Приключения Тома Сойера

Chapter 9

           Itwasagraveyardoftheold-fashionedWesternkind. Itwasonahill,aboutamileandahalffromthevillage. Ithadacrazyboardfencearoundit,whichleanedinwardinplaces,andoutwardtherestofthetime,butstooduprightnowhere. Grassandweedsgrewrankoverthewholecemetery. Alltheoldgravesweresunkenin,therewasnotatombstoneontheplace; round-topped,worm-eatenboardsstaggeredoverthegraves,leaningforsupportandfindingnone. "Sacredtothememoryof"So-and-Sohadbeenpaintedonthemonce,butitcouldnolongerhavebeenread,onthemostofthem,now,eveniftherehadbeenlight. 

           Afaintwindmoanedthroughthetrees,andTomfeareditmightbethespiritsofthedead,complainingatbeingdisturbed. Theboystalkedlittle,andonlyundertheirbreath,forthetimeandtheplaceandthepervadingsolemnityandsilenceoppressedtheirspirits. Theyfoundthesharpnewheaptheywereseeking,andensconcedthemselveswithintheprotectionofthreegreatelmsthatgrewinabunchwithinafewfeetofthegrave. 

           Thentheywaitedinsilenceforwhatseemedalongtime. Thehootingofadistantowlwasallthesoundthattroubledthedeadstillness. Tom’sreflectionsgrewoppressive. Hemustforcesometalk. Sohesaidinawhisper: 

           "Hucky,doyoubelievethedeadpeoplelikeitforustobehere?" 

           Huckleberrywhispered: 

           "IwishtIknowed. It’sawfulsolemnlike,AIN’Tit?" 

           "Ibetitis." 

           Therewasaconsiderablepause,whiletheboyscanvassedthismatterinwardly. ThenTomwhispered: 

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