Лексика до тексту №4

to sleep a wink to take one's revenge

to step upon smb's foot to justify oneself

to get on smb's nerves to be out of a beaten way

to feel ashamed to fall upon evil days/times

TEXT №5 Дорога була дуже довга. Важкий туман обіймав двох мандрівників так, що на відстані витягнутої руки вони майже втрачали один одного з виду. Залишалось підтримувати голосну розмову, щоб не загубитись зовсім. Небезпека чекала їх на кожному кроці... Коли людина не має проблем і спокійно собі існує в теплій домівці, то вона не цінить життя. Більш того, інколи вона, повна матеріалізму, взагалі вважає, що життя нічого не варте. В ньому нема ніякого сенсу. Але, коли небезпека відчувається в кожному ударі серця, то філософія безпечного існування набуває нових відчуттів, а життя - справжнього сенсу... Перший з мандрівників раптово відчув щось жахливе попереду, але його нога повсковзнулась і загрузла між двома коріннями. Він закричав, але щось одразу штовхнуло його у прірву. Його супутник майже дві години намагався йому допомогти. Витягнувши свого друга з ями, він лише зітхнув з полегшенням і сказав: “Треба жити”. Той, кого було врятовано, хотів якось віддячити. Слова подяки вже були в нього на язиці, але він відчув, що це звучатиме банально. Він вирішив забути усе, як жахливий сон. В решті решт, рятувати одне одного вони зобов`язані. Кожному з них життя іншого було дорожче ніж своє.

ЛЕКСИКА ДО ТЕКСТУ №5

to be on the tip of the tongue

at the distance of

to sleep and stick

to embrace smb

to keep a loud speak

to push/blow

a nightmare

abyss

to value/appreciate

№ 1

For the tenth time in the last hour, Benji's stomach growled and twisted, reminding him that he was hungry. Even a drink of water would help. The liquid Dietrich had held to his nose in Houston had made his mouth and throat feel dry as dust.

When he and Tiffany were unloaded from the plane, Benji expected to see Mary, Paul, and Cindy smiling at him, but all he had seen was another cart piled high with suitcases. Then they were towed off to a big room.

Their cages were side by side on a counter, and Benji could hear Tiffany's low whimper, but he had no way of seeing her. Perhaps that was just as well because Tiffany looked terrible. She had barked and whimpered until she was exhausted, and now her head rested between her paws as she gazed forlornly out at the stacks of bags and boxes.

Somewhere across the room a bell rang…continued ringing repeatedly. Peering between two stacks of suitcase, Benji saw a man in coveralls pick up the telephone.

The man nodded as he listened. Then he frowned and looked off into the room.

Code 816

I. F. Love "For the Love of Benji"

№ 2

I remember that December afternoon as clearly as if I were there again now in the living room trimming the tree with Trissy. Light glowed and glimmered in the ornaments. Outside snow was falling. Mama sat on the couch opening Christmas cards that had just come in the mail.

I can still hear the soft sliding sound of cards coming from envelopes.

"Cousin Grace." Mama leaned forward and handed a card to Daddy.

"There's a note on the back," Mama added. "Aunt Sarah hasn't been feeling well. The cold weather, I suppose." Daddy lifted an eyebrow. He thought there was a lot more wrong with Mama's Aunt Sarah than cold weather could account for. But he didn't argue. He was feeling lazy and content in the warm Christmas room. Aunt Sarah was too far away, to worry about.

"Grace wonders if I could possibly get out for a visit before summer."

I hung a silver trumpet on a high branch. Only Daddy could reach the top, to put on the star.

"Actually, it might not be bad to go in the spring this year, when the girls have their spring vacation", Mama said thoughtfully. "It's always so hot at Aunt Sarah's in the summer."

Code 899

Carol Beach York "Revenge of the Dolls"

№ 3

I never did see Aunt Sarah's house in the wintertime.

I never saw the garden deep with snow, the ice formed between the flagstones of the path leading to the grape arbor. I never saw the woods silent and white. I never saw the road to town blown over with drifting snow, that winter place from which the Christmas card had come.

