[English] Librivox samples - Audiobooks for public domain literature
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EnglishVoice Age
Young Adult (18-35)Accents
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On, sped the ship, and after a while the slaves came and dashed their buckets over him and the viking. Brought them food and drink. On the very edge of the sleep horn drone, Kenton slumped down upon the bench, face on forearms, his silken cylinders hidden under thumbs. Swiftly, he slipped them in his ears. Then he let every muscle go limp. The droning diminished to a faint, hardly heard humming. Even so, a languor crept through him. He fought it. In it, there was none of that inexorable slumbering command that saturated the horns full note. He beat the languor back. The humming ceased. He heard the overseer go by him, looked after him through half-raised lids, saw him ascend the pit steps and pass over the deck to Klaneth's cabin. The black deck was empty. As though shifting in slumber, Kenton rolled over, threw an arm across the back of the bench, rested his head upon it, and through lowered lashes took stock of what lay behind him.
"You're sweet on that kid", said Nettlebeck with borrowed sarcasm. "It's about the only soft spot you've got, but if you make him sick again on coconut cake, and his father finds it out, he'll be packed off. I'll give you that."
On this shelf of the world, he could live into old age, pack his avid brain with the master thoughts of other men, and one day, possibly give to the world a thought system of his own.
He heard a little gasp of relief, another murmuring from the servants. And then Jevins spoke again. "I was passing and heard you cry out, sir! A dreadful cry. Are you ill?" Fiercely, Kenton strove against a racking weakness. Managed to laugh. "Why, no! I fell asleep. I had a nightmare and woke up yelling. Don't worry! Go to bed!" "Oh, it was that?" The relief in Jevins voice was greater, but the doubt was not altogether gone. He did not withdraw, stood there, hesitating.
"The snob is a man who furnishes comedy for others and tragedy for himself." Fessenden's eyes were a hard blue stare, but experience has taught him that when his father was cryptic, he did not intend to be questioned further.
Far, far away, thin and cold as tip of frost glance upon glass. Ghostly and unreal coming from immeasurable distances. He heard Gigi's voice, "Wolf! I hear you wolf! Where are you?" His mind clung to that thread of sound as though it were a line flung to him over vast abysses. "Wolf come to us!" The voice was stronger. "Gigi, Gigi help me to you." The two voices that far flung, thin, cold one, and his own met and clung and knit. This stretched over that gulf that lay between where he stood and the unknown dimension in which sailed the ship. Now the little figure no longer squatted. It was upright. It was larger, louder rang Gigi's voice. "Wolf come to us! We hear you come to us." Then, as though it chanted words of power, "Sharane, Sharane, Sharane!" Under the lash of the loved name, his will now streamed fiercely. "Gigi, Gigi keep calling!"