Îñîáåííîñòè ñòðîÿ è ýêñïðåññèâíîñòè ðàññêàçîâ Êýòðèí Ìýíñôèëä- ëèíãâèñòè÷åñêèé è äèäàêòè÷åñêèé àñïåêòû

“Yes, isn't it?” said Rosemary enthusiastically. “Vile.”

Philip smiled his charming smile. “As a matter of fact,” said he, “I wanted you to come into the library for a moment. Would you? Will Miss Smith excuse us?”

The big eyes were raised to him, but Rosemary answered for her: “Of course she will.” And they went out of the room together.

“I say,” said Philip, when they were alone. “Explain. Who is she? What does it all mean?”

Rosemary, laughing, leaned against the door and said: “I picked her up in Curzon Street . Really. She's a real pick-up. She asked me for the price of a cup of tea, and I brought her home with me. “

“But what on earth are you going to do with her?” cried Philip.

“Be nice to her,” said Rosemary quickly. “Be frightfully nice to her. Look after her. I don't know how. We haven't talked yet. But show her - treat her - make her feel -”

“My darling girl,” said Philip, “you're quite mad, you know. It simply can't be done.”

“I knew you'd say that,” retorted Rosemary. Why not? I want to. Isn't that a reason? And besides, one's always reading about these things. I decided -”

“But,” said Philip slowly, and he cut the end of a cigar, “she's so astonishingly pretty.”

“Pretty?” Rosemary was so surprised that she blushed. “Do you think so? I - I hadn't thought about it.”

“Good Lord!” Philip struck a match. “She's absolutely lovely. Look again, my child. I was bowled over when I came into your room just now. However… I think you're making a ghastly mistake. Sorry, darling, if I'm crude and all that. But let me know if Miss Smith is going to dine with us in time for me to look up The Milliner's Gazette.”

“You absurd creature!” said Rosemary, and she went out of the library, but not back to her bedroom. She went to her writing-room and sat down at her desk. Pretty! Absolutely lovely! Bowled over! Her heart beat like a heavy bell. Pretty! Lovely! She drew her check-book towards her. But no, checks would be no use, of course. She opened a drawer and took out five pound notes, looked at them, put two back, and holding the three squeezed in her hand, she went back to her bedroom.

Half an hour later Philip was still in the library, when Rosemary came in.

“I only wanted to tell you,” said she, and she leaned against the door again and looked at him with her dazzled exotic gaze, “Miss Smith won't dine with us to-night.”

Philip put down the paper. “Oh, what's happened? Previous engagement?”

Rosemary came over and sat down on his knee. “She insisted on going,” said she, “so I gave the poor little thing a present of money. I couldn't keep her against her will, could I?” she added softly.

Rosemary had just done her hair, darkened her eyes a little and put on her pearls. She put up her hands and touched Philip's cheeks.

“Do you like me?” said she, and her tone, sweet, husky, troubled him.

“I like you awfully,” he said, and he held her tighter. “Kiss me.”

There was a pause.

Then Rosemary said dreamily: “I saw a fascinating little box to-day. It cost twenty-eight guineas. May I have it?”

Philip jumped her on his knee. “You may, little wasteful one,” said he.

But that was not really what Rosemary wanted to say.

“Philip,” she whispered, and she pressed his head against her bosom, “am I pretty?”

Lesson 2

I Translate the highlighted sentences from English into Russian.

§ exquisitely well dressed-

§ husband absolutely adored her-

§ gazed in her dazzled-

§ lilac-

§ staggering under an immense-

§ with his pale finger-tips-

§ An exquisite little enamel box-

§ felt a strange pang-

§ little battered creature with enormous eyes-

§ simple, sincere in that voice-

§ peered through the dusk-

§ with a charming, protecting, almost embracing movement-

II Build up the sentences with the words from ex. I .

III Describe the Rosemary using the words from the text.

IV Explain the sentence. What stylistic devices do you find in it? Why the author use it?

They were rich, really rich, not just comfortably well off, which is odious and stuffy and sounds like one's grandparents.

V Translate the paragraph from English into Russian in writing.

Rosemary had been married two years. She had a duck of a boy. No, not Peter - Michael. And her husband absolutely adored her. They were rich, really rich, not just comfortably well off, which is odious and stuffy and sounds like one's grandparents. But if Rosemary wanted to shop she would go to Paris as you and I would go to Bond Street. If she wanted to buy flowers, the car pulled up at that perfect shop in Regent Street, and Rosemary inside the shop just gazed in her dazzled, rather exotic way, and said: “I want those and those and those. Give me four bunches of those. And that jar of roses.

VI What stylistic device do you find in this sentences?

1) The discreet door shut with a click. She was outside on the step, gazing at the winter afternoon. Rain was falling, and with the rain it seemed the dark came too, spinning down like ashes.

2)Well, if you took her to pieces… But why be so cruel as to take anyone to pieces?

VII What is the mood of the text? What words and details help us to feel the mood.

VIII Prepare for the dictation. Learn the words from ex.1.

Lesson 3

I Translate the highlighted sentences from English into Russian.

§ wonderful lacquer furniture, her gold cushions and the primrose and blue rugs-

§ the crushed hat was taken off-

§ She was just going to take a cigarette off the mantelpiece-

§ nourishing-

§ astonishingly pretty-

§ holding the three squeezed in her hand-

II Build up the sentences with the words from ex. I .

III Did you catch the idea of the text? Why the name of the text is “a cup of tea”?

IV What is the main problem in the text?

V Match the letter and the number.

A) A little battered creature with enormous eyes.