But I did at last see fires in the big old-fashioned fireplaces with brick hearths and clocks chiming on the mantelpieces.

We went for a week in early spring—Mama, Trissy, and I, and the weather was damp and chill. There was always a fire in the living room, and I liked to sit beside it and watch the flames. The blazing fire made the whole room beautiful. Light glowed on the polished tabletops, the brass jardinieres, and the oil paintings in their heavy frames.

And there was always a fire in Aunt Sarah's room upstairs. But the fire was less welcoming there. It cast mysterious shadows on the carpet, on the dark furniture, on the faces of the dolls—and made their glass eyes gleam like the eyes of wolves on the fringes of a campfire.

Code 873

Carol Beach York "Revenge of the Dolls"

№ 4

Cousin Grace came to meet our train. I saw her first, a thin, melancholy woman in a beaver coat. The rails were silvery with rain as the train ground to a stop, and through the rain-streaked windows I could see Cousin Grace appear in the dusk like an apparition with her dark eyes and pale cheeks. Her face floated there in the misty light, and I drew back from the window silently, though I had been about to cry out, "There she is, Mama. I see Cousin Grace."

Later Trissy and I sat in the back of the car, lost on the wide, velvety, dove-gray seat. No one had ever used the ashtrays set into thedoors. No fingerprints marred their chrome lids. No smudges stained the gray carpet at our feet.

Mama sat in front beside Cousin Grace. All we could see was the back of their heads. I watched the streets of town slip by and the desolate stretch of countryside begin. The fields and small patches of woods looked forsaken, forlorn. The trees were bare.

"Christina and Jason are coming tomorrow". Cousin Grace spoke to Mama in a somber tone.

Code 839

Carol Beach York "Revenge of the Dolls"

№ 5

Trissy and I sat on the floor by the fire. Full dark had fallen outside now, and the rain had stopped. Annie, the hired girl, was in the kitchen fixing dinner. It was a cozy moment in a gloomy house. I felt the room surrounding me like a cave of golden warmth in a countryside hushed now that the rain had stopped, lying blind under a starless sky.

Trissy's stockings drooped, a shoe was unlaced; the green of her dress cast reflections on her face in the firelight. I sat beside her, half listening to the low murmur of voices across the room. Mama and Cousin Grace were talking—the same things I had heard so many times before.

"I know it's been hard on you, Grace," Mama said.

"Things just seem to get worse." There was hopelessness in Cousin Grace's voice. "There's no way I can please her. She hardly goes out. And lately she doesn't want me to go out."

I glanced at Cousin Grace over my shoulder. What would it be like to live with someone who didn't want to go out? I went out all the time: to school, with its echoing corridors and the sound of locker doors closing, with its notices on the bulletin board…

Code 900

Carol Beach York "Revenge of the Dolls"

№ 6

I was going, but I didn't want to. My steps lagged as I followed Aunt Sarah up the stairs. I didn't like her room much. It was always stifling hot in the summertime, and often dark at midday with the shades down and the curtains drawn to keep out the sun. Ranged about in this dim summer twilight, amid the heavy claw-footed furniture, were the dolls. There were about twenty. One by one over the years Aunt Sarah had made them up in the attic and brought them down. Some were only ten or twelve inches high; some were larger. But they were all hideous. Their bodies were stuffed with rags and sewn together with haphazard stitching. A long arm, a short arm. Some dolls' arms were longer than their legs.

Aunt Sarah had made their clothes too, sewing them with uneven stitches from odds and ends of old velvet ribbon, cast-off dresses, scraps of once-white satin now aged and faded to yellow

But it was their faces I dreaded most. Bulging foreheads and sunken cheeks, glass buttons sewn on for eyes – often too close together or with one eye higher than the other.

