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Реферат Курсовая Конспект

The Fly

The Fly - раздел Связь, Предлагаемое пособие разработано для развития навыков опосредованного перевода и устной речи слушателей программы дополнительного профессионального образования «Переводчик в сфере профессиональной коммуникации» "y'are Very Snug In Here," Piped Old Mr. Woodifield, And He Peered ...

"Y'are very snug in here," piped old Mr. Woodifield, and he peered out of the great, green-leather arm-chair by his friend the boss's desk as a baby peers out of its pram. His talk was over; it was time for him to be off. But he did not want to go. Since he had retired, since his... stroke, the wife and the girls kept him boxed up in the house every day of the week except Tuesday. On Tuesday he was dressed and brushed and allowed to cut back to the City for the day. Though what he did there the wife and girls couldn't imagine. Made a nui­sance of himself to his friends, they supposed...

Well, perhaps so. All the same, we cling to our last pleasures as the tree clings to its last leaves. So there sat old Woodifield smoking a cigar and star­ing almost greedily at the boss, who rolled in his office chair, stout, rosy, five years older than he, and still going strong, still at the helm. It did one good tq see him.

Wistfully, admiringly, the old voice added, "It's snug in here, upon my word!"

"Yes, it's comfortable enough," agreed the boss, and he flipped the Financial Times with a paper-knife. As a matter of fact he was proud of his room; he liked to have it admired, especially by old Woodifield. It gave him a feeling of deep, solid sat­isfaction to be planted there in the midst of it in full view of that frail old figure in the muffler.

"I've had it done up lately," he explained, as he had explained for the past—how many?—weeks. "New carpet," and he pointed to the bright red car­pet with a pattern of large white rings. "New furni­ture," and he nodded towards the massive bookcase and the table with legs like twisted treacle. "Electric heating!" He waved almost exultantly towards the five transparent, pearly sausages glowing so softly in the tilted copper pan.

But he did not draw old Woodifield's attention to the photograph over the table of a grave-looking boy in uniform standing in one of those spectral photographers' parks with photographers' storm-clouds behind him. It was not new. It had been there for over six years.

"There was something I wanted to tell you," said old Woodifield, and his eyes grew dim remember­ing. "Now what was it? I had it in my mind when I started out this morning." His hands began to trem­ble, and patches of red showed above his beard.

Poor old chap, he's on his last pins, thought the boss. And, feeling kindly, he winked at the old man, and said jokingly, "I tell you what. I've got a little drop of something here that'll do you good before you go out into the cold again. It's beautiful stuff. It wouldn't hurt a child." He took a key off his watch-chain, unlocked a cupboard below his desk, and drew forth a dark, squat bottle. "That's the medicine," said he. "And the man from whom I got it told me on the strict Q.T. it came from the cellars at Windsor Castle."

Old Woodifield's mouth fell open at the sight. He couldn't have looked more surprised if the boss had produced a rabbit.

"It's whisky, ain't it?" he piped feebly.

The boss turned the bottle and lovingly showed him the label. Whisky it was.

"D'you know," said he, peering up at the boss wonderingly, "they won't let me touch it at home." And he looked as though he was going to cry.

"Ah, that's where we know a bit more than the ladies," cried the boss, swooping across for two tumblers that stood on the table with the water-bot­tle, and pouring a generous finger* into each. "Drink it down. It'll do you good. And don't put any water with it. It's sacrilege to tamper, with stuff like this. Ah!" He tossed off his, pulled out his handkerchief, hastily wiped his moustaches, and cocked an eye at old Woodifield, who was rolling his in his chaps.

The old man swallowed, was silent a moment, and then said faintly, "It's nutty!"

But it wanned him; it crept into his chill old brain— he remembered.

"That was it," he said, heaving himself out of his chair. "I thought you'd like to know. The girls were in Belgium last week having a look at poor Reggie's grave, and they happened to come across your boy's. They're quite near each other, it seems.