B) Thin, birdlike shoulders

C) She pushed the figure in the chair

D) I like you awfully

1) Oxymoron

2) Metonymy

3) Metaphor

4) Irony

5) Simile

V A) Find the translation to the sentences.

*Ëþäè áåæàëè ïîä óðîäëèâûìè çîíòèêàìè.

*Êîãäà òû â ïîñëåäíèé ðàç äåðæàëà õîòü êðîøêó âî ðòó?

*Ïîääàâøèñü ïîðûâó îíà âñêðèêíóëà.

*Îíà âãëÿäûâàëàñü â çèìíþþ ïîëóòüìó.

*Äåòêà, ýòî ñîâåðøåííî íåìûñëèìî.

She was gazing in the winter afternoon.

My darling girl, you are mad.

People hurried under the hateful umbrellas.

And when did you have the last meal?

She turned impulsively saying…

B) Try to translate the following expressions/ sentences in the same way.

I am very sorry madam, I am going to faint, if I don't have something.

I saw a wonderful little box today.

Look again, my child.

VI Retell the story and learn the words from ex.1.

The Wind Blows

SUDDENLY-dreadfully-she wakes up. What has happened? Something dreadful has happened. No-nothing has happened. It is only the wind shaking the house, rattling the windows, banging a piece of iron on the roof and making her bed tremble. Leaves flutter past the window, up and away; down in the avenue a whole newspaper wags in the air like a lost kite and falls, spiked on a pine tree. It is cold. Summer is over-it is autumn-everything is ugly. The carts rattle by, swinging from side to side; two Chinamen lollop along under their wooden yokes with the straining vegetable baskets-their pigtails and blue blouses fly out in the wind. A white dog on three legs yelps past the gate. It is all over! What is? Oh, everything! And she begins to plait her hair with shaking fingers, not daring to look in the glass. Mother is talking to grandmother in the hall.

“A perfect idiot! Imagine leaving anything out on the line in weather like this. . . . Now my best little Teneriffe-work teacloth is simply in ribbons. What is that extraordinary smell? It's the porridge burning. Oh, heavens-this wind!”

She has a music lesson at ten o'clock. At the thought the minor movement of the Beethoven begins to play in her head, the trills long and terrible like little rolling drums. . . . Marie Swainson runs into the garden next door to pick the “chrysanths” before they are ruined. Her skirt flies up above her waist; she tries to beat it down, to tuck it between her legs while she stoops, but it is no use-up it flies. All the trees and bushes beat about her. She picks as quickly as she can, but she is quite distracted. She doesn't mind what she does-she pulls the plants up by the roots and bends and twists them, stamping her foot and swearing.

“For heaven's sake keep the front door shut! Go round to the back,” shouts someone. And then she hears Bogey:

“Mother, you're wanted on the telephone. Telephone, Mother. It's the butcher.”

How hideous life is-revolting, simply revolting. . . . And now her hat-elastic's snapped. Of course it would. She'll wear her old tam and slip out the back way. But Mother has seen.

“Matilda. Matilda. Come back im-me-diately! What on earth have you got on your head? It looks like a tea cosy. And why have you got that mane of hair on your forehead.”

“I can't come back, Mother. I'll be late for my lesson.”

“Come back immediately!”

She won't. She won't. She hates Mother. “Go to hell,” she shouts, running down the road.

In waves, in clouds, in big round whirls the dust comes stinging, and with it little bits of straw and chaff and manure. There is a loud roaring sound from the trees in the gardens, and standing at the bottom of the road outside Mr. Bullen's gate she can hear the sea sob: “Ah! . . . Ah! . . . Ah-h!” But Mr. Bullen's drawing-room is as quiet as a cave. The windows are closed, the blinds half-pulled, and she is not late. The-girl-before-her has just started playing MacDowell's “To an Iceberg.” Mr. Bullen looks over at her and half smiles.

“Sit down,” he says. “Sit over there in the sofa corner, little lady.”

How funny he is. He doesn't exactly laugh at you . . . but there is just something. . . . Oh, how peaceful it is here. She likes this room. It smells of art serge and stale smoke and chrysanthemums . . . there is a big vase of them on the mantelpiece behind the pale photograph of Rubinstein . . . á mon ami Robert Bullen. . . . . Over the black glittering piano hangs “Solitude”-a dark tragic woman draped in white, sitting on a rock, her knees crossed, her chin on her hands.

“No, no!” says Mr. Bullen, and he leans over the other girl, puts his arms over her shoulders and plays the passage for her. The stupid-she's blushing! How ridiculous!

Now the-girl-before-her has gone; the front door slams. Mr. Bullen comes back and walks up and down, very softly, waiting for her. What an extraordinary thing. Her fingers tremble so that she can't undo the knot in the music satchel. It's the wind. . . . And her heart beats so hard she feels it must lift her blouse up and down. Mr. Bullen does not say a word. The shabby red piano seat is long enough for two people to sit side by side. Mr. Bullen sits down by her.

“Shall I begin with scales?” she asks, squeezing her hands together. “I had some arpeggios, too.”

But he does not answer. She doesn't believe he even hears . . . and then suddenly his fresh hand with the ring on it reaches over and opens Beethoven.

“Let's have a little of the old master,” he says.

But why does he speak so kindly-so awfully kindly-and as though they had known each other for years and years and knew everything about each other.

He turns the page slowly. She watches his hand-it is a very nice hand and always looks as though it had just been washed.

“Here we are,” says Mr. Bullen.

Oh, that kind voice-Oh, that minor movement. Here come the little drums. . . .

“Shall I take the repeat?”

“Yes, dear child.”

His voice is far, far too kind. The crotchets and quavers are dancing up and down the stave like little black boys on a fence. Why is he so . . . She will not cry-she has nothing to cry about . . . .