Code 870

Carol Beach York "Revenge of the Dolls"

№ 7

The interior, bright with lamplight, proved to be more pretentious than the outside of the saloon. It had a flagstone floor, a bar with garish display of mirrors, paintings of nude women, bottles and glasses. Several roughly clad men were drinking, and ceased talking as Hays and his companion approached. In the back of the big room three cowboys lounged before an open fireplace where some fagots burned. There were several tables, unoccupied except for a man who lay face down on one. From an open door came the savory odor of fried bacon.

The men lined up at the bar, to be served drinks by Red, who was evidently bartender as well as proprietor. Wall missed nothing. Hays took his whisky straight and at a gulp; Happy Jack said, "Here's looking at you," and Lincoln sipped lingeringly. Whisky was not one of Wall's weaknesses; in fact, he could not afford to have any weakness. But he drank on politic occasions, of which this was more than usually one.

"Cow-puncher?" queried Lincoln, who stood next to Wall.

Code 838

Zane Grey "Robbers' Roost"

№ 8

It seemed to Jim Wall that this sally completed a definite conscious feeling in his mind toward the self-confessed robber. If it had not been dislike and disgust before, it certainly fixed at that now. Wall sensed a gathering interest in the situation he had happened upon. A thirst for adventure had played no small part in the event which had started him on his rolling-stone career.

Hays called for drinks and insisted on a handshake, which he executed solemnly, as if it were a compact, which implied honor even among thieves. Shortly afterward the saloon gradually began to fill with loud-voiced, heavily booted men.

Among them were Happy Jack, Lincoln, and a giant of a man with a russet beard, whom Hays introduced as Montana. He might have been a miner once, but his hand, which he offered agreeably, was too soft to have been lately associated with hard labor.

By tacit acceptance of a situation not vague to Wall", these men kept off to themselves, and were quiet and observing. Brad Lincoln had the hawk eyes of a man who was not going to be surprised.

Code 875

Zane Grey "Robbers' Roost"

№ 9

From the very first deal Hays was lucky. Morley stayed about even. Brad Lincoln lost more than he won. The giant Montana was a close, wary gambler, playing only when he had good cards. Stud was undoubtedly a player who required the stimulation and zest of opposition. But he could not wait for luck to change. He had to be in every hand. Moreover, he was not adept enough with the cards to deal himself a good hand when his turn came. He grew so sullen that Wall left off watching and returned to the fireside.

But presently he had cause to attend more keenly than ever to this card game. The drift of conversation, if it could be called that, and especially from the gambler, Stud, wore toward an inevitable fight. These men were vicious characters. Wall knew that life out here was raw. There was no law except that of the six-shooter. Back in Wyoming and Montana, where it was tough enough, Wall thought, there were certain restraints bound to affect any man.

Code 860

Zane Grey "Robbers' Roost"

№ 10

They parted. Jim Wall bent his cautious steps back to the barn. Presently his eyes became used to the darkness and he made better progress. But he was not passing any trees or bushes or corners, nor did he enter the barnyard by the gate. Nothing intervened to occasion more caution. He found his pack 'where he had left it, and carrying it out into the open he made his bed and lay down in it, after removing only his gun belt.

Then he reviewed the events of the day and evening. That brief occupation afforded him no pleasure. Nevertheless, he decided that he was glad he had fallen in with Hank Hays and his cronies. He had been a lone wolf for so long that the society of any class of men would have been relief. Well he knew, however, that soon he would be on the go again. He could not stay in one locality long, though there had been several places where he would have liked to spend the rest of his life. At least he was not indifferent to beautiful and peaceful country. The rub was that no place could long remain peaceful for Jim Wall. It would be so here in Utah.

Code 868

Zane Grey "Robbers' Roost"

№ 11

Jim had heard a faint, low murmur which had puzzled him, and which he had not recognized because he did not dismount. They all followed Lincoln, who halted at the mouth of every intersecting gorge to step away from his horse and listen. Eventually he led them into a narrow, high-walled canyon where ran the Dirty Devil. The water was muddy, the current mean, the sandbar treacherous, but as it was shallow the riders, by driving the pack-animals on a rim, and plunging after themselves, forded it without more mishap than a wetting. The great trouble with the horses was that they were so thirsty they would have mired down had they not been forced on. At last a gravelly bar afforded solid enough footing for the animals to drink, and the men to fill their water bags.

