Хоббит

           andatlast,afteradreadfulstruggleinadifficultplacewherethereseemedtobenoconvenientbranchesatall,hegotnearthetop.Allthetimehewaswonderingwhethertherewerespidersinthetree,andhowhewasgoingtogetdownagain(exceptbyfalling).

           Intheendhepokedhisheadabovetheroofofleaves,andthenhefoundspidersallright.Buttheywereonlysmallonesofordinarysize,andtheywereafterthebutterflies.Bilbo’seyeswerenearlyblindedbythelight.Hecouldhearthedwarvesshoutingupathimfromfarbelow,buthecouldnotanswer,onlyholdonandblink.Thesunwasshiningbrilliantly,anditwasalongwhilebeforehecouldbearit.Whenhecould,hesawallroundhimaseaofdarkgreen,ruffledhereandtherebythebreeze;andtherewereeverywherehundredsofbutterflies.Iexpecttheywereakindof’purpleemperor,’abutterflythatlovesthetopsofoak-woods,butthesewerenotpurpleatall,theywereadarkdarkvelvetyblackwithoutanymarkingstobeseen.Helookedatthe’blackemperors’foralongtime,andenjoyedthefeelofthebreezeinhishairandonhisface;butatlengththecriesofthedwarves,whowerenowsimplystampingwithimpatiencedownbelow,remindedhimofhisrealbusiness.Itwasnogood.Gazeasmuchashemight,hecouldseenoendtothetreesandtheleavesinanydirection.Hisheart,thathadbeenlightenedbythesightofthesunandthefeelofthewind,sankbackintohistoes:therewasnofoodtogobacktodownbelow.

           Actually,asIhavetoldyou,theywerenotfarofftheedgeoftheforest;andifBilbohadhadthesensetoseeit,thetreethathehadclimbed,thoughitwastallinitself,wasstandingnearthebottomofawidevalley,sothatfromitstopthetreesseemedtoswellupallroundliketheedgesofagreatbowl,andhecouldnotexpecttoseehowfartheforestlasted.Stillhedidnotseethis,andheclimbeddownfullofdespair.