“What is it, dear child?”

Mr. Bullen takes her hands. His shoulder is there-just by her head. She leans on it ever so little, her cheek against the springy tweed.

“Life is so dreadful,” she murmurs, but she does not feel it's dreadful at all. He says something about “waiting” and “marking time” and “that rare thing, a woman,” but she does not hear. It is so comfortable . . . for ever . . .

Suddenly the door opens and in pops Marie Swainson, hours before her time.

“Take the allegretto a little faster,” says Mr. Bullen, and gets up and begins to walk up and down again.

“Sit in the sofa corner, little lady,” he says to Marie.

The wind, the wind. It's frightening to be here in her room by herself. The bed, the mirror, the white jug and basin gleam like the sky outside. It's the bed that is frightening. There it lies, sound asleep. . . . Does Mother imagine for one moment that she is going to darn all those stockings knotted up on the quilt like a coil of snakes? She's not. No, Mother. I do not see why I should. . . . The wind-the wind! There's a funny smell of soot blowing down the chimney. Hasn't anyone written poems to the wind? . . . “I bring fresh flowers to the leaves and showers.” . . . What nonsense.

“Is that you, Bogey?”

“Come for a walk round the esplanade, Matilda. I can't stand this any longer.”

“Right-o. I'll put on my ulster. Isn't it an awful day!” Bogey's ulster is just like hers. Hooking the collar she looks at herself in the glass. Her face is white, they have the same excited eyes and hot lips. Ah, they know those two in the glass. Good-bye, dears; we shall be back soon.

“This is better, isn't it?”

“Hook on,” says Bogey.

They cannot walk fast enough. Their heads bent, their legs just touching, they stride like one eager person through the town, down the asphalt zigzag where the fennel grows wild, and on to the esplanade. It is dusky-just getting dusky. The wind is so strong that they have to fight their way through it, rocking like two old drunkards. All the poor little pahutukawas on the esplanade are bent to the ground.

“Come on! Come on! Let's get near.”

Over by the breakwater the sea is very high. They pull off their hats and her hair blows across her mouth, tasting of salt. The sea is so high that the waves do not break at all; they thump against the rough stone wall and suck up the weedy, dripping steps. A fine spray skims from the water right across the esplanade. They are covered with drops; the inside of her mouth tastes wet and cold.

Bogey's voice is breaking. When he speaks he rushes up and down the scale. It's funny-it makes you laugh-and yet it just suits the day. The wind carries their voices-away fly the sentences like narrow ribbons.

“Quicker! Quicker!”

It is getting very dark. In the harbour the coal hulks show two lights-one high on a mast, and one from the stern.

“Look, Bogey. Look over there.”

A big black steamer with a long loop of smoke streaming, with the portholes lighted, with lights everywhere, is putting out to sea. The wind does not stop her; she cuts through the waves, making for the open gate between the pointed rocks that leads to . . . It's the light that makes her look so awfully beautiful and mysterious. . . . They are on board leaning over the rail arm in arm.

“ . . . Who are they?”

“ . . . Brother and sister.”

“Look, Bogey, there's the town. Doesn't it look small? There's the post office clock chiming for the last time. There's the esplanade where we walked that windy day. Do you remember? I cried at my music lesson that day-how many years ago! Good-bye, little island, good-bye. . . . “

Now the dark stretches a wing over the tumbling water. They can't see those two any more. Good-bye, good-bye. Don't forget. . . . But the ship is gone, now.

Lesson 4

I Translate the highlighted sentences from English into Russian.

§ to lollop-

§ waist-

§ forehead-

§ How ridiculous!-

§ extraordinary thing-

§ murmur-

§ covered with drops-

II Build up the sentences with the words from ex. I .

III Match the letter and the number.

1) SUDDENLY-dreadfully-she wakes up.

2)What has happened? Something dreadful has happened. No-nothing has happened.

3) excited eyes and hot lips.

A. epithets

B. epiphora

C. inversion

IV Find the synonyms from the text to the following words

1) squeal

2)unusual

3) savage

V Discuss the paragraph. Why does the author use dashes between the syllables?

“Matilda. Matilda. Come back im-me-diately! What on earth have you got on your head? It looks like a tea cosy. And why have you got that mane of hair on your forehead.”

VI What is the main idea of the text? Is this text about a music?

VII Prepare for the dictation. Learn the words from ex.1.

Lesson 5

I Work in groups.

1)Find all the words from the text which are connected with the topic music.

2) Do you like to listen to the music? Prepare your presentation about your favorite music, singer, genre or smth else.

Sun and Moon

IN the afternoon the chairs came, a whole big cart full of little gold ones with their legs in the air. And then the flowers came. When you stared down from the balcony at the people carrying them the flower pots looked like funny awfully nice hats nodding up the path.

Moon thought they were hats. She said: “Look. There's a man wearing a palm on his head.” But she never knew the difference between real things and not real ones.

There was nobody to look after Sun and Moon. Nurse was helping Annie alter Mother's dress which was much-too-long-and-tight-under-the-arms and Mother was running all over the house and telephoning Father to be sure not to forget things. She only had time to say: “Out of my way, children!”

They kept out of her way-at any rate Sun did. He did so hate being sent stumping back to the nursery. It didn't matter about Moon. If she got tangled in people's legs they only threw her up and shook her till she squeaked. But Sun was too heavy for that. He was so heavy that the fat man who came to dinner on Sundays used to say: “Now, young man, let's try to lift you.” And then he'd put his thumbs under Sun's arms and groan and try and give it up at last saying: “He's a perfect little ton of bricks!

