Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба

The Story of the Goblins who stole a Sexton

           Thesunshonefromouttheclearbluesky,thewatersparkledbeneathhisrays,andthetreeslookedgreener,andtheflowersmoregay,beneathitscheeringinfluence.Thewaterrippledonwithapleasantsound,thetreesrustledinthelightwindthatmurmuredamongtheirleaves,thebirdssangupontheboughs,andthelarkcarolledonhighherwelcometothemorning.Yes,itwasmorning;thebright,balmymorningofsummer;theminutestleaf,thesmallestbladeofgrass,wasinstinctwithlife.Theantcreptforthtoherdailytoil,thebutterflyflutteredandbaskedinthewarmraysofthesun;myriadsofinsectsspreadtheirtransparentwings,andrevelledintheirbriefbuthappyexistence.Manwalkedforth,elatedwiththescene;andallwasbrightnessandsplendour.

           ‘"YOUamiserableman!"saidthekingofthegoblins,inamorecontemptuoustonethanbefore.Andagainthekingofthegoblinsgavehislegaflourish;againitdescendedontheshouldersofthesexton;andagaintheattendantgoblinsimitatedtheexampleoftheirchief.

           ‘Manyatimethecloudwentandcame,andmanyalessonittaughttoGabrielGrub,who,althoughhisshoulderssmartedwithpainfromthefrequentapplicationsofthegoblins’feetthereunto,lookedonwithaninterestthatnothingcoulddiminish.Hesawthatmenwhoworkedhard,andearnedtheirscantybreadwithlivesoflabour,werecheerfulandhappy;andthattothemostignorant,thesweetfaceofNaturewasanever-failingsourceofcheerfulnessandjoy.

Настройки
Фон страницы
Размер шрифта
Межстрочный интервал
Фразовые глаголы
Показать / Скрыть меню
Шрифт
Roboto Lora
Уведомления
Страница 652 из 1301