TAILIEUCHUNG - The Man Who Laughs VICTOR HUGO PART 1 BOOK 3 CHAPTER 2

The Man Who Laughs VICTOR HUGO PART 1 BOOK 3 CHAPTER 2 Đây là một tác phẩm anh ngữ nổi tiếng với những từ vựng nâng cao chuyên ngành văn chương. Nhằm giúp các bạn yêu thich tiếng anh luyện tập và củng cố thêm kỹ năng đọc tiếng anh . | The Man Who Laughs VICTOR HUGO PART 1 BOOK 3 CHAPTER 2 The Effect of Snow He journeyed some time along this course. Unfortunately the footprints were becoming less and less distinct. Dense and fearful was the falling of the snow. It was the time when the hooker was so distressed by the snow-storm at sea. The child in distress like the vessel but after another fashion had in the inextricable intersection of shadows which rose up before him no resource but the footsteps in the snow and he held to it as the thread of a labyrinth. Suddenly whether the snow had filled them up or for some other reason the footsteps ceased. All became even level smooth without a stain without a detail. There was now nothing but a white cloth drawn over the earth and a black one over the sky. It seemed as if the foot-passenger had flown away. The child in despair bent down and searched but in vain. As he arose he had a sensation of hearing some indistinct sound but he could not be sure of it. It resembled a voice a breath a shadow. It was more human than animal more sepulchral than living. It was a sound but the sound of a dream. He looked but saw nothing. Solitude wide naked and livid was before him. He listened. That which he had thought he heard had faded away. Perhaps it had been but fancy. He still listened. All was silent. There was illusion in the mist. He went on his way again. He walked forward at random with nothing henceforth to guide him. As he moved away the noise began again. This time he could doubt it no longer. It was a groan almost a sob. He turned. He searched the darkness of space with his eyes. He saw nothing. The sound arose once more. If limbo could cry out it would cry in such a tone. Nothing so penetrating so piercing so feeble as the voice--for it was a voice. It arose from a soul. There was palpitation in the murmur. Nevertheless it seemed uttered almost unconsciously. It was an appeal of suffering not knowing that it suffered or that it appealed. The .

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