Nearly all the furniture was taken out of the dining-room. The big piano was put in a corner and then there came a row of flower pots and then there came the goldy chairs. That was for the concert. When Sun looked in a white faced man sat at the piano-not playing, but banging at it and then looking inside. He had a bag of tools on the piano and he had stuck his hat on a statue against the wall. Sometimes he just started to play and then he jumped up again and looked inside. Sun hoped he wasn't the concert.

But of course the place to be in was the kitchen. There was a man helping in a cap like a blancmange, and their real cook, Minnie, was all red in the face and laughing. Not cross at all. She gave them each an almond finger and lifted them up on to the flour bin so that they could watch the wonderful things she and the man were making for supper. Cook brought in the things and he put them on dishes and trimmed them. Whole fishes, with their heads and eyes and tails still on, he sprinkled with red and green and yellow bits; he made squiggles all over the jellies, he stuck a collar on a ham and put a very thin sort of a fork in it; he dotted almonds and tiny round biscuits on the creams. And more and more things kept coming.

“Ah, but you haven't seen the ice pudding,” said Cook. “Come along.” Why was she being so nice, thought Sun as she gave them each a hand. And they looked into the refrigerator.

Oh! Oh! Oh! It was a little house. It was a little pink house with white snow on the roof and green windows and a brown door and stuck in the door there was a nut for a handle.

When Sun saw the nut he felt quite tired and had to lean against Cook.

“Let me touch it. Just let me put my finger on the roof,” said Moon, dancing. She always wanted to touch all the food. Sun didn't.

“Now, my girl, look sharp with the table,” said Cook as the housemaid came in.

“It's a picture, Min,” said Nellie. “Come along and have a look.” So they all went into the dining-room. Sun and Moon were almost frightened. They wouldn't go up to the table at first; they just stood at the door and made eyes at it. It wasn't real night yet but the blinds were down in the dining-room and the lights turned on-and all the lights were red roses. Red ribbons and bunches of roses tied up the table at the corners. In the middle was a lake with rose petals floating on it.

“That's where the ice pudding is to be,” said Cook.

Two silver lions with wings had fruit on their backs, and the salt cellars were tiny birds drinking out of basins.

And all the winking glasses and shining plates and sparkling knives and forks-and all the food. And the little red table napkins made into roses . . . .

“Are people going to eat the food?” asked Sun.

“I should just think they were,” laughed Cook, laughing with Nellie. Moon laughed, too; she always did the same as other people. But Sun didn't want to laugh. Round and round he walked with his hands behind his back. Perhaps he never would have stopped if Nurse hadn't called suddenly: “Now then, children. It's high time you were washed and dressed.” And they were marched off to the nursery.

While they were being unbuttoned Mother looked in with a white thing over her shoulders; she was rubbing stuff on her face.

“I'll ring for them when I want them, Nurse, and then they can just come down and be seen and go back again,” said she.

Sun was undressed first, nearly to his skin, and dressed again in a white shirt with red and white daisies speckled on it, breeches with strings at the sides and braces that came over, white socks and red shoes.

“Now you're in your Russian costume,” said Nurse, flattening down his fringe.

“Am I?” said Sun.

“Yes. Sit quiet in that chair and watch your little sister.”

Moon took ages. When she had her socks put on she pretended to fall back on the bed and waved her legs at Nurse as she always did, and every time Nurse tried to make her curls with a finger and a wet brush she turned round and asked Nurse to show her the photo of her brooch or something like that. But at last she was finished too. Her dress stuck out, with fur on it, all white; there was even fluffy stuff on the legs of her drawers. Her shoes were white with big blobs on them.

“There you are, my lamb,” said Nurse. “And you look like a sweet little cherub of a picture of a powder-puff!” Nurse rushed to the door. “Ma'am, one moment.”

Mother came in again with half her hair down.

“Oh,” she cried. “What a picture!”

“Isn't she,” said Nurse.

And Moon held out her skirts by the tips and dragged one of her feet. Sun didn't mind people not noticing him-much . . . .

After that they played clean tidy games up at the table while Nurse stood at the door, and when the carriages began to come and the sound of laughter and voices and soft rustlings came from down below she whispered: “Now then, children, stay where you are.” Moon kept jerking the table cloth so that it all hung down her side and Sun hadn't any-and then she pretended she didn't do it on purpose.

At last the bell rang. Nurse pounced at them with the hair brush, flattened his fringe, made her bow stand on end, and joined their hands together.

“Down you go!” she whispered.

And down they went. Sun did feel silly holding Moon's hand like that but Moon seemed to like it. She swung her arm and the bell on her coral bracelet jingled.

At the drawing-room door stood Mother fanning herself with a black fan. The drawing-room was full of sweet smelling, silky, rustling ladies and men in black with funny tails on their coats-like beetles. Father was among them, talking very loud, and rattling something in his pocket.

“What a picture!” cried the ladies. “Oh, the ducks! Oh, the lambs! Oh, the sweets! Oh, the pets!”

All the people who couldn't get at Moon kissed Sun, and a skinny old lady with teeth that clicked said: “Such a serious little poppet,” and rapped him on the head with something hard.

Sun looked to see if the same concert was there, but he was gone. Instead, a fat man with a pink head leaned over the piano talking to a girl who held a violin at her ear.

There was only one man that Sun really liked. He was a little grey man, with long grey whiskers, who walked about by himself. He came up to Sun and rolled his eyes in a very nice way and said: “Hullo, my lad.” Then he went away. But soon he came back again and said: “Fond of dogs?” Sun said: “Yes.” But then he went away again and though Sun looked for him everywhere he couldn't find him. He thought perhaps he'd gone outside to fetch in a puppy.

