Хоббит
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Smauglay,withwingsfoldedlikeanimmeasurablebat,turnedpartlyononeside,sothatthehobbitcouldseehisunderpartsandhislongpalebellycrustedwithgemsandfragmentsofgoldfromhislonglyingonhiscostlybed.Behindhimwherethewallswerenearestcoulddimlybeseencoatsofmail,helmsandaxes,swordsandspearshanging;andthereinrowsstoodgreatjarsandvesselsfilledwithawealththatcouldnotbeguessed.TosaythatBilbo’sbreathwastakenawayisnodescriptionatall.Therearenowordslefttoexpresshisstaggerment,sinceMenchangedthelanguagethattheylearnedofelvesinthedayswhenalltheworldwaswonderful.Bilbohadheardtellandsingofdragon-hoardsbefore,butthesplendour,thelust,thegloryofsuchtreasurehadneveryetcomehometohim.Hisheartwasfilledandpiercedwithenchantmentandwiththedesireofdwarves;andhegazedmotionless,almostforgettingthefrightfulguardian,atthegoldbeyondpriceandcount.
Hegazedforwhatseemedanage,beforedrawnalmostagainsthiswill,hestolefromtheshadowofthedoorway,acrossthefloortothenearestedgeofthemoundsoftreasure.Abovehimthesleepingdragonlay,adiremenaceeveninhissleep.Hegraspedagreattwo-handledcup,asheavyashecouldcarry,andcastonefearfuleyeupwards.Smaugstirredawing,openedaclaw,therumbleofhissnoringchangeditsnote.
ThenBilbofled.
