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В борьбе за власть есть первые; есть вторые; и есть 6ыдло (из канала BS "Без Слёз").
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The Man Who Laughs
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"I'm thirsty, if you like!"
He looked into the pot. There were a few good mouthfuls of milk left in it; he raised it to his lips. Just as he was about to drink, his eye fell on the little girl. He replaced the pot on the stove, took the phial, uncorked it, poured into it all the milk that remained, which was just sufficient to fill it, replaced the sponge and the linen rag over it, and tied it round the neck of the bottle.
"All the same, I'm hungry and thirsty," he observed.
And he added, —
"When one cannot eat bread, one must drink water."
Behind the stove there was a jug with the spout off. He took it and handed it to the boy.
"Will you drink?"
The child drank, and then went on eating.
Ursus seized the pitcher again, and conveyed it to his mouth. The temperature of the water which it contained had been unequally modified by the proximity of the stove.
He swallowed some mouthfuls and made a grimace.
"Water! pretending to be pure, thou resemblest false friends. Thou art warm at the top and cold at bottom."
In the meantime the boy had finished his supper. The porringer was more than empty; it was cleaned out. He picked up and ate pensively a few crumbs caught in the folds of the knitted jacket on his lap.
Ursus turned towards him.
"That is not all. Now, a word with you. The mouth is not made only for eating; it is made for speaking. Now that you are warmed and stuffed, you beast, take care of yourself. You are going to answer my questions. Whence do you come?"
The child replied, —
"I do not know."
"How do you mean? you don't know?"
"I was abandoned this evening on the sea-shore."
"You little scamp! what's your name? He is so good for nothing that his relations desert him."
"I have no relations."
"Give in a little to my tastes, and observe that I do not like those who sing to a tune of fibs. Thou must have relatives since you have a sister."
"It is not my sister."
"It is not your sister?"
"No."
"Who is it then?"
"It is a baby that I found."
"Found?"
"Yes."
"What! did you pick her up?"
"Yes."
"Where? If you lie I will exterminate you."
"On the breast of a woman who was dead in the snow."
"When?"
"An hour ago."
"Where?"
"A league from here."
The arched brow of Ursus knitted and took that pointed shape which characterizes emotion on the brow of a philosopher.
"Dead! Lucky for her! We must leave her in the snow. She is well off there. In which direction?"
"In the direction of the sea."
"Did you cross the bridge?"
"Yes."
Ursus opened the window at the back and examined the view.
The weather had not improved. The snow was falling thickly and mournfully.
He shut the window.
He went to the broken glass; he filled the hole with a rag; he heaped the stove with peat; he spread out as far as he could the bear-skin on the chest; took a large book which he had in a corner, placed it under the skin for a pillow, and laid the head of the sleeping infant on it.
Then he turned to the boy.
"Lie down there."
The boy obeyed, and stretched himself at full length by the side of the infant.
Ursus rolled the bear-skin over the two children, and tucked it under their feet.
He took down from a shelf, and tied round his waist, a linen belt with a large pocket containing, no doubt, a case of instruments and bottles of restoratives.
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Последний отзыв
В борьбе за власть есть первые; есть вторые; и есть 6ыдло (из канала BS "Без Слёз").
- Вторые всегда стремятся стать первыми. Но ресурсы власти – у п...
Далее