“Good night, my precious babies,” said Mother, folding them up in her bare arms. “Fly up to your little nest.”

Then Moon went and made a silly of herself again. She put up her arms in front of everybody and said: “My Daddy must carry me.”

But they seemed to like it, and Daddy swooped down and picked her up as he always did.

Nurse was in such a hurry to get them to bed that she even interrupted Sun over his prayers and said: “Get on with them, child, do.” And the moment after they were in bed and in the dark except for the nightlight in its little saucer.

“Are you asleep?” asked Moon.

“No,” said Sun. “Are you?”

“No,” said Moon.

A long while after Sun woke up again. There was a loud, loud noise of clapping from downstairs, like when it rains. He heard Moon turn over.

“Moon, are you awake?”

“Yes, are you?”

“Yes. Well, let's go and look over the stairs.”

They had just got settled on the top step when the drawing-room door opened and they heard the party cross over the hall into the dining-room. Then that door was shut; there was a noise of “pops” and laughing. Then that stopped and Sun saw them all walking round and round the lovely table with their hands behind their backs like he had done. Round and round they walked, looking and staring. The man with the grey whiskers liked the little house best. When he saw the nut for a handle he rolled his eyes like he did before and said to Sun: “Seen the nut?”

“Don't nod your head like that, Moon.”

“I'm not nodding. It's you.”

“It is not. I never nod my head.”

“O-oh, you do. You're nodding it now.”

“I'm not. I'm only showing you how not to do it.”

When they woke up again they could only hear Father's voice very loud, and Mother, laughing away. Father came out of the dining-room, bounded up the stairs, and nearly fell over them.

“Hullo!” he said. “By Jove, Kitty, come and look at this.”

Mother came out. “Oh, you naughty children,” said she from the hall.

“Let's have 'em down and give 'em a bone,” said Father. Sun had never seen him so jolly.

“No, certainly not,” said Mother.

“Oh, my Daddy, do! Do have us down,” said Moon.

“I'm hanged if I won't,” cried Father. “I won't be bullied. Kitty-way there.” And he caught them up, one under each arm.

Sun thought Mother would have been dreadfully cross. But she wasn't. She kept on laughing at Father.

“Oh, you dreadful boy!” said she. But she didn't mean Sun.

“Come on, kiddies. Come and have some pickings,” said this jolly Father. But Moon stopped a minute.

“Mother-your dress is right off one side.”

“Is it?” said Mother. And Father said “Yes” and pretended to bite her white shoulder, but she pushed him away.

And so they went back to the beautiful dining-room. But-oh! oh! what had happened. The ribbons and the roses were all pulled untied. The little red table napkins lay on the floor, all the shining plates were dirty and all the winking glasses. The lovely food that the man had trimmed was all thrown about, and there were bones and bits and fruit peels and shells everywhere. There was even a bottle lying down with stuff coming out of it on to the cloth and nobody stood it up again.

And the little pink house with the snow roof and the green windows was broken-broken-half melted away in the centre of the table.

“Come on, Sun,” said Father, pretending not to notice.

Moon lifted up her pyjama legs and shuffled up to the table and stood on a chair, squeaking away.

“Have a bit of this ice,” said Father, smashing in some more of the roof.

Mother took a little plate and held it for him; she put her other arm round his neck.

“Daddy. Daddy,” shrieked Moon. “The little handle's left. The little nut. Kin I eat it?” And she reached across and picked it out of the door and scrunched it up, biting hard and blinking.

“Here, my lad,” said Father.

But Sun did not move from the door. Suddenly he put up his head and gave a loud wail.

“I think it's horrid-horrid-horrid! “ he sobbed.

“There, you see! “said Mother. “You see!”

“Off with you,” said Father, no longer jolly. “This moment. Off you go!”

And wailing loudly, Sun stumped off to the nursery.

Lesson 6

I Translate the highlighted sentences from English into Russian.

§ man wearing a palm on his head

§ heavy

§ table napkins

§ lamb

§ brooch

§ the winking glasses

§ to whisper

II Build up the sentences with the words from ex. I .

III Discuss

1) Why do the main characters have names Moon and Sun?

2) Describe the differences between these two main characters? What stylistic devices does the author use in the text to show these differences?

3) Are you agree with the statement that this story is about loneliness?

4) What the colors does the author use to describe people? Are they different?

IV What stylistic devices are used here?

1) `you look like a sweet cherub of a picture of a powder-puff'

2) `Moon laughed, too; she always did the same as other people. But Sun didn't want to laugh'.

3) `and more and more things kept coming', `round and round he walked with his hands behind his back'

4) `oh, the ducks! Oh, the lambs! Oh, the sweets! Oh, the pets'

5) `two silver lions', `tiny birds', `winking glasses and shining plates and sparkling knives and forks - and all the food'

6) `in the afternoon the chairs came, a whole big cart full of little gold ones with their legs in the air', `she gave them each an almond finger', `clean tiny games'

7) `he's a perfect little ton of bricks'

V What stylistic devices do you find in this sentences? Why does the author use them?

Oh! Oh! Oh! It was a little house. It was a little pink house with white snow on the roof and green windows and a brown door and stuck in the door there was a nut for a handle.

When you stared down from the balcony at the people carrying them the flower pots looked like funny awfully nice hats nodding up the path.

The drawing-room was full of sweet smelling, silky, rustling ladies and men in black with funny tails on their coats-like beetles.

Describe in details

a) Sun

b) Moon

VII Learn the words from ex.1.

Lesson 7

I Write the summary. Express your opinion about the text that you've read. (150 -200 words).

