-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Томас Харди
-
- Вдали от безумной толпы
-
- Стр. 118/383
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
The
sheep
-
washing
pool
was
a
perfectly
circular
basin
of
brickwork
in
the
meadows
,
full
of
the
clearest
water
.
To
birds
on
the
wing
its
glassy
surface
,
reflecting
the
light
sky
,
must
have
been
visible
for
miles
around
as
a
glistening
Cyclops
’
eye
in
a
green
face
.
The
grass
about
the
margin
at
this
season
was
a
sight
to
remember
long
—
in
a
minor
sort
of
way
.
Its
activity
in
sucking
the
moisture
from
the
rich
damp
sod
was
almost
a
process
observable
by
the
eye
.
The
outskirts
of
this
level
water
-
meadow
were
diversified
by
rounded
and
hollow
pastures
,
where
just
now
every
flower
that
was
not
a
buttercup
was
a
daisy
.
The
river
slid
along
noiselessly
as
a
shade
,
the
swelling
reeds
and
sedge
forming
a
flexible
palisade
upon
its
moist
brink
.
To
the
north
of
the
mead
were
trees
,
the
leaves
of
which
were
new
,
soft
,
and
moist
,
not
yet
having
stiffened
and
darkened
under
summer
sun
and
drought
,
their
colour
being
yellow
beside
a
green
—
green
beside
a
yellow
.
From
the
recesses
of
this
knot
of
foliage
the
loud
notes
of
three
cuckoos
were
resounding
through
the
still
air
.
Boldwood
went
meditating
down
the
slopes
with
his
eyes
on
his
boots
,
which
the
yellow
pollen
from
the
buttercups
had
bronzed
in
artistic
gradations
.
A
tributary
of
the
main
stream
flowed
through
the
basin
of
the
pool
by
an
inlet
and
outlet
at
opposite
points
of
its
diameter
.
Shepherd
Oak
,
Jan
Coggan
,
Moon
,
Poorgrass
,
Cain
Ball
,
and
several
others
were
assembled
here
,
all
dripping
wet
to
the
very
roots
of
their
hair
,
and
Bathsheba
was
standing
by
in
a
new
riding
-
habit
—
the
most
elegant
she
had
ever
worn
—
the
reins
of
her
horse
being
looped
over
her
arm
.
Flagons
of
cider
were
rolling
about
upon
the
green
.
The
meek
sheep
were
pushed
into
the
pool
by
Coggan
and
Matthew
Moon
,
who
stood
by
the
lower
hatch
,
immersed
to
their
waists
;
then
Gabriel
,
who
stood
on
the
brink
,
thrust
them
under
as
they
swam
along
,
with
an
instrument
like
a
crutch
,
formed
for
the
purpose
,
and
also
for
assisting
the
exhausted
animals
when
the
wool
became
saturated
and
they
began
to
sink
.
They
were
let
out
against
the
stream
,
and
through
the
upper
opening
,
all
impurities
flowing
away
below
.
Cainy
Ball
and
Joseph
,
who
performed
this
latter
operation
,
were
if
possible
wetter
than
the
rest
;
they
resembled
dolphins
under
a
fountain
,
every
protuberance
and
angle
of
their
clothes
dribbling
forth
a
small
rill
.
Boldwood
came
close
and
bade
her
good
morning
,
with
such
constraint
that
she
could
not
but
think
he
had
stepped
across
to
the
washing
for
its
own
sake
,
hoping
not
to
find
her
there
;
more
,
she
fancied
his
brow
severe
and
his
eye
slighting
.
Bathsheba
immediately
contrived
to
withdraw
,
and
glided
along
by
the
river
till
she
was
a
stone
’
s
throw
off
.
She
heard
footsteps
brushing
the
grass
,
and
had
a
consciousness
that
love
was
encircling
her
like
a
perfume
.
Instead
of
turning
or
waiting
,
Bathsheba
went
further
among
the
high
sedges
,
but
Boldwood
seemed
determined
,
and
pressed
on
till
they
were
completely
past
the
bend
of
the
river
.
Here
,
without
being
seen
,
they
could
hear
the
splashing
and
shouts
of
the
washers
above
.
"
Miss
Everdene
!
"
said
the
farmer
.
She
trembled
,
turned
,
and
said
"
Good
morning
.
"
His
tone
was
so
utterly
removed
from
all
she
had
expected
as
a
beginning
.
It
was
lowness
and
quiet
accentuated
:
an
emphasis
of
deep
meanings
,
their
form
,
at
the
same
time
,
being
scarcely
expressed
.
Silence
has
sometimes
a
remarkable
power
of
showing
itself
as
the
disembodied
soul
of
feeling
wandering
without
its
carcase
,
and
it
is
then
more
impressive
than
speech
.
In
the
same
way
,
to
say
a
little
is
often
to
tell
more
than
to
say
a
great
deal
.
Boldwood
told
everything
in
that
word
.
As
the
consciousness
expands
on
learning
that
what
was
fancied
to
be
the
rumble
of
wheels
is
the
reverberation
of
thunder
,
so
did
Bathsheba
’
s
at
her
intuitive
conviction
.
"
I
feel
—
almost
too
much
—
to
think
,
"
he
said
,
with
a
solemn
simplicity
.
"
I
have
come
to
speak
to
you
without
preface
.
My
life
is
not
my
own
since
I
have
beheld
you
clearly
,
Miss
Everdene
—
I
come
to
make
you
an
offer
of
marriage
.
"
Bathsheba
tried
to
preserve
an
absolutely
neutral
countenance
,
and
all
the
motion
she
made
was
that
of
closing
lips
which
had
previously
been
a
little
parted
.
