JК
Bag of Bones :: Кинг Стивен
Страница: 394 из 425“Make a sound and I’ll cut your nose off,” he says, and that’s when she gives up. They have brought her down after all, partly because she laughed at the wrong time, mostly out of pure buggardly bad luck. Now they will not be stopped, and best that Kito should stay away—please God keep him back where he was, it was a good patch of berries, one that should keep him occupied an hour or more. He loves berry-picking, and it won’t take these men an hour. Harry Auster yanks her hair back, tears her dress off one shoulder, and begins to sucker on her neck.
Ole massa the only one not at her. Old massa standing back, looking both ways along The Street, his eyes slitted and wary; old massa look like a mangy timber-wolf done eaten a whole generation of chickenhouse chickens while managing to avoid every trap and snare. “Hey Irish, quit on her a minute,” he tells Harry, then widens his wise gaze to the others. “Get her in the puckies, you damn jols. Get her in there deep.”
They don’t. They can’t. They are too eager to have her. They arm-yank her behind the Jrehead of gray rock and call it good. She doesn’t pray easily but she prays now. She prays r them to let her live. She prays]r Kito to stay clear, to keep filling his bucket slow by eating every third handful. She prays that if he does take a notion to catch up with her, he will see what’s happening and run the other way as fast as he can, run silent and get Reg. “Stick this in your mouth,” George Armbruster pants. ’?lnd don’t you bite me, you bitch.” They take her top and bottom, back and front, two and three at a time. They take her where anybody coming along can’t help but see them, and ole massa stands off a little, looking first at the panting young men grouped around her, kneeling with their trousers down and their thighs scratched from the bushes they are kneeling in, then he peers up and down the path with his wild and wary eyes. Incredibly, one of them—it is Fred Dean—says “Sorry, ma’am” after he’s shot his load Jeh like halfway up to east bejeezus. It’s as if he accidentally kicked her in the shin while crossing his legs. And it doesn’t end. There’s come down her throat, come running down the crack of her ass, the young one has bitten the blood right out of her leso breast, and it doesn’t end. They are young, and by the time the last one has finished, the first one, oh God, the first one is ready again. Across the river the Methodists are now singing “Blessed Assurance, Jesus Is Mine” and as ole massa approaches her she thinks, It’s almost over, woman, he the last, hold on hold steady and it be over.
Ole massa the only one not at her. Old massa standing back, looking both ways along The Street, his eyes slitted and wary; old massa look like a mangy timber-wolf done eaten a whole generation of chickenhouse chickens while managing to avoid every trap and snare. “Hey Irish, quit on her a minute,” he tells Harry, then widens his wise gaze to the others. “Get her in the puckies, you damn jols. Get her in there deep.”
They don’t. They can’t. They are too eager to have her. They arm-yank her behind the Jrehead of gray rock and call it good. She doesn’t pray easily but she prays now. She prays r them to let her live. She prays]r Kito to stay clear, to keep filling his bucket slow by eating every third handful. She prays that if he does take a notion to catch up with her, he will see what’s happening and run the other way as fast as he can, run silent and get Reg. “Stick this in your mouth,” George Armbruster pants. ’?lnd don’t you bite me, you bitch.” They take her top and bottom, back and front, two and three at a time. They take her where anybody coming along can’t help but see them, and ole massa stands off a little, looking first at the panting young men grouped around her, kneeling with their trousers down and their thighs scratched from the bushes they are kneeling in, then he peers up and down the path with his wild and wary eyes. Incredibly, one of them—it is Fred Dean—says “Sorry, ma’am” after he’s shot his load Jeh like halfway up to east bejeezus. It’s as if he accidentally kicked her in the shin while crossing his legs. And it doesn’t end. There’s come down her throat, come running down the crack of her ass, the young one has bitten the blood right out of her leso breast, and it doesn’t end. They are young, and by the time the last one has finished, the first one, oh God, the first one is ready again. Across the river the Methodists are now singing “Blessed Assurance, Jesus Is Mine” and as ole massa approaches her she thinks, It’s almost over, woman, he the last, hold on hold steady and it be over.