The Doll's House

When dear old Mrs. Hay went back to town after staying with the Burnells she sent the children a doll's house. It was so big that the carter and Pat carried it into the courtyard, and there it stayed, propped up on two wooden boxes beside the feed-room door. No harm could come of it; it was summer. And perhaps the smell of paint would have gone off by the time it had to be taken in. For, really, the smell of paint coming from that doll's house (“Sweet of old Mrs. Hay, of course; most sweet and generous!”) -- but the smell of paint was quite enough to make any one seriously ill, in Aunt Beryl's opinion. Even before the sacking was taken off. And when it was... There stood the doll's house, a dark, oily, spinach green, picked out with bright yellow. Its two solid little chimneys, glued on to the roof, were painted red and white, and the door, gleaming with yellow varnish, was like a little slab of toffee. Four windows, real windows, were divided into panes by a broad streak of green. There was actually a tiny porch, too, painted yellow, with big lumps of congealed paint hanging along the edge.

But perfect, perfect little house! Who could possibly mind the smell? It was part of the joy, part of the newness.

“Open it quickly, some one!”

The hook at the side was stuck fast. Pat pried it open with his pen- knife, and the whole house-front swung back, and-there you were, gazing at one and the same moment into the drawing-room and dining-room, the kitchen and two bedrooms. That is the way for a house to open! Why don't all houses open like that? How much more exciting than peering through the slit of a door into a mean little hall with a hat-stand and two umbrellas! That is-isn't it? -- what you long to know about a house when you put your hand on the knocker. Perhaps it is the way God opens houses at dead of night when. He is taking a quiet turn with an angel. . . .

“Oh-oh!” The Burnell children sounded as though they were in despair. It was too marvellous; it was too much for them. They had never seen anything like it in their lives. All the rooms were papered. There were pictures on the walls, painted on the paper, with gold frames complete. Red carpet covered all the floors except the kitchen; red plush chairs in the drawing-room, green in the dining-room; tables, beds with real bedclothes, a cradle, a stove, a dresser with tiny plates and one big jug. But what Kezia liked more than anything, what she liked frightfully, was the lamp. It stood in the middle of the dining-room table, an exquisite little amber lamp with a white globe. It was even filled all ready for lighting, though, of course, you couldn't light it. But there was something inside that looked like oil, and that moved when you shook it.

The father and mother dolls, who sprawled very stiff as though they had fainted in the drawing-room, and their two little children asleep upstairs, were really too big for the doll's house. They didn't look as though they belonged. But the lamp was perfect. It seemed to smile to Kezia, to say, “I live here.” The lamp was real. The Burnell children could hardly walk to school fast enough the next morning. They burned to tell everybody, to describe, to-well-to boast about their doll's house before the school-bell rang.

“I'm to tell,” said Isabel, “because I'm the eldest. And you two can join in after. But I'm to tell first.”

There was nothing to answer. Isabel was bossy, but she was always right, and Lottie and Kezia knew too well the powers that went with being eldest. They brushed through the thick buttercups at the road edge and said nothing. “And I'm to choose who's to come and see it first. Mother said I might.” For it had been arranged that while the doll's house stood in the courtyard they might ask the girls at school, two at a time, to come and look. Not to stay to tea, of course, or to come traipsing through the house. But just to stand quietly in the courtyard while Isabel pointed out the beauties, and Lottie and Kezia looked pleased… But hurry as they might, by the time they had reached the tarred palings of the boys' playground the bell had begun to jangle. They only just had time to whip off their hats and fall into line before the roll was called. Never mind. Isabel tried to make up for it by looking very important and mysterious and by whispering behind her hand to the girls near her, “Got something to tell you at playtime.”

Playtime came and Isabel was surrounded. The girls of her class nearly fought to put their arms round her, to walk away with her, to beam flatteringly, to be her special friend. She held quite a court under the huge pine trees at the side of the playground. Nudging, giggling together, the little girls pressed up close. And the only two who stayed outside the ring were the two who were always outside, the little Kelveys. They knew better than to come anywhere near the Burnells. For the fact was, the school the Burnell children went to was not at all the kind of place their parents would have chosen if there had been any choice. But there was none. It was the only school for miles. And the consequence was all the children in the neighborhood, the judge's little girls, the doctor's daughters, the store-keeper's children, the milkman's, were forced to mix together. Not to speak of there being an equal number of rude, rough little boys as well. But the line had to be drawn somewhere. It was drawn at the Kelveys. Many of the children, including the Burnells, were not allowed even to speak to them. They walked past the Kelveys with their heads in the air, and as they set the fashion in all matters of behaviour, the Kelveys were shunned by everybody. Even the teacher had a special voice for them, and a special smile for the other children when Lil Kelvey came up to her desk with a bunch of dreadfully common-looking flowers.

They were the daughters of a spry, hardworking little washerwoman, who went about from house to house by the day. This was awful enough. But where was Mr. Kelvey? Nobody knew for certain. But everybody said he was in prison. So they were the daughters of a washerwoman and a gaolbird. Very nice company for other people's children! And they looked it. Why Mrs. Kelvey made them so conspicuous was hard to understand. The truth was they were dressed in “bits” given to her by the people for whom she worked. Lil, for instance, who was a stout, plain child, with big freckles, came to school in a dress made from a green art-serge table-cloth of the Burnells', with red plush sleeves from the Logans' curtains. Her hat, perched on top of her high forehead, was a grown-up woman's hat, once the property of Miss Lecky, the postmistress. It was turned up at the back and trimmed with a large scarlet quill.