Still they were lost. There was nothing to do, however, but work up a side canyon, which fortunately did not break up into innumerable smaller canyons, as had those on the other side of the river. Eventually they got out, when Hays at once located himself and soon led them to a camp-site that never could have been expected there.

Code 900

Zane Grey "Robbers' Roost"

№ 12

They walked down the gravelled path together, Gail Warren and Connie Thurman, her friend, their skirts swinging jauntily, their sweaters glowing like bright-colored flowers in the warm spring sunshine. Before them the campus of Hartley Teachers College curved down in softly scalloped hills to meet the river, half a mile away. Behind them rose the ivy-covered walls of Main Hall, that gray rambling building which housed the offices of all the dignitaries who had inspired such respectful awe in the hearts of the girls upon their arrival, four years ago.

"It's almost over," Gail said.

"You do think of the most pleasant things," Connie told her. "Well do I remember the first day I was here I was homesick enough to die, and all the comfort you could offer me was to buck up — it was just for four years."

"Well, sure enough it was," Gail reminded her.

Four years!

That was a big piece out of one's life, Gail reflected. It sounded like a long time, but when she looked back on it the years seemed to melt into each other and it was no time at all.

Code 862

Loula Grace Erdman "Separate Star"

№ 13

The feeling that aunt Harriet did understand was one of the things that helped Gail through the trying weeks that followed. In spite of wagging tongues and raised eyebrows, the girl made no explanation of her action, partly because her own hurt was too great to discuss, partly because she believed that no one — neither friends nor acquaintances — would understand her motives. They would consider her decision a fool hardy gesture or a bid for approval, depending on their attitude toward her. Besides, she could not give her reasons without dragging Aunt Harriet's name through the mess, and that was the last thing she wanted.

Her aunt's response had been satisfactory and understanding.

"I understand and appreciate your position," she had written. "Go ahead and make a place for yourself, but remember I am ready to help whenever you call on me. Don't wait too long — there is such a thing as false pride, you know."

Many times, during the summer, Gail wondered if she were being guilty of that very thing.

Code 838

Loula Grace Erdman "Separate Star"

№ 14

Gail took the contract he held out to her, read it very carefully. Simple it was — merely her agreement to teach in the seventh and eighth grades of Clayton schools at eight-five dollars a month. What a little bit of money that was, balanced against the sum she had spent in her four years of preparation for teaching. But many girls were going into country and smaller town schools for less — girls who had spent thousands of dollars getting ready to teach. A stenographer with six months' training could hope for better pay. Nurses, with scarcely any expenses for study and training, looked forward to more remuneration. But, she reminded herself, she knew all these things before she started out to make a teacher of herself. Anyway, it was too late to turn back now. She fixed her signature firmly to the contract.

She handed it back to Ed Riley and looked out the dining-room window just in time to see a young man walking past the house. A tallish young man with dark hair, a pleasant intelligent face and a square jaw.

Code 841

Loula Grace Erdman "Separate Star"

№ 15

On one wall of the room hung a map of the world, yellowed and frayed at the edges; on another, the Flag of the United States, badly in need of a good dusting. Near by hung a picture of the Father of his Country, looking glumly down on his descendants as if he were wearing his heaviest and most painful pair of store teeth. Other wall decorations there were none, unless a long crack in the plaster, the shape of the Mississippi and its tributaries, might be classed as such. A spot the shape of the continent of Africa, relic of a long, long ago rain, splotched the ceiling.

This, then, was her domain, the setting for her first job. This scarred teacher's desk, with the straight chair sitting stiffly behind it, was the vantage point from which she was to dispense wisdom and knowledge to whatever small fry came through that door when the bell rang, as it was scheduled to do in just about one half hour from now. She shivered a little at the prospect.

"Hello," a cheerful voice called outside her door, "don't look like that. After all, your sentence is only for five days a week."

Code 885

Loula Grace Erdman "Separate Star"

Дата добавления: 2015-11-14