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05.04.2020 13:50

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Нужно перевести текст до 10 предложений Conway never exactly remembered how he and the others arrived at the monastery, or how they were greeted and led into the grounds. The thin air was dream-like and matched the light blue of the sky. With every breath and every glance, he took in a deep relaxing feeling that made him unaware of Mallinson’s uneasiness, Barnard’s witty comments, and Miss Brinklow, who looked like a lady well prepared for the worst. He just about remembered being surprised at finding the inside of the monastery spacious, well warmed, and quite clean.
There was no time to do more than notice these qualities, for the Chinese had left his hooded chair and was already leading the way through different rooms. He was quite pleasant now. “I must apologise,” he said, “for leaving you to yourselves on the way, but the truth is, journeys of that kind don’t suit me, and I have to take care of myself. I hope you were not too tired?”
“We managed,” replied Conway with a tight smile.
“Excellent. And now, if you will come with me I will show you to your rooms. No doubt you would like baths. Our accommodation is simple, but comfortable. I hope.”
At this point Barnard, who was still affected by shortness of breath, chuckled. “Well,” he gasped, “I can’t say I like your climate yet – the air seems to stick on my chest a bit – but you’ve certainly got a fine view out of your front windows. Do we all have to line up for the bathroom, or is this an American hotel?”
“I think you will find everything quite satisfactory, Mr Barnard.”
Miss Brinklow nodded. “I should hope so, indeed.” “And afterwards,” continued the Chinese, “I should be greatly honoured if you will all join me at dinner.”
Conway replied politely. Only Mallinson had given no sign of his attitude in the face of these kind offers. Like Barnard, he had been suffering from breathing problems, but now, with an effort, he found breath to exclaim: “And afterwards, also, if you don’t mind, we’ll make our plans for getting away. The sooner the better, so far as I’m concerned.”
“So you see,” Chang was saying, “we are less barbarian than you expected.”
Conway, later that evening, was not willing to argue. He was enjoying that pleasant feeling of his body being relaxed but his mind being awake, which seemed to him, of all feelings, the most truly civilised. So far, Shangri-La had been all that he could have wished, certainly more than he could ever have expected. It was not so strange for a Tibetan monastery to have a system of central heating, but that it should combine the baths and cleaning facilities from the Western part of the world with tradition from the Eastern world struck him as amazing and rare. The bath, for instance, in which he had recently bathed, had been of a light green pottery from America. Yet the native servant had washed him in a Chinese way of cleaning his ears and nostrils and under his lower eyelids. He had wondered at the time if – and how – his three companions were receiving similar treatment.
Conway had lived for nearly ten years in China, not wholly in the bigger cities; and he counted it, all things considered, the happiest part of his life. He liked the Chinese, and felt at home with Chinese ways. He really liked Chinese cooking, with its subtle undertones of taste; and his first meal at Shangri-La had been familiar.