Английский с Шерлоком Холмсом. Человек с рассеченной губой / Arthur Conan Doyle. Sherlock Holmes - стр. 12
(и тем не менее, он сидел по-прежнему погруженным в себя), very thin, very wrinkled, bent with age (очень худой, очень морщинистый, согнутый возрастом = под тяжестью лет), an opium pipe dangling down from between his knees (опиумная трубка свисала у него между колен), as though it had dropped in sheer lassitude from his fingers (словно вывалившись в полной апатии из его пальцев). I took two steps forward and looked back (я сделал два шага вперед и оглянулся). It took all my self-control to prevent me from breaking out into a cry of astonishment (потребовалось все мое самообладание, чтобы сдержать меня от того, чтобы я разразился криком удивления). He had turned his back so that none could see him but I (он повернул свою спину так, чтобы никто не мог видеть его /лицо/, кроме меня). His form had filled out (его фигура пополнела), his wrinkles were gone (его морщины ушли), the dull eyes had regained their fire (тусклые глаза вновь обрели свой /привычный/ блеск), and there, sitting by the fire and grinning at my surprise (сидящим у огня и ухмыляющимся над моим удивлением), was none other than Sherlock Holmes (был не кто иной, как Шерлок Холмс). He made a slight motion to me to approach him (он сделал легкое движение = знак мне, чтобы я приблизился к нему), and instantly, as he turned his face half round to the company once more (и тотчас, повернувшись снова лицом вполоборота к присутствующим), subsided into a doddering, loose-lipped senility (превратился в дрожащего с отвисшей губой старика; to subside – погрузиться, упасть; senility – старость, дряхлость).
narrow ['nærəʋ], breath [breθ], wrinkled ['rɪŋkld], lassitude ['læsɪtju:d], senility [sɪ'nɪlǝtɪ]
I walked down the narrow passage between the double row of sleepers, holding my breath to keep out the vile, stupefying fumes of the drug, and looking about for the manager. As I passed the tall man who sat by the brazier I felt a sudden pluck at my skirt, and a low voice whispered, “Walk past me, and then look back at me.” The words fell quite distinctly upon my ear. I glanced down. They could only have come from the old man at my side, and yet he sat now as absorbed as ever, very thin, very wrinkled, bent with age, an opium pipe dangling down from between his knees, as though it had dropped in sheer lassitude from his fingers. I took two steps forward and looked back. It took all my self-control to prevent me from breaking out into a cry of astonishment. He had turned his back so that none could see him but I. His form had filled out, his wrinkles were gone, the dull eyes had regained their fire, and there, sitting by the fire and grinning at my surprise, was none other than Sherlock Holmes. He made a slight motion to me to approach him, and instantly, as he turned his face half round to the company once more, subsided into a doddering, loose-lipped senility.