-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Уильям Гибсон
-
- Нейромант
-
- Стр. 31/285
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
Voices
.
Then
black
fire
found
the
branching
tributaries
of
the
nerves
,
pain
beyond
anything
to
which
the
name
of
pain
is
given
.
.
.
Hold
still
.
Don
’
t
move
.
And
Ratz
was
there
,
and
Linda
Lee
,
Wage
and
Lonny
Zone
,
a
hundred
faces
from
the
neon
forest
,
sailors
and
hustlers
and
whores
,
where
the
sky
is
poisoned
silver
,
beyond
chainlink
and
the
prison
of
the
skull
.
Goddamn
don
’
t
you
move
.
Where
the
sky
faded
from
hissing
static
to
the
noncolor
of
the
matrix
,
and
he
glimpsed
the
shuriken
,
his
stars
.
'
Stop
it
,
Case
,
I
gotta
find
your
vein
!
’
She
was
straddling
his
chest
,
a
blue
plastic
syrette
in
one
hand
.
'
You
don
’
t
lie
still
,
I
’
ll
slit
your
fucking
throat
.
You
’
re
still
full
of
endorphin
inhibitors
.
’
He
woke
and
found
her
stretched
beside
him
in
the
dark
.
His
neck
was
brittle
,
made
of
twigs
.
There
was
a
steady
pulse
of
pain
midway
down
his
spine
.
Images
formed
and
reformed
:
a
flickering
montage
of
the
Sprawl
’
s
towers
and
ragged
Fuller
domes
,
dim
figures
moving
toward
him
in
the
shade
beneath
a
bridge
or
overpass
.
.
.
