Late at Night - раздел Связь, Предлагаемое пособие разработано для развития навыков опосредованного перевода и устной речи слушателей программы дополнительного профессионального образования «Переводчик в сфере профессиональной коммуникации» (Virginia Is Seated By The Fire. Her Outdoor Things Are Thrown On A Chair; He...
(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—not at all. I wonder if he means it to be so snubbing—or if it's just his way. (Reads.) "Many thanks for the socks. As I have had five pairs sent me lately, I am sure you will be pleased to hear I gave yours to a friend in my company." No; it can't be my fancy. He must have meant it; it is a dreadful snub.
Oh, I wish I hadn't sent him that letter telling him to take care of himself. I'd give anything to have that lettter back. I wrote it on a Sunday evening too—that was so fatal. I never ought to write letters on Sunday evenings—I always let myself go so. I can't think why Sunday evenings always have such a funny effect on me. I simply yearn to have someone to write to—or to love. Yes, that's it; they make me feel sad and full of love. Funny, isn't it?
I must start going to church again; it's fatal sitting in front of the fire and thinking. There are the hymns, too; one can let oneself go so safely in the
hymns. (She croons.) "And then for those our Dearest and our Best"— (but her eye lights on the next sentence in the letter). "It was most kind of you to have knitted them yourself." Really! Really, that is too much! Men are abominably arrogant! He actually imagines that I knitted them myself. Why, I hardly know him; I've only spoken to him a few times. Why on earth should I knit him socks? He must think I am far gone to throw myself at his head like that. For it certainly is throwing oneself at a man's head to knit him socks—if he's almost a stranger. Buying him an odd pair is a different matter altogether. No; I shan't write to him again— that's definite. And, besides, what would be the use? I might get really keen on him and he'd never care a straw for me. Men don't.
I wonder why it is that after a certain point I always seem to repel people. Funny, isn't it! They like me at first; they think me uncommon, or original; but then immediately I want to show them— even give them a hint—that I like them, they seem to get frightened and begin to disappear. I suppose I shall get embittered about it later on. Perhaps they know somehow that I've got so much to give. Perhaps it's that that frightens them. Oh, I feel I've got such boundless, boundless love to give to somebody—-I would care for somebody so utterly and so completely—watch over them—keep everything horrible away—and make them feel that if ever they wanted anything done I lived to do it. If only I felt that somebody wanted me, that I was of use to somebody, I should become a different person. Yes; that is the secret of life for me—to feel loved, to feel wanted, to know that somebody leaned on me for everything absolutely—for ever. And I am strong, and far, far richer than most women. I am sure that most women don't have this tremendous yearning to—express themselves. I suppose that's it— to come into flower, almost. I'm all folded and shut away in the dark and nobody cares. I suppose that is why I feel this tremendous tenderness for plants and sick animals and birds—it's one way of getting rid of this wealth, this burden of love. And then, of course, they are so helpless— that's another thing. But I have a feeling that if a man were really in love with you he'd be just as helpless too. Yes, I am sure that men are very helpless...
I don't know why, I feel inclined to cry to-night. Certainly not because of this letter; it isn't half important enough. But I keep wondering if things will ever change or if I shall go on like this until I am old—just wanting and wanting. I'm not as young as I was even now. I've got lines and my skin isn't a bit what it used to be. I never was really pretty, not in the ordinary way, but I did have lovely skin and lovely hair—and I walked well. I only caught sight of myself in a glass to-day— stooping and shuffling along... I looked dowdy and elderly. Well, no; perhaps not quite as bad as that; I always exaggerate about myself. But I'm faddy about things now*—that's a sign of age, I'm sure. The wind—I can't bear being blown about in the wind now; and
I hate having wet feet. I never used to care about those things—I used almost to revel in them—they made me feel so one with Nature* in a way. But now I get cross and I want to cry and I yearn for something to make me forget. I suppose that's why women take to drink. Funny, isn't it!
The fire is going out. I'll burn this letter. What's it to me? Pooh! I don't care. What is it to me? The five other women can send him socks! And I don't suppose he was a bit what I imagined. I can just hear him saying, "It was most kind of you, to have knitted them yourself." He has a fascinating voice. I think it was his voice that attracted me to him— and his hands; they looked so strong—they were such man's hands. Oh, well, don't sentimentalise over it; burn it!.. No, I can't now—the fire's gone out. I'll go to bed. I wonder if he really meant to be snubbing. Oh, I am tired. Often when I go to bed now I want to pull the clothes over my head—and just cry. Funny, isn't it!
ОТ АВТОРОВ... Предлагаемое пособие разработано для развития навыков опосредованного перевода и устной речи слушателей программы дополнительного профессионального...
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Late at Night
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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 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,
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
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
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
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
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
The Fly
"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 ov
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
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
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,
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