Нужен перевод срочно So we all drove away with three cheers for Mother, and Mother stood and watched us from the verandah for as long as she could see us, and Father waved his hand back to her every f?
Нужен перевод срочно So we all drove away with three cheers for Mother, and Mother stood and watched us from the verandah for as long as she could see us, and Father waved his hand back to her every few minutes till he hit his hand on the back edge of the car, and then said that he didn’t think that Mother could see us any longer.
Well, we had the loveliest day up among the hills that you could possibly imagine, and Father caught such big specimens that he felt sure that Mother couldn’t have landed them anyway, if she had been fishing for them, and Will and I fished too, though we didn’t get so many as Father, and the two girls met quite a lot of people that they knew as we drove along, and there were some young men friends of theirs that they met along the stream and talked to, and so we all had a splendid time.
It was quite late when we got back, nearly seven o’clock in the evening, but Mother had guessed that we would be late, so she had kept back the dinner so as to have it just nicely ready and hot for us.
Only first she had to get towels and soap for Father and clean things for him to put on, because he always gets so messed up with fishing, and that kept Mother busy for a little while, that and helping the girls get ready.
But at last everything was ready, and we sat down to the grandest kind of dinner — roast turkey and all sorts of things like on Xmas Day.
Mother had to get up and down a good bit during the meal fetching things back and forward, but at the end Father noticed it and said she simply mustn’t do it, that he wanted her to spare herself, and he got up and fetched the walnuts over from the sideboard himself.
The dinner lasted a long while, and was great fun, and when it was over all of us wanted to help clear the things up and wash the dishes, only Mother said that she would really much rather do it, and so we let her, because we wanted just for once to humour her.
It was quite late when it was all over, and when we all kissed Mother before going to bed, she said it had been the most wonderful day in her life, and I think there were tears in her eyes.
Помогите перевести пожалуйста?
Помогите перевести пожалуйста!
OF THE PARENTS OF THOMAS WINGFIELD Thomas Wingfield was born here in the very room where I write today.
My grandfather had only one son – my father.
His great wish was to make a priest of him, but my father did not like the idea.
Still he could not disobey his father and was obliged to go to a convent and prepare for his profession.
But he behaved so badly that the prior at last begged my grandfather to take his son home.
When the boy grew older my grandfather decided to send him to Spain to study at a convent.
My father agreed to go to Spain, for he wanted to see the world.
A year later a priest came from Spain and told my grandfather that his son had been fired from the convent and they had not heard anything of him since.
Two years later the news came that my father had fallen into the hands of the Inquisition and had been tortured to death.
My grandfather was very sad, though he did not really believe that his son was dead and always awaited his return.
… But it was only three years after the old man’s death that my father came home with his young wife who was a Spaniard.
My father never spoke about his life in Spain.
But once I saw white scars on his body.
I asked my father about them.
“Thomas”, he said, “There is a country called Spain where your mother was born.
There these devils live.
They torture men and women and burn them alive in the name of Christ.
The enemy of your mother betrayed me into their hands.
They made these scars on my body and did not burn me because your mother saved me.
Описание упражнения[править | править код]
A. Before you read the text, say if you know anything about Roald Dahl and his books. Does the name «Charlie and the Chocolate Factory» say anything to you?
B. Look at the title of the text, the pictures and the key phrases and try to guess what the text is going to be about. Key phrases:
- to spend boyhood with one’s father
- to live in a gypsy caravan
- to repair engines in a workshop
- to be cheerful and full of fun
- to be an excellent storyteller
C. Read the text. Listen to it carefully, and say if your guess was right.
Danny’s Storyправить | править код
When I was four months old, my mother died suddenly and my father was left to look after me all by himself.
I had no brothers or sisters with whom I could share toys or play together. So all my boyhood, from the age of four months on, there were just us two, my father and me. We lived in an old gypsy caravan behind a filling station. My father owned the filling station and the caravan and a small meadow behind, that was about all he owned in the world and my father struggled to make both ends meet. It was a very small filling station on a small country road with fields and woody hills around it.
