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Манн Томас (Mann Thomas)
«Der kleine Herr Friedemann»
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Кестлер Артур (Artur Koestler)
«Тринадцатое колено. Крушение империи хазар и ее наследие»
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Дафна Дю Морье (Daphne du Maurier)
«Доля секунды»
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... The orderly felt he was connected with that figure
moving so suddenly on horseback: he followed it like a shadow, mute
and inevitable and damned by it. And the officer was always aware of the
tramp of the company behind, the march of his orderly among the men.
The Captain was a tall man of about forty, grey at the temples. He had
a handsome, finely knit figure, and was one of the best horsemen in
the West. His orderly, having to rub him down, admired the amazing
riding-muscles of his loins.
For the rest, the orderly scarcely noticed the officer any more than he
noticed, himself. It was rarely he saw his master's face: he did not
look at it. The Captain had reddish-brown, stilt hair, that he wore
short upon his skull. His moustache was also cut short and bristly
over a full, brutal mouth. His face was rather rugged, the cheeks thin.
Perhaps the man was the more handsome for the deep lines in his face,
the irritable tension of his brow, which gave him the look of a man who
fights with life. His fair eyebrows stood bushy over light blue eyes
that were always flashing with cold fire.
He was a Prussian aristocrat, haughty and overbearing. But his mother
had been a Polish Countess. Having made too many gambling debts when
he was young, he had ruined his prospects in the Army, and remained an
infantry captain. He had never married: his position did not allow
of it, and no woman had ever moved him to it. His time he spent
riding—occasionally he rode one of his own horses at the races—and at
the officers club. Now and then he took himself a mistress. But after
such an event, he returned to duty with his brow still more tense, his
eyes still more hostile and irritable. With the men, however, he was
merely impersonal, though a devil when roused; so that, on the whole,
they feared him, but had no great aversion from him. They accepted him
as the inevitable.
To his orderly he was at first cold and just and indifferent: he did not
fuss over trifles...
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