-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Терри Пратчетт
-
- Мор - ученик смерти
-
- Стр. 36/357
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
’
Don
’
t
you
know
?
This
is
the
house
of
Death
,
lad
.
He
brought
you
here
last
night
.
’
’
I
–
sort
of
remember
.
Only
.
.
.
.
’
Hmm
?
’
’
Well
.
The
bacon
and
eggs
,
’
said
Mort
,
vaguely
.
’
It
doesn
’
t
seem
,
well
,
appropriate
.
’
’
I
’
ve
got
some
black
pudding
somewhere
,
’
said
Albert
.
’
No
,
I
mean
.
.
.
’
Mort
hesitated
.
’
It
’
s
just
that
I
can
’
t
see
him
sitting
down
to
a
couple
of
rashers
and
a
fried
slice
.
’
Albert
grinned
.
’
Oh
,
he
doesn
’
t
,
lad
.
Not
as
a
regular
thing
,
no
.
Very
easy
to
cater
for
,
the
master
.
I
just
cook
for
me
and
—
’
he
paused
–
’
the
young
lady
,
of
course
.
’
Mort
nodded
.
’
Your
daughter
,
’
he
said
.
’
Mine
?
Ha
,
’
said
Albert
.
’
You
’
re
wrong
there
.
She
’
s
his
.
’
Mort
stared
down
at
his
fried
eggs
.
They
stared
back
from
their
lake
of
fat
.
Albert
had
heard
of
nutritional
values
,
and
didn
’
t
hold
with
them
.
