let
the
half
-
formed
cigarette
fall
from
his
trembling
fingers
.
It
bounced
when
it
hit
the
floor
and
all
the
wizards
watched
it
roll
with
longing
eyes
until
Albert
stepped
forward
smartly
and
squashed
it
.
Albert
spun
round
.
Rincewind
,
who
had
been
following
him
as
a
sort
of
unofficial
adjutant
,
nearly
walked
into
him
.
’
You
!
Rincething
!
D
’
yer
smoke
?
’
’
No
,
sir
!
Filthy
habit
!
’
Rincewind
avoided
the
gaze
of
his
superiors
.
He
was
suddenly
aware
that
he
had
made
some
lifelong
enemies
,
and
it
was
no
consolation
to
know
that
he
probably
wouldn
’
t
have
them
for
very
long
.