While I was still a baby, my father washed me and fed me, changed my diapers, pushed me in my pram to the doctor and did all the millions of other things a mother normally does for her child. That is not an easy task for a man, especially when he has to earn his living at the same time.
But my father didn’t mind. He was a cheerful man. I think that he gave me all the love he had felt for my mother when she was alive. We were very close. During my early years, I never had a moment’s unhappiness, and here I am on my fifth birthday.
I was now a bouncy little boy as you can see, with dirt and oil all over me, but that was because I spent all day in
the workshop helping my father with the cars. The workshop was a stone building. My father built that himself with loving
care. «We are engineers, you and I,» he used to say firmly to me. «We earn our living by repairing engines and we can’t do good work in a bad workshop.» It was a fine workshop, big enough to take one car comfortably.
The caravan was our house and our home. My father said it was at least one hundred and fifty years old. Many gypsy
children, he said, had been born in it and had grown up within its wooden walls. In old times it had been pulled by
a horse along winding country roads of England. Different people had knocked at its doors, different people had lived in it. But now its best years were over. There was only one room in the caravan, and it wasn’t much bigger than a modern bathroom.
Although we had electric lights in the workshop, we were not allowed to have them in the caravan as it was dangerous. So we got
our heat and light in the same way as the gypsies had done years ago. There was a wood-burning stove that kept us warm in winter and there were candles in candlesticks. I think that the stew cooked by my father is the best thing I’ve ever tasted. One plateful was never enough.
For furniture, we had two narrow beds, two chairs and a small table covered with a tablecloth and some bowls, plates, cups, forks and spoons on it. Those were all the home comforts we had. They were all we needed and we never regretted that our caravan was far from a perfect home.
I really loved living in that gypsy caravan. I loved it particularly in the evenings when I was tucked up in my bed and my father was telling stories. I was happy because I was sure that when I went to sleep, my father would still be there, very close to me, sitting in his chair by the fire.
My father, without any doubt, was the most wonderful and exciting father any boy ever had. Here is a picture of him.
You may think, if you don’t know him well, that he was a stern and serious man. He wasn’t. He was actually full of fun. What made him look so serious and sometimes gloomy was the fact that he never smiled with his mouth. He did it all with his eyes. He had bright blue eyes, and when he thought of something funny, you could see a golden light dancing in the middle
of each eye. But the mouth never moved. My father was not what you would call an educated man. I doubt he had read many books in his life. But he was an excellent storyteller. He promised to make up a bedtime story for me every time I asked him. He always kept his promise. The best stories were turned into serials and went on many nights running.
Перевод текста[править | править код]
История Денниправить | править код
Когда мне было 4 месяца, моя мама неожиданно умерла и заботится обо мне оставалось только моему отцу.
У меня не было братьев или сестер с кем бы я могу поделиться игрушками или поиграть вместе. Так прошло все мое детство с 4 месяцев, нас было всего лишь двое, мой отец и я. Мы жили в старом цыганском вагончике за автозаправочной станцией. Мой отец был владельцем автозаправочной станции и вагончиком и небольшой поляной за ними, это было все, что было у него и мой отец пытался свести концы с концами. Это была небольшая заправочная станция на небольшой деревенской дороге с полями и лесистыми холмами вокруг нее.
Пока я был ребенком, мой отец мыл меня и кормил меня, менял мне пеленки, катал меня в коляске к доктору и делал еще миллион других вещей, которыми обычно занимается мама. Это не простые задания для мужчины, особенно, когда ему нужно зарабатывать на жизнь в это же время.
Но мой папа был не против. Он был счастливым человеком. На мой взгляд, он отдал мне всю любовь, которую он испытывал к моей маме, когда она была жива. Мы были очень близки. В ранние года у меня никогда не было несчастливых моментов и вот мне исполняется пять лет.
Я был жизнерадостным маленьким мальчиком, как вы успели заметить, с грязью и маслом вокруг меня, это было так, потому что я проводил весь день в мастерской, помогая своему отцу чинить автомобили. Мастерская это каменное здание. Мой отец построил его сам с любовью. «Мы инженеры, ты и я» он говорил уверенно мне. «Мы зарабатываем на жизнь, чиня моторы и мы не можем выполнять работу хорошо в плохой мастерской». Это была отличная мастерская, дос таточной большая, чтобы разместить автомобиль спокойно.
