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Las aventuras de Tom Sawyer
Capítulo 9, Página 1
At
half-past
nine
that
night,
Tom
and
Sid
were
sent
to
bed,
as
usual.
They
said
their
prayers,
and
Sid
quickly
fell
asleep.
Tom
lay
awake,
full
of
restless
impatience.
When
he
thought
it
must
almost
be
morning,
he
heard
the
clock
strike
ten!
He
felt
despair.
He
wanted
to
toss
and
turn,
as
his
nerves
demanded,
but
he
was
afraid
of
waking
Sid.
So
he
lay
still,
staring
into
the
dark.
Everything
was
eerily
quiet.
Gradually,
small,
barely
noticeable
sounds
began
to
stand
out.
The
clock's
ticking
became
noticeable.
Old
beams
started
to
crack
mysteriously.
The
stairs
creaked
softly.
It
seemed
like
spirits
were
about.
A
muffled
snore
came
from
Aunt
Polly’s
room.
Then
the
annoying
chirping
of
a
cricket,
impossible
to
locate,
began.
Next,
the
eerie
ticking
of
a
death-watch
beetle
in
the
wall
made
Tom
shiver—it
meant
someone’s
days
were
numbered.
Then
the
distant
howl
of
a
dog
rose
in
the
night
air,
answered
by
a
fainter
howl
from
farther
away.
Tom
was
in
agony.
Finally,
he
was
convinced
time
had
stopped
and
eternity
begun;
he
started
to
doze
off.
The
clock
chimed
eleven,
but
he
didn’t
hear
it.
Then,
mingling
with
his
half-formed
dreams,
came
a
mournful
caterwauling.
The
sound
of
a
nearby
window
opening
disturbed
him.
A
shout
of
“Scat!
you
devil!”
and
the
crash
of
a
bottle
against
the
back
of
his
aunt’s
woodshed
woke
him
fully.
A
minute
later,
he
was
dressed,
out
the
window,
and
creeping
along
the
roof
on
all
fours.
He
“meowed”
cautiously
once
or
twice
as
he
went,
then
jumped
to
the
woodshed
roof
and
down
to
the
ground.
Huckleberry
Finn
was
there,
with
his
dead
cat.
The
boys
moved
off
and
disappeared
into
the
darkness.
Half
an
hour
later,
they
were
wading
through
the
tall
grass
of
the
graveyard.
It
was
a
graveyard
of
the
old-fashioned
Western
kind,
on
a
hill
about
a
mile
and
a
half
from
the
village.
A
rickety
board
fence
surrounded
it,
leaning
inward
in
places
and
outward
elsewhere,
but
never
standing
upright.
Grass
and
weeds
grew
thick
over
the
entire
cemetery.
All
the
old
graves
were
sunken
in,
and
there
wasn’t
a
tombstone
anywhere;
round-topped,
worm-eaten
boards
leaned
over
the
graves,
looking
for
support
and
finding
none.
“Sacred
to
the
memory
of”
So-and-So
had
once
been
painted
on
them,
but
now
they
couldn’t
be
read,
even
if
there
had
been
light.
A
faint
wind
moaned
through
the
trees,
and
Tom
feared
it
might
be
the
spirits
of
the
dead,
complaining
about
being
disturbed.
The
boys
spoke
little,
and
only
in
whispers,
because
the
time,
place,
and
overwhelming
silence
weighed
on
their
spirits.
They
found
the
fresh
grave
they
were
looking
for
and
settled
themselves
within
the
protection
of
three
large
elms
that
grew
close
together
near
the
grave.
Then
they
waited
in
silence
for
what
felt
like
a
long
time.
The
distant
hoot
of
an
owl
was
the
only
sound
that
broke
the
dead
stillness.
Tom’s
thoughts
became
oppressive.
He
needed
to
force
some
conversation.
So
he
whispered:
“Hucky,
do
you
think
the
dead
people
like
us
being
here?”
Huckleberry
whispered
back:
“I
wish
I
knew.
It’s
awfully
solemn,
isn’t
it?”
“I
bet
it
is.”
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Las aventuras de Tom Sawyer — B2 Inglés | Cuentana