Old Woodifield paused, but the boss made no reply. Only a quiver in his eyelids showed that he heard.

"The girls were delighted with the way the place is kept," piped the old voice. "Beautifully looked after. Couldn't be better if they were at home. You've not been across have yer?"

"No, no!" For various reasons the boss had not been across.

"There's miles of it," quavered old Woodifield, "and it's all as neat as a garden. Flowers growing on all the graves. Nice broad paths." It was plain from his voice how much he liked a nice broad path.

The pause came again. Then the old man bright­ened wonderfully.

"D'you know what the hotel made the girls pay for a pot of jam?" he piped.

"Ten francs! Robbery, I call it. It was a little pot, so Gertrude says, no big­ger than a half-crown. And she hadn't taken more than a spoonful when they charged her ten francs. Gertrude brought the pot away with her to teach 'em a lesson. Quite right, too; it's trading on our feelings. They think because we're over there having a look round we're ready to pay anything. That's what it is." And he turned towards the door.

"Quite right, quite right!" cried the boss, though what was quite right he hadn't the least idea. He came round by his desk, followed the shuffling footsteps to the door, and saw the old fellow out. Woodifield was gone.

For a long moment the boss stayed, staring at nothing, while the grey-haired office messenger, watching him, dodged in and out of his cubby­hole like a dog that expects to be taken for a run. Then: "I'll see nobody for half an hour, Macey," said the boss. "Understand? Nobody at all."

"Very good, sir."

The door shut, the firm heavy steps recrossed the bright carpet, the fat body plumped down in the spring chair, and leaning forward, the boss covered his face with his hands. He wanted, he intended, he had arranged to weep...

It had been a terrible shock to him when old Woodifield sprang that remark upon him about the boy's grave. It was exactly as though the earth had opened and he had seen the boy lying there with Woodifield's girls staring down at him. For it was strange. Although over six years had passed away, the boss never thought of the boy except as lying un­changed, unblemished in his uniform, asleep for ever. "My son!" groaned the boss. But no tears came yet. In the past, in the first months and even years after the boy's death, he had only to say those words to be overcome by such grief that nothing short of a violent fit of weeping could relieve him. Time, he had declared then, he had told everybody, could make no difference. Other men perhaps might recov­er, might live their loss down, but not he. How was it possible? His boy was an only son. Ever since his birth the boss had worked at building up this busi­ness for him; it had no other meaning if it was not for the boy. Life itself had come to have no other mean­ing. How on earth could he have slaved, denied him­self, kept going all those years without the promise for ever before him of the boy's stepping into his shoes and carrying on where he left off?

And that promise had been so near being ful­filled. The boy had been in the office learning the ropes for a year before the war. Every morning they had started off together; they had come back by the same train. And what congratulations he had received as the boy's father! No wonder; he had taken to it marvellously. As to his popularity with the staff, every man jack of them down to old Macey couldn't make enough of the boy. And he wasn't in the least spoilt. No, he was just his bright natural self, with the right word for everybody, with that boyish look and his habit of saying, "Simply splendid!"

But all that was over and done with as though it never had been. The day had come when Macey had handed him the telegram that brought the whole place crashing about his head. "Deeply regret to inform you..." And he had left the office a broken man, with his life in ruins.

Six years ago, six years... How quickly time passed! It might have happened yesterday. The boss took his hands from his face; he was puzzled. Something seemed to be wrong with him. He wasn't feeling as he wanted to feel. He decided to get up and have a look at the boy's photograph. But it wasn't a favourite photograph of his; the expres­sion was unnatural. It was cold, even stern-looking. The boy had never looked like that.

