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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
was
soon
asleep.
Tom
lay
awake
and
waited,
in
restless
impatience.
When
it
seemed
to
him
that
it
must
be
nearly
daylight,
he
heard
the
clock
strike
ten!
This
was
despair.
He
would
have
tossed
and
fidgeted,
as
his
nerves
demanded,
but
he
was
afraid
he
might
wake
Sid.
So
he
lay
still,
and
stared
up
into
the
dark.
Everything
was
dismally
still.
By
and
by,
out
of
the
stillness,
little,
scarcely
perceptible
noises
began
to
emphasize
themselves.
The
ticking
of
the
clock
began
to
bring
itself
into
notice.
Old
beams
began
to
crack
mysteriously.
The
stairs
creaked
faintly.
Evidently
spirits
were
abroad.
A
measured,
muffled
snore
issued
from
Aunt
Polly’s
chamber.
And
now
the
tiresome
chirping
of
a
cricket
that
no
human
ingenuity
could
locate,
began.
Next
the
ghastly
ticking
of
a
death-watch
in
the
wall
at
the
bed’s
head
made
Tom
shudder—it
meant
that
somebody’s
days
were
numbered.
Then
the
howl
of
a
far-off
dog
rose
on
the
night
air,
and
was
answered
by
a
fainter
howl
from
a
remoter
distance.
Tom
was
in
an
agony.
At
last
he
was
satisfied
that
time
had
ceased
and
eternity
begun;
he
began
to
doze,
in
spite
of
himself;
the
clock
chimed
eleven,
but
he
did
not
hear
it.
And
then
there
came,
mingling
with
his
half-formed
dreams,
a
most
melancholy
caterwauling.
The
raising
of
a
neighboring
window
disturbed
him.
A
cry
of
“Scat!
you
devil!”
and
the
crash
of
an
empty
bottle
against
the
back
of
his
aunt’s
woodshed
brought
him
wide
awake,
and
a
single
minute
later
he
was
dressed
and
out
of
the
window
and
creeping
along
the
roof
of
the
“ell”
on
all
fours.
He
“meow’d”
with
caution
once
or
twice,
as
he
went;
then
jumped
to
the
roof
of
the
woodshed
and
thence
to
the
ground.
Huckleberry
Finn
was
there,
with
his
dead
cat.
The
boys
moved
off
and
disappeared
in
the
gloom.
At
the
end
of
half
an
hour
they
were
wading
through
the
tall
grass
of
the
graveyard.
It
was
a
graveyard
of
the
old-fashioned
Western
kind.
It
was
on
a
hill,
about
a
mile
and
a
half
from
the
village.
It
had
a
crazy
board
fence
around
it,
which
leaned
inward
in
places,
and
outward
the
rest
of
the
time,
but
stood
upright
nowhere.
Grass
and
weeds
grew
rank
over
the
whole
cemetery.
All
the
old
graves
were
sunken
in,
there
was
not
a
tombstone
on
the
place;
round-topped,
worm-eaten
boards
staggered
over
the
graves,
leaning
for
support
and
finding
none.
“Sacred
to
the
memory
of”
So-and-So
had
been
painted
on
them
once,
but
it
could
no
longer
have
been
read,
on
the
most
of
them,
now,
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
at
being
disturbed.
The
boys
talked
little,
and
only
under
their
breath,
for
the
time
and
the
place
and
the
pervading
solemnity
and
silence
oppressed
their
spirits.
They
found
the
sharp
new
heap
they
were
seeking,
and
ensconced
themselves
within
the
protection
of
three
great
elms
that
grew
in
a
bunch
within
a
few
feet
of
the
grave.
Then
they
waited
in
silence
for
what
seemed
a
long
time.
The
hooting
of
a
distant
owl
was
all
the
sound
that
troubled
the
dead
stillness.
Tom’s
reflections
grew
oppressive.
He
must
force
some
talk.
So
he
said
in
a
whisper:
“Hucky,
do
you
believe
the
dead
people
like
it
for
us
to
be
here?”
Huckleberry
whispered:
“I
wisht
I
knowed.
It’s
awful
solemn
like,
ain’t
it?”
“I
bet
it
is.”
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Las aventuras de Tom Sawyer — C1 Inglés | Cuentana