-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Томас Харди
-
- Вдали от безумной толпы
-
- Стр. 252/383
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
"
"
And
you
better
!
"
she
said
,
gratefully
.
"
Thank
you
for
your
devotion
,
a
thousand
times
,
Gabriel
!
Goodnight
—
I
know
you
are
doing
your
very
best
for
me
.
"
She
diminished
in
the
gloom
,
and
vanished
,
and
he
heard
the
latch
of
the
gate
fall
as
she
passed
through
.
He
worked
in
a
reverie
now
,
musing
upon
her
story
,
and
upon
the
contradictoriness
of
that
feminine
heart
which
had
caused
her
to
speak
more
warmly
to
him
to
-
night
than
she
ever
had
done
whilst
unmarried
and
free
to
speak
as
warmly
as
she
chose
.
He
was
disturbed
in
his
meditation
by
a
grating
noise
from
the
coach
-
house
.
It
was
the
vane
on
the
roof
turning
round
,
and
this
change
in
the
wind
was
the
signal
for
a
disastrous
rain
.
It
was
now
five
o
’
clock
,
and
the
dawn
was
promising
to
break
in
hues
of
drab
and
ash
.
The
air
changed
its
temperature
and
stirred
itself
more
vigorously
.
Cool
breezes
coursed
in
transparent
eddies
round
Oak
’
s
face
.
The
wind
shifted
yet
a
point
or
two
and
blew
stronger
.
In
ten
minutes
every
wind
of
heaven
seemed
to
be
roaming
at
large
.
Some
of
the
thatching
on
the
wheat
-
stacks
was
now
whirled
fantastically
aloft
,
and
had
to
be
replaced
and
weighted
with
some
rails
that
lay
near
at
hand
.
This
done
,
Oak
slaved
away
again
at
the
barley
.
A
huge
drop
of
rain
smote
his
face
,
the
wind
snarled
round
every
corner
,
the
trees
rocked
to
the
bases
of
their
trunks
,
and
the
twigs
clashed
in
strife
.
Driving
in
spars
at
any
point
and
on
any
system
,
inch
by
inch
he
covered
more
and
more
safely
from
ruin
this
distracting
impersonation
of
seven
hundred
pounds
.
The
rain
came
on
in
earnest
,
and
Oak
soon
felt
the
water
to
be
tracking
cold
and
clammy
routes
down
his
back
.
Ultimately
he
was
reduced
well
-
nigh
to
a
homogeneous
sop
,
and
the
dyes
of
his
clothes
trickled
down
and
stood
in
a
pool
at
the
foot
of
the
ladder
.
The
rain
stretched
obliquely
through
the
dull
atmosphere
in
liquid
spines
,
unbroken
in
continuity
between
their
beginnings
in
the
clouds
and
their
points
in
him
.
Oak
suddenly
remembered
that
eight
months
before
this
time
he
had
been
fighting
against
fire
in
the
same
spot
as
desperately
as
he
was
fighting
against
water
now
—
and
for
a
futile
love
of
the
same
woman
.
As
for
her
—
But
Oak
was
generous
and
true
,
and
dismissed
his
reflections
.
It
was
about
seven
o
’
clock
in
the
dark
leaden
morning
when
Gabriel
came
down
from
the
last
stack
,
and
thankfully
exclaimed
,
"
It
is
done
!
"
He
was
drenched
,
weary
,
and
sad
,
and
yet
not
so
sad
as
drenched
and
weary
,
for
he
was
cheered
by
a
sense
of
success
in
a
good
cause
.
Faint
sounds
came
from
the
barn
,
and
he
looked
that
way
.
Figures
stepped
singly
and
in
pairs
through
the
doors
—
all
walking
awkwardly
,
and
abashed
,
save
the
foremost
,
who
wore
a
red
jacket
,
and
advanced
with
his
hands
in
his
pockets
,
whistling
.
The
others
shambled
after
with
a
conscience
-
stricken
air
:
the
whole
procession
was
not
unlike
Flaxman
’
s
group
of
the
suitors
tottering
on
towards
the
infernal
regions
under
the
conduct
of
Mercury
.
The
gnarled
shapes
passed
into
the
village
,
Troy
,
their
leader
,
entering
the
farmhouse
.
Not
a
single
one
of
them
had
turned
his
face
to
the
ricks
,
or
apparently
bestowed
one
thought
upon
their
condition
.
Soon
Oak
too
went
homeward
,
by
a
different
route
from
theirs
.
In
front
of
him
against
the
wet
glazed
surface
of
the
lane
he
saw
a
person
walking
yet
more
slowly
than
himself
under
an
umbrella
.
The
man
turned
and
plainly
started
;
he
was
Boldwood
.