The ground was hard, the air was st

The ground was hard, the air was still, my road was lonely. I walked fast till I
got warm, and then I walked slowly to enjoy and analyze the species of pleasure
brooding for me in the hour and situation. It was three o’clock; the church bell tolled
as I passed under the belfry: the charm of the hour lay in its approaching dimness, in
the low-gliding and pale-beaming sun. I was a mile from Thornfield; in a lane noted
for wild roses in summer, for nuts and blackberries in autumn, and even now
possessing a few coral treasures in hips and haws, but whose best winter delight lay
in its utter solitude and leafless repose. If a breath of air stirred, it made no sound
here. Far and wide, on each side, there were only fields, where no cattle now
browsed; and the little brown birds, which stirred occasionally in the hedge, looked
like single russet leaves that had forgotten to drop.
On the hill-top above me sat the rising moon: pale yet as a cloud, but
brightening momentarily, she looked over Hay, which, half lost in trees, sent up a
blue smoke from its few chimneys. It was yet a mile distant, but in the absolute hush I
could hear plainly its thin murmurs of life.
A rude noise broke on these fine ripplings and whisperings, at once so far away
and so clear — a positive tramp, tramp, a metallic clatter, which effaced the soft
wave-wanderings as, in a picture, the solid mass of a crag, or the rough boles of a
great oak, drawn in dark and strong on the foreground, efface the aerial distance of
azure hill, sunny horizon, and blended clouds where tint melts into tint.

Результаты (английский) 1:

The ground was hard, the air was still, my road was lonely. I walked fast till Igot warm, and then I walked slowly to enjoy and analyze the species of pleasurebrooding for me in the hour and situation. It was three o'clock; the church bell tolledas I passed under the belfry: the charm of the hour lay in its dimness, in approachingthe low-gliding and pale-beaming sun. I was a mile from Thornfield; in a lane notedfor wild roses in the summer, for nuts and blackberries in autumn, and even nowpossessing a few coral treasures in hips and haws, but whose best winter delight layin its utter solitude and leafless repose. If a breath of air stirred, it made no soundhere. Far and wide, on each side, there were only fields where no cattle nowbrowsed; and the little brown birds, which stirred occasionally in the hedge, lookedlike single russet leaves that had forgotten to drop.On the hill-top above me sat the rising moon: pale yet as a cloud, butbrightening momentarily, she looked over the Hay, which, half lost in the trees, sent up ablue smoke from its few chimneys. It was yet a mile distant, but in the absolute hush Icould hear plainly its thin murmurs of life.A rude noise broke on these fine ripplings and whisperings, so far away at onceand so is a clear positive tramp, tramp, a metallic clatter, which effaced the softwave-wanderings as, in a picture, the solid mass of a crag, or the rough of a bolesgreat oak, drawn in dark and strong on the foreground, efface the aerial distance ofazure hill, sunny horizon, and blended clouds where tint melts into tint.

Результаты (английский) 3:

the ground was hard, the air was still, my road is lonely. i walked fast till igot warm, and then i walked slowly to enjoy simply, and the species of the familythere for me in the hour and situation. it was three o "clock; the church bell tolledas i passed under the belfry: the charm of the night lay in its approaching dimness, inthe low gliding and pale - beaming sun. i was a mile from Thornfield; in a lane notedfor wild roses in summer, for nuts and you in autumn, and even nowpossessing a few coral treasures in hips and haws, but whose best winter delight layin its utter solitude and leafless repose. if a breath of air stirred, it made no sound.here. far and wide, on each side, there were only fields, where no cattle.browsed; and the little brown birds, which stirred it in the hedge, convenienta single russet leaves that had forgotten to drop.on the hill top above me sat the rising moon: pale yet as a cloud, butbrightening momentarily, she looked over hay, which, half lost in trees, sent up ablue smoke from its few chimneys. it was a cold and distant, but in the absolute hush ias there plainly its thin murmurs of life.a about noise broke on these fine ripplings and whisperings, at once so far awayand so clear - a positive tramp, tramp, a metallic clatter, which effaced the softwave wanderings as, in a picture, the solid mass of a crag, or the compromise of a bolesgreat oak, drawn in dark and strong on the foreground, efface the aerial distance ofazure hill, sunny horizon, and blended clouds where tint melts into tint.