-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Томас Рид
-
- Всадник без головы
-
- Стр. 23/662
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
"
Hear
what
's
written
upon
it
!
"
continued
the
young
man
,
riding
nearer
,
and
reading
aloud
the
directions
pencilled
upon
the
bit
of
pasteboard
.
"
The
cypress
in
sight
!
"
"
Where
?
"
inquired
Poindexter
.
"
There
's
a
hand
,
"
rejoined
Henry
,
"
with
a
finger
pointing
--
no
doubt
in
the
direction
of
the
tree
.
"
All
eyes
were
instantly
turned
towards
the
quarter
of
the
compass
,
indicated
by
the
cipher
on
the
card
.
Had
the
sun
been
shining
,
the
cypress
might
have
been
seen
at
the
first
glance
.
As
it
was
,
the
sky
--
late
of
cerulean
hue
--
was
now
of
a
leaden
grey
;
and
no
straining
of
the
eyes
could
detect
anything
along
the
horizon
resembling
the
top
of
a
tree
.
"
There
's
nothing
of
the
kind
,
"
asserted
Calhoun
,
with
restored
confidence
,
at
the
same
time
returning
to
his
unworthy
accusation
.
"
It
's
only
a
dodge
--
another
link
in
the
chain
of
tricks
the
scamp
is
playing
us
.
"
"
You
mistake
,
cousin
Cassius
,
"
replied
that
same
voice
that
had
so
often
contradicted
him
.
"
Look
through
this
lorgnette
!
If
you
have
n't
lost
the
sight
of
those
superior
eyes
of
yours
,
you
'll
see
something
very
like
a
tree
--
a
tall
tree
--
and
a
cypress
,
too
,
if
ever
there
was
one
in
the
swamps
of
Louisiana
.
"
Calhoun
disdained
to
take
the
opera
glass
from
the
hands
of
his
cousin
.
He
knew
it
would
convict
him
:
for
he
could
not
suppose
she
was
telling
an
untruth
.
Poindexter
availed
himself
of
its
aid
;
and
,
adjusting
the
focus
to
his
failing
sight
,
was
enabled
to
distinguish
the
red-leafed
cypress
,
topping
up
over
the
edge
of
the
prairie
.