What a little guy she looked! It was impossible not to laugh. And her little sister, our Else, wore a long white dress, rather like a nightgown, and a pair of little boy's boots. But whatever our Else wore she would have looked strange. She was a tiny wishbone of a child, with cropped hair and enormous solemn eyes-a little white owl. Nobody had ever seen her smile; she scarcely ever spoke. She went through life holding on to Lil, with a piece of Lil's skirt screwed up in her hand. Where Lil went our Else followed. In the playground, on the road going to and from school, there was Lil marching in front and our Else holding on behind. Only when she wanted anything, or when she was out of breath, our Else gave Lil a tug, a twitch, and Lil stopped and turned round. The Kelveys never failed to understand each other.

Now they hovered at the edge; you couldn't stop them listening. When the little girls turned round and sneered, Lil, as usual, gave her silly, shamefaced smile, but our Else only looked.

And Isabel's voice, so very proud, went on telling. The carpet made a great sensation, but so did the beds with real bedclothes, and the stove with an oven door.

When she finished Kezia broke in. “You've forgotten the lamp, Isabel.”

“Oh, yes,” said Isabel, “and there's a teeny little lamp, all made of yellow glass, with a white globe that stands on the dining-room table. You couldn't tell it from a real one.”

“The lamp's best of all,” cried Kezia. She thought Isabel wasn't making half enough of the little lamp. But nobody paid any attention. Isabel was choosing the two who were to come back with them that afternoon and see it. She chose Emmie Cole and Lena Logan. But when the others knew they were all to have a chance, they couldn't be nice enough to Isabel. One by one they put their arms round Isabel's waist and walked her off. They had something to whisper to her, a secret. “Isabel's my friend.”

Only the little Kelveys moved away forgotten; there was nothing more for them to hear.

Days passed, and as more children saw the doll's house, the fame of it spread. It became the one subject, the rage. The one question was, “Have you seen Burnells' doll's house?” “Oh, ain't it lovely!” “Haven't you seen it? Oh, I say!” Even the dinner hour was given up to talking about it. The little girls sat under the pines eating their thick mutton sandwiches and big slabs of johnny cake spread with butter. While always, as near as they could get, sat the Kelveys, our Else holding on to Lil, listening too, while they chewed their jam sandwiches out of a newspaper soaked with large red blobs.

“Mother,” said Kezia, “can't I ask the Kelveys just once?”

“Certainly not, Kezia.”

“But why not?”

“Run away, Kezia; you know quite well why not.”

At last everybody had seen it except them. On that day the subject rather flagged. It was the dinner hour. The children stood together under the pine trees, and suddenly, as they looked at the Kelveys eating out of their paper, always by themselves, always listening, they wanted to be horrid to them. Emmie Cole started the whisper.

“Lil Kelvey's going to be a servant when she grows up.”

“O-oh, how awful!” said Isabel Burnell, and she made eyes at Emmie.

Emmie swallowed in a very meaning way and nodded to Isabel as she'd seen her mother do on those occasions.

“It's true-it's true-it's true,” she said.

Then Lena Logan's little eyes snapped. “Shall I ask her?” she whispered.

“Bet you don't,” said Jessie May.

“Pooh, I'm not frightened,” said Lena. Suddenly she gave a little squeal and danced in front of the other girls. “Watch! Watch me! Watch me now!” said Lena. And sliding, gliding, dragging one foot, giggling behind her hand, Lena went over to the Kelveys.

Lil looked up from her dinner. She wrapped the rest quickly away. Our Else stopped chewing. What was coming now?

“Is it true you're going to be a servant when you grow up, Lil Kelvey?” shrilled Lena.

Dead silence. But instead of answering, Lil only gave her silly, shame-faced smile. She didn't seem to mind the question at all. What a sell for Lena! The girls began to titter.

Lena couldn't stand that. She put her hands on her hips; she shot forward. “Yah, yer father's in prison!” she hissed, spitefully. This was such a marvellous thing to have said that the little girls rushed away in a body, deeply, deeply excited, wild with joy. Someone found a long rope, and they began skipping. And never did they skip so high, run in and out so fast, or do such daring things as on that morning. In the afternoon Pat called for the Burnell children with the buggy and they drove home. There were visitors. Isabel and Lottie, who liked visitors, went upstairs to change their pinafores. But Kezia thieved out at the back. Nobody was about; she began to swing on the big white gates of the courtyard. Presently, looking along the road, she saw two little dots. They grew bigger, they were coming towards her. Now she could see that one was in front and one close behind. Now she could see that they were the Kelveys. Kezia stopped swinging. She slipped off the gate as if she was going to run away. Then she hesitated. The Kelveys came nearer, and beside them walked their shadows, very long, stretching right across the road with their heads in the buttercups. Kezia clambered back on the gate; she had made up her mind; she swung out.

“Hullo,” she said to the passing Kelveys. They were so astounded that they stopped. Lil gave her silly smile. Our Else stared.

“You can come and see our doll's house if you want to,” said Kezia, and she dragged one toe on the ground. But at that Lil turned red and shook her head quickly.

“Why not?” asked Kezia.

Lil gasped, then she said, “Your ma told our ma you wasn't to speak to us.”

“Oh, well,” said Kezia. She didn't know what to reply. “It doesn't matter.

You can come and see our doll's house all the same. Come on. Nobody's looking.”

But Lil shook her head still harder.

“Don't you want to?” asked Kezia.

Suddenly there was a twitch, a tug at Lil's skirt. She turned round. Our Else was looking at her with big, imploring eyes; she was frowning; she wanted to go. For a moment Lil looked at our Else very doubtfully. But then our Else twitched her skirt again. She started forward. Kezia led the way. Like two little stray cats they followed across the courtyard to where the doll's house stood.