At that moment the boss noticed that a fly had fallen into his broad inkpot, and was trying feebly but desperately to clamber out again. Help! help! said those struggling legs. But the sides of the inkpot were wet and slippery; it fell back again and began to swim. The boss took up a pen, picked the fly out of the ink, and shook it on to a piece of blot­ting-paper. For a fraction of a second it lay still on the dark patch that oozed round it. Then the front legs waved, took hold, and, pulling its small, sod­den body up, it began the immense task of cleaning the ink from its wings. Over and under, over and under, went a leg along a wing as the stone goes over and under the scythe. Then there was a pause, while the fly, seeming to stand on the tips of its toes, tried to expand first one wing and then the other. It succeeded at last, and sitting down, it began, like a minute cat, to clean its face. Now onecould imagine that the little front legs rubbed against each other lightly, joyfully. The horrible danger was over; it had escaped; it was ready for life again.

But just then the boss had an idea. He plunged his pen back into the ink, leaned his thick wrist on the blotting-paper, and as the fly tried its wings down came a great heavy blot. What would it make of that? What indeed! The little beggar seemed absolutely cowed, stunned, and afraid to move because of what would happen next. But then, as if painfully, it dragged itself forward. The front legs waved, caught hold, and, more slowly this time, the task began from the beginning.

He's a plucky little devil, thought the boss, and he felt a real admiration for the fly's courage. That was the way to tackle things; that was the right spir­it. Never say die; it was only a question of... But the fly had again finished its laborious task, and the boss had just time to refill his pen, to shake fair and square on the new-cleaned body yet another dark drop. What about it this time? A painful moment of suspense followed. But behold, the front legs were again waving; the boss felt a rush of relief.

He leaned over the fly and said to it tenderly, "You art­ful little b..." And he actually had the brilliant notion of breathing on it to help the drying process. All the same, there was something timid and weak about its efforts now, and the boss decided that this time should be the last, as he dipped the pen deep into the inkpot.

It was. The last blot fell on the soaked blotting-paper, and the draggled fly lay in it and did not stir.

The hack legs were stuck to the body; the front legs were not to be seen.

"Come on," said the boss. "Look sharp!" And he stirred it with his pen—in vain. Nothing hap­pened or was likely to happen. The fly was dead.

The boss lifted the corpse on the end of the paper-knife and flung it into the waste-paper bas­ket. But such a grinding feeling of wretchedness' seized him that he felt positively frightened. He started forward and pressed the bell for Macey.

"Bring me some fresh blotting-paper," he said sternly, "and look sharp about it." And while the old dog padded away he fell to wondering what it was he had been thinking about before. What was it? It was... He took out his handkerchief and passed it inside his collar. For the life of him he could not remember.

 

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Предлагаемое пособие разработано для развития навыков опосредованного перевода и устной речи слушателей программы дополнительного профессионального образования «Переводчик в сфере профессиональной коммуникации»

От авторов.. Предлагаемое пособие разработано для развития навыков опосредованного перевода и устной речи слушателей программы дополнительного профессионального..

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Contents
ABOUT THE AUTHOR……………………………………………………….. BLISS…………………………………………………………………………... PICTURES…………………………

About the author
New Zealand's most famous writer was closely associated with D.H. Lawrence and something of a rival of Virginia Woolf. Mansfield's creative years were burdened with loneliness, illness, jealousy, a

Match the following definitions in the left column with the words in the right column. Find sentences with these words in the story
1. open and sincere in expression; straightforward. bliss 2. to carry out or fulfill the command, order, or instruction.

Match one of the following adjectives to each description
frank passionate curious amused distressed dreadful collected mysterious absurd extravagant bored a) A …………… person has strong romantic or sexual feelings and expresses them in thei

Pictures
Eight o'clock in the morning. Miss Ada Moss lay in a black iron bedstead, staring up at the ceiling. Her room, a Bloomsbury top-floor back,

Match the following definitions in the left column with the words in the right column. Find sentences with these words in the story
1. not having a clear shape. to take trouble 2. to smile widely at somebody. to give no sign

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

Find the English equivalents to the following words or phrases and use them in the sentences of your own
1.to behave in a particular way in order to make other people believe smth that is not true. at any rate 2.to be annoyed or quite angr

