echoing roar of the walls hurtling toward them, while the young man, his fat body useless and no longer a protection, lay glued to the window of the engineer’s cabin, sucking in the abyss with his eyes, which he had opened wide for the first time. “What shall we do?” screamed the chief conductor again; to which, without turning his face from the spectacle as the two wads of cotton were blown upward with arrowlike swiftness by the monstrous draught that burst in of a sudden, the twenty-four-year-old replied with spectral serenity: “Nothing.'
Вы читаете The Tunnel
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