Фургончик был нашим домом. Мой отец говорил , что ему было по крайней мере 150 лет. Многие цыганские дети, он говорил, родились в нем и выросли в этих деревянных стенах. Ранее он был запряжен лошадью и катался по извилистым деревенским дорогам Англии. Разные люди стучали в эти двери, разные люди жили в нем.
Но сейчас его лучшие годы прошли. Здесь была всего лишь одна комната в цыганском вагончике, она была не больше современной ванной.
Однако у нас был электрический свет в мастерской, нам не разрешено было им пользоваться в вагончике, потому что это было опасно. Поэтому отопление и свет в цыганском вагончике мы добывали так же как много лет назад. Там была печь, которая нас согревала зимой и свечи в подсвечниках. Я думаю, что рагу, приготовленное моим папой, было самое вкусное, что я пробовал. Одной полной тарелки никогда не было достаточно.
Из мебели у нас было две узкие кровати, два стула и небольшой стол накрытый скатертью и несколько тарелок, чашек, кружек, вилок и ложек. Это все удобства, которые у нас были. Это все, что нам нужно было, и мы никогда не жалели о том, что наш вагончик был далеко от совершенного дома.
Мне очень нравилось жить в моем цыганском вагончике. В особенности мне нравилось там вечером, когда я укутывался в кровати и мой папа рассказывал мне истории. Я был счастлив, потому что я был уверен, что когда я усну, мой отец будет до сих пор здесь, очень рядом со мной, сидеть на своем стуле около огня.
Мой отец, без всяких сомнений, был самый восхитительный и потрясающий отец, который только мог быть у мальчика. Вот его фотография.
Вы можете подумать, если вы не знаете его хорошо, что он был строгим и серьезным. Но он не был таким. На самом деле он был веселым. Его делало серьезным и иногда угрюмым только то, что он никогда не улыбался. Он это делал глазами. У него были горящие голубые глаза, и когда он думал о чем-то забавном, можно было увидеть, как золотые огоньки танцуют по середине его глаз. Но губы никогда не шевелились. Мой отец не был, как вы это называете образованным человеком. Я сомневаюсь, что он прочитал много книг за свою жизнь. Но он был отличным рассказчиком. Он обещал рассказывать мне истории каждый раз, когда я его просил. Он всегда сдерживал свои обещания. Лучшие истории превращались в сериал и продолжались много ночей.
Помогите #47 — 48Это текст :When I was four months old, my mother died?
Помогите #47 — 48
Это текст :
When I was four months old, my mother died.
I had no brothers or sisters.
So all my boyhood, from the age of four months, there were just two of us, my father and me.
We lived in an old gypsy caravan.
My father owned the filling station and the caravan, that was about all he owned in the world.
It was a very small filling station on a small country road with fields and woody hills around it.
While I was still a baby, my father washed me and fed me, pushed me in my pram to the doctor and did all the millions of other things a mother normally does for her child.
That is not an easy task for a man, especially when he has to earn his living at the same time.
But my father was a cheerful man.
I thinks that he gave me all the live he had felt for my mother when she was alive.
We were very close.
During my early years, I never had a moments unhappiness, and here I am on my fifth birthday.
I was a little boy as you can see, with dirt and oil all over me, but that was because I spent all day in the workshop helping my father with the cars.
The workshop was stone building.
My father built that himself with loving care.
We are engineers, you and I, he said to me.
We earn our living by repairing engines and we can’t do good work in a bad workshop.
It was a fine workshop, big enough to take one car comfortably.
The caravan was our house and our home.
My father said it was at least one hundred and fifty years old.
Many gipsy children, he said, he been born in it and had grown up within its wooden walls.
Different people had knocked at its doors, different people had lived in it.
But now its best years were over.
There was only one room in the caravan, and it wasn’t much bigger than a modern bathroom.
