-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Томас Рид
-
- Всадник без головы
-
- Стр. 198/662
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
The
phrases
that
fell
from
his
lips
,
however
,
could
they
have
been
heard
,
would
have
absolved
him
of
any
such
vile
or
vulgar
intention
It
is
true
he
had
designs
upon
the
hacienda
;
but
these
did
not
contemplate
either
its
cash
,
plate
,
or
jewellery
--
if
we
except
the
most
precious
jewel
it
contained
--
the
mistress
of
the
mansion
herself
.
It
is
scarce
necessary
to
say
,
that
the
man
who
had
hidden
his
horse
in
the
"
motte
,
"
and
so
cleverly
effected
the
crossing
of
the
stream
,
was
Maurice
the
mustanger
.
He
had
not
long
to
chafe
under
the
trysting-tree
,
if
such
it
were
.
At
the
very
moment
when
he
was
stepping
into
the
skiff
,
a
casement
window
that
looked
to
the
rear
of
the
hacienda
commenced
turning
upon
its
hinges
,
and
was
then
for
a
time
held
slightly
ajar
;
as
if
some
one
inside
was
intending
to
issue
forth
,
and
only
hesitated
in
order
to
be
assured
that
the
"
coast
was
clear
.
"
A
small
white
hand
--
decorated
with
jewels
that
glistened
under
the
light
of
the
moon
--
grasping
the
sash
told
that
the
individual
who
had
opened
the
window
was
of
the
gentler
sex
;
the
tapering
fingers
,
with
their
costly
garniture
,
proclaimed
her
a
lady
;
while
the
majestic
figure
--
soon
after
exhibited
outside
,
on
the
top
of
the
stairway
that
led
down
to
the
garden
--
could
be
no
other
than
that
of
Louise
Poindexter
.
It
was
she
.
For
a
second
or
two
the
lady
stood
listening
.
She
heard
,
or
fancied
she
heard
,
the
dip
of
an
oar
.
She
might
be
mistaken
;
for
the
stridulation
of
the
cicadas
filled
the
atmosphere
with
confused
sound
.
No
matter
.
The
hour
of
assignation
had
arrived
;
and
she
was
not
the
one
to
stand
upon
punctilios
as
to
time
--
especially
after
spending
two
hours
of
solitary
expectation
in
her
chamber
,
that
had
appeared
like
as
many
.
With
noiseless
tread
descending
the
stone
stairway
,
she
glided
sylph-like
among
the
statues
and
shrubs
;
until
,
arriving
under
the
shadow
of
the
cotton-wood
,
she
flung
herself
into
arms
eagerly
outstretched
to
receive
her
.
Who
can
describe
the
sweetness
of
such
embrace
--
strange
to
say
,
sweeter
from
being
stolen
?
Who
can
paint
the
delicious
emotions
experienced
at
such
a
moment
--
too
sacred
to
be
touched
by
the
pen
?
It
is
only
after
long
throes
of
pleasure
had
passed
,
and
the
lovers
had
begun
to
converse
in
the
more
sober
language
of
life
,
that
it
becomes
proper
,
or
even
possible
to
report
them
.
Thus
did
they
speak
to
each
other
,
the
lady
taking
the
initiative
:
--