“There it is,” said Kezia.

There was a pause. Lil breathed loudly, almost snorted; our Else was still as a stone.

“I'll open it for you,” said Kezia kindly. She undid the hook and they looked inside.

“There's the drawing-room and the dining-room, and that's the-”Kezia!”

Oh, what a start they gave!

“Kezia!”

It was Aunt Beryl's voice. They turned round. At the back door stood Aunt Beryl, staring as if she couldn't believe what she saw. “How dare you ask the little Kelveys into the courtyard?” said her cold, furious voice. “You know as well as I do, you're not allowed to talk to them. Run away, children, run away at once. And don't come back again,” said Aunt Beryl. And she stepped into the yard and shooed them out as if they were chickens.

“Off you go immediately!” she called, cold and proud. They did not need telling twice. Burning with shame, shrinking together, Lil huddling along like her mother, our Else dazed, somehow they crossed the big courtyard and squeezed through the white gate.

“Wicked, disobedient little girl!” said Aunt Beryl bitterly to Kezia, and she slammed the doll's house to. The afternoon had been awful. A letter had come from Willie Brent, a terrifying, threatening letter, saying if she did not meet him that evening in Pulman's Bush, he'd come to the front door and ask the reason why! But now that she had frightened those little rats of Kelveys and given Kezia a good scolding, her heart felt lighter. That ghastly pressure was gone. She went back to the house humming.

When the Kelveys were well out of sight of Burnells', they sat down to rest on a big red drain-pipe by the side of the road. Lil's cheeks were still burning; she took off the hat with the quill and held it on her knee. Dreamily they looked over the hay paddocks, past the creek, to the group of wattles where Logan's cows stood waiting to be milked. What were their thoughts? Presently our Else nudged up close to her sister. But now she had forgotten the cross lady. She put out a finger and stroked her sister's quill; she smiled her rare smile.

“I seen the little lamp,” she said, softly.

Lesson 8

I Translate the highlighted sentences from English into Russian.

§ courtyard-

§ gleaming with yellow varnish-

§ put your hand on the knocker-

§ marvellous-

§ never mind-

§ washerwoman-

§ curtain-

II Build up the sentences with the words from ex. I .

III Answer the questions:

1) What the main problem does the author state in the text?

2) What emotions do you feel after the reading?

3) Did you like the text?

IV Insert the articles where necessary. Explain your choice.

1. Old Mrs. Hay sent … children … doll's house.

2. There stood … doll's house, … dark, … oily, … spinach green.

3. That's … way for … house to open! 4. But … perfect, … perfect … little house!

5. … lamp was … real.

6. “I'm … eldest”, … Isabel told to … little sisters.

7. Never … mind!

8. Isabel held … quite … court under … huge pine trees at … side of … playground.

9. And … only … two who stayed outside … ring were … two who were always outside, … little Kelveys.

V Describe the doll's house. Prove the statement that the doll's house was perfect outside and inside using the following words:

Dark, oily, spinach green, bright yellow, red, white;

Chimneys, a door, windows, a porch;

A kitchen, a drawing-room, a dining-room, a bedroom;

Red plush chairs, green arm-chairs, tables, beds, a cradle, a stove, a dresser, a hat-stand, a carpet;

Bedclothes, a plate, a big jug, a lamp, dolls, an umbrella.

VI Prepare for the dictation. Learn the words from ex.1.

Lesson 9

I Translate the paragraph from English into Russian.

“The lamp's best of all,” cried Kezia. She thought Isabel wasn't making half enough of the little lamp. But nobody paid any attention. Isabel was choosing the two who were to come back with them that afternoon and see it. She chose Emmie Cole and Lena Logan. But when the others knew they were all to have a chance, they couldn't be nice enough to Isabel. One by one they put their arms round Isabel's waist and walked her off. They had something to whisper to her, a secret. “Isabel's my friend.”

II Write down the words you would like to know ( 7-10).

III What stylistic devices did you find in the text?

IV Prepare for the test.

Lesson 10

Test

I Translate the words from Russian into English

§ èçûñêàííî õîðîøî îäåòûé-

§ ñèðåíåâûé

§ óäèâèòåëüíî êðàñèâàÿ

§ òàëèÿ

§ ëîá

§ Êàê ñìåøíî!

§ íåîáûêíîâåííàÿ âåùü

§ ðîïîò

§ ÷åëîâåê ñ ïàëüìîé íà ãîëîâå

§ ñàëôåòêà

§ áðîøü

§ øåïòàòü

§ ïðà÷êà (13 points)

II Match the paragraph and the name of the story.

1)When the Kelveys were well out of sight of Burnells', they sat down to rest on a big red drain-pipe by the side of the road. Lil's cheeks were still burning; she took off the hat with the quill and held it on her knee. Dreamily they looked over the hay paddocks, past the creek, to the group of wattles where Logan's cows stood waiting to be milked. What were their thoughts?

2) One winter afternoon she had been buying something in a little antique shop in Curzon Street . It was a shop she liked. For one thing, one usually had it to oneself. And then the man who kept it was ridiculously fond of serving her. He beamed whenever she came in. He clasped his hands; he was so gratified he could scarcely speak. Flattery, of course. All the same, there was something…

3) SUDDENLY-dreadfully-she wakes up. What has happened? Something dreadful has happened. No-nothing has happened. It is only the wind shaking the house, rattling the windows, banging a piece of iron on the roof and making her bed tremble. Leaves flutter past the window, up and away; down in the avenue a whole newspaper wags in the air like a lost kite and falls, spiked on a pine tree. It is cold. Summer is over-it is autumn-everything is ugly.