Life of Ma Parker
When the literary gentleman, whose flat old Ma* Parker cleaned every Tuesday, opened the door to her that morning, he asked after her grands

Match the following definitions in the left column with the words in the right column. Find sentences with these words in the story
1. to be concerned or interested. to be a success 2. mental or emotional unhappiness or distress. to overcome

Marriage a la Mode
On his way to the station William remembered with a fresh pang of disappointment that he was taking nothing down to the kiddies. Poor little

Match the following definitions in the left column with the words in the right column. Find sentences with these words in the story
1.to take care of. to settle something 2. to lead or move, as to a course of action, by influence or persuasion. to fish

Miss Brill
Although it was so brilliantly fine—the blue sky powdered with gold and the great spots of light like white wine splashed over the Jardins P

Match the following definitions in the left column with the words in the right column. Find sentences with these words in the story
1.futile; useless. to decide on smth 2.being familiar with smth so that it no longer seems new or strange to you.

Her First Ball
Exactly when the ball began Leila would have found it hard to say. Perhaps her first real partner was the cab. It did not matter that she shared the cab with the Sheridan girls and their brother. S

Match the following definitions in the left column with the words in the right column. Find sentences with these words in the story
1. to like smth or like to do smth, to be willing to do smth weird 2.not happy or smiling; looking very serious

Match one of the following adjectives to each description
ashamed exciting surprising terrified shy gloomy

Speak on or write an essay about your assessment of the story and your impressions of it
The Lady's Maid Eleven o 'clock. A knock at the door. ...I hope I haven't disturbed you, madam. You weren't asleep—were you? But I've just given my lady her tea,

Match the following definitions in the left column with the words in the right column. Find sentences with these words in the story
1. to do one’s hair to cheat smb 2.full of extreme anger, raging to feel inclined to do smth

Match the following definitions in the left column with the words in the right column. Find sentences with these words in the story
1. to have a useful effect: to help smb. to be over 2. to meet or find something by chance. to make a nuisance

The Tiredness of Rosabel
At the corner of Oxford Circus Rosabel bought a bunch of violets, and that was practically the rea­son why she had so little tea—for a scone

Comprehension Check
a) What did Rosabel do to earn her living? b) What was her mood when she was returning home? c) What means did the author use to describe Rosabel’s tiredness? d) What had

Speak on or write an essay about your assessment of the story and your impressions of it
  The Little Girl To the little girl he was a figure to be feared and avoided. Every morning befo

Match the following definitions in the left column with the words in the right column. Find sentences with these words in the story
1.an unusually large person properly 2.to search or examine thoroughly to give smth up

Put in the missing prepositions
I looked … the apartment where I had spent most … my life. The window was open and sounds … the street mixed … the talk show … the radio that my mother always kept … It seemed that she had even tur

Pension Seguin
The servant who opened the door was twin sis­ter to that efficient and hideous creature bearing a soup tureen into the First French Picture. Her round red face shone like freshly washed china. She

Match the following definitions in the left column with the words in the right column
1. very likely to be influenced, harmed or affected by smth. immense 2. to suggest that smth is true or that you feel or think

Late at Night
(Virginia is seated by the fire. Her outdoor things are thrown on a chair; her boots are faintly steaming in the fender). Virginia (laying the letter down): I don't like this letter at all

Comprehension Check
a) What kind of letter did Virginia receive? b) Why did she consider it offensive? c) Why did Sunday evenings have a special effect on the woman? d) What are Virginia’s t

Sixpence
Children are unaccountable little creatures. Why should a small boy like Dicky, good as gold as a rule, sensitive, affectionate, obedient, and, mar­vellously sensible for his age, have moods when,

Match the following definitions in the left column with the words in the right column. Find sentences with these words in the story
1. to make smb able to avoid doing smth difficult or unpleasant. to have moods 2. to deliberately try to forget an unpleasant m

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