Английский с Г. К. Честертоном. Рассказы об отце Брауне / Gilbert Keith Chesterton. The Innocence of Father Brown

Честертон Гилберт Кийт

 There is so much good and evil in breaking secrets, that I put my conduct to a test. All these newspapers will perish; the anti-Brazil boom is already over; Olivier is already honoured everywhere. But I told myself that if anywhere, by name, in metal or marble that will endure like the pyramids, Colonel Clancy, or Captain Keith, or President Olivier, or any innocent man was wrongly blamed, then I would speak. If it were only that St. Clare was wrongly praised, I would be silent. And I will.”

They plunged into the red-curtained tavern, which was not only cosy, but even luxurious inside (они

вошли в таверну с красными занавесками, которая оказалась внутри не только уютной, но даже роскошной; to plunge – нырять; погружаться; luxury – богатство, пышность, роскошь). On a table stood a silver model of the tomb of St. Clare, the silver head bowed, the silver sword broken (на столе стояла серебряная копия памятника с могилы Сент-Клэра: серебряная голова склонена, серебряная шпага сломана; tomb – могила; надгробие; надгробный памятник; to bow – нагибать; склонять). On the walls were coloured photographs of the same scene, and of the system of wagonettes that took tourists to see it (на стенах были /развешены/ цветные

фотографии той же самой сцены, а также /фотографии/, на которых были экипажи, в которых туристы ездили осматривать могилу; wagonette – линейка /экипаж с двумя продольными сиденьями/). They sat down on the comfortable padded benches (они /отец Браун и Фламбо/ сели на удобные мягкие скамьи; pad – набивка).

“Come, it’s cold (ну и холод; come – ну /восклицание/),” cried Father Brown (воскликнул отец Браун); “let’s have some wine or beer (давайте выпьем вина или пива).”

“Or brandy (или бренди),” said Flambeau.

 They plunged into the red-curtained tavern, which was not only cosy, but even luxurious inside. On a table stood a silver model of the tomb of St. Clare, the silver head bowed, the silver sword broken. On the walls were coloured photographs of the same scene, and of the system of wagonettes that took tourists to see it. They sat down on the comfortable padded benches.

“Come, it’s cold,” cried Father Brown; “let’s have some wine or beer.”

“Or brandy,” said Flambeau.