Человек-невидимка / The Invisible Man + аудиоприложение

They were the best boots he had had for a long time, but too large for him. Mr. Thomas Marvel hated roomy shoes, but he hated damp as well. But he could not understand which he hated most, and it was a pleasant day, and there was nothing better to do. So he put the four shoes in a group on the turf and looked at them. And seeing them there among the grass, it suddenly occurred to him that both pairs were ugly to see. He was not at all startled by a voice behind him.

“They’re boots, anyhow,” said the Voice.

“They are-charity boots,” said Mr. Thomas Marvel; “and I can’t decide which is the ugliest pair here.”

“Hm,” said the Voice.

“I’ve worn worse boots. But not so ugly. My old boots-I am sick of them. They’re good enough, of course. And if you’ll believe me, I’ve got nothing in the whole country, but these boots. Look at them! Ugly, right? What a country! What people!”

“It’s a terrible country,” said the Voice. “And people are like pigs.”

“That’s it!” said Mr. Thomas Marvel.

He turned his head to the right, to look at the boots of his interlocutor, and lo! Where the boots of his interlocutor should have been were neither legs nor boots. He was in a great amazement.

“Where are you?” said Mr. Thomas Marvel over his shoulder. “Am I drunk? Have I had visions? Was I talking to myself? What the-”

“Don’t be alarmed,” said a Voice.

“None of your jokes,” said Mr. Thomas Marvel, rising sharply to his feet. “Where are you?”

“Don’t be alarmed,” repeated the Voice.

“You’ll be alarmed in a minute, you silly fool,” said Mr. Thomas Marvel. “Where are you? Let me catch you.”

There was no answer. Mr. Thomas Marvel stood bootless and amazed.

“Peewit,” said a peewit, very remote.

“Peewit, indeed!” said Mr. Thomas Marvel. “This is no time for foolery.”

The field was desolate, east and west, north and south; the road ran smooth and empty north and south, and, save for that peewit, the blue sky was empty too.

“I know,” said Mr. Thomas Marvel, shuffling his coat on to his shoulders again. “It’s the alcohol! I might have known.”

“It’s not the alcohol,” said the Voice. “Don’t worry.”

“Oh!” said Mr. Marvel, and his face grew white. “It’s the alcohol!” his lips repeated noiselessly. He remained staring about him, rotating slowly backwards. “I could have sworn I heard a voice,” he whispered.

“Of course you did.”

“It’s there again,” said Mr.