Хоббит
Out of the Frying-Pan into the Fire
Soonthelightoftheburningwasfaintbelow,aredtwinkleontheblackfloor;andtheywerehighupinthesky,risingallthetimeinstrongsweepingcircles.Bilboneverforgotthatflight,clingingontoDori’sankles.
Hemoaned"myarms,myarms!";butDorigroaned"mypoorlegs,mypoorlegs!"AtthebestoftimesheightsmadeBilbogiddy.Heusedtoturnqueerifhelookedovertheedgeofquitealittlecliff;andhehadneverlikedladders,letalonetrees(neverhavinghadtoescapefromwolvesbefore).Soyoucanimaginehowhisheadswamnow,whenhelookeddownbetweenhisdanglingtoesandsawthedarklandsopeningwideunderneathhim,touchedhereandtherewiththelightofthemoononahill-siderockorastreamintheplains.
Thepalepeaksofthemountainswerecomingnearer,moonlitspikesofrockstickingoutofblackshadows.Summerornot,itseemedverycold.Heshuthiseyesandwonderedifhecouldholdonanylonger.Thenheimaginedwhatwouldhappenifhedidnot.Hefeltsick.Theflightendedonlyjustintimeforhim,justbeforehisarmsgaveway.HeloosedDori’sankleswithagaspandfellontotheroughplatformofaneagle’seyrie.Therehelaywithoutspeaking,andhisthoughtswereamixtureofsurpriseatbeingsavedfromthefire,andfearlesthefelloffthatnarrowplaceintothedeepshadowsoneitherside.Hewasfeelingveryqueerindeedinhisheadbythistimeafterthedreadfuladventuresofthelastthreedayswithnexttonothingtoeat,andhefoundhimselfsayingaloud:"NowIknowwhatapieceofbaconfeelslikewhenitissuddenlypickedoutofthepanonaforkandputbackontheshelf!"
"Noyoudon’t!"beheardDorianswering,"becausethebaconknowsthatitwillgetbackinthepansoonerorlater;anditistobehopedweshan’t.Alsoeaglesaren’tforks!"