Although we had electric lights in the workshop, we were not allowed to have them in the caravan as it was dangerous.
So we got our heat and light in the same way as the gypsies had done years ago.
There was a wood — burning stove that kept us warm in winter and there were candles in candlesticks.
I think that the stew cooked by my father is the best thing I’ve ever tasted.
One plate was never enough.
For furniture, we had two narrow beds, two chairs and a small table covered with a tablecloth and some bowls, plates, cups, forks and spoons on it.
Those were all the home comforts we had.
They were all we needed.
I really lived living in that gypsy caravan.
I lived the evenings when I was in my bed and my father was telling stories.
I was happy because I was sure that when I went to sleep my father would still be there, very close to me, sitting in his chair by the fire.
My father, without any doubt, was the most wonderful and exciting father any boy ever had.
Here is a picture of him.
You may think, if you don’t know him well, that he was a serous man.
He wasn’t.
He was actually full of fun.
What made him look so serious and sometimes sad was the fact that he nevr smiled with his mouth.
He did it all with his eyes.
He had bright blue eyes and when he thought of something funny, you could see a golden light dancing in the middle of each eye.
But the mouth never moved.
My father was not what you would call an educated man.
I doubt he had read many books in his life.
But he was an excellent storyteller.
He promised to make up a bedtime story for me every time I asked him.
He always kept his promise.
The best stories were turned into serials and went on many nights running.
Преимущества ГДЗ по английскому языку за 10 класс учебник Rainbow базовый уровень Афанасьева
Решебник выполняет все те же функции, что и частный репетитор. Но вместе с ним ученикам удастся блистательно подготовиться к уроку дома в комфортной обстановке. Электронный решебник станет настоящей палочкой-выручалочкой для подростков, которые, наконец, решились взяться за учебу и хотят уделить как можно больше внимания данному предмету. С этим справочником можно с легкостью пройти через все испытания, не прилагая при этом особых усилий. На уроках ребята познакомятся со следующими важными и трудными темами:
- Прошедшее простое и продолженное время.
- Аффиксация. Суффиксы существительных.
- Составные и сложные предлоги.
- Приставки прилагательных и глаголов.
- Фразовые глаголы. Неделимые переходные.
- Виды причастий.
Дома им предстоит все это детально разобрать, так как времени на изучение большинства параграфов в школе отводится очень мало. Если у десятиклассников нет желания готовиться к урокам вместе с репетиторами или тратить время на посещение дополнительных курсов, то им следует вооружиться онлайн-сборником и заглядывать в него в тех случаях, когда это действительно будет необходимо. Этот решебник выгодно отличается от остальных подобных справочников тем, что:
- в нем представлена только проверенная информация;
- находится в электронном доступе;
- был разработан специалистами высокой квалификации;
- все сведения изложены максимально простым и понятным языком;
- верные ответы и решенные задания дополнены авторскими комментариями.
Именно поэтому за советом к данному методическому комплексу обращаются многие учителя. И кому, как не им, знать, насколько программа бывает тяжелой? Эти педагоги точно не запретят подросткам использовать сборник готовых домашних заданий. Подспорье было разработано с целью облегчения учебного процесса и улучшения качества образования. Благодаря таком замечательному справочнику школьникам с любым уровнем знаний удастся без труда и за считанные минуты справиться с домашним заданием. Плюс ко всему, при подготовке к контрольным и другим проверочным они не будут испытывать стресс и панику, а сосредоточатся на тех моментах, в которых они все еще не разобрались до конца.
Народ всем Привет я новичек прошу вас помочь с текстом по английскому языку?
Народ всем Привет я новичек прошу вас помочь с текстом по английскому языку.
Вдолгу не останусь.
Нужно составить краткий пересказ по этому тексту.
Заранеее спасибо!
When I was four months old, my mother died.
I had no brothers or sisters.
So all my boyhood, from the age of four months, there were just two of us, my father and me.
We lived in an old gypsy caravan.
My father owned the filling station and the caravan, that was about all he owned in the world.
It was a very small filling station on a small country road with fields and woody hills around it.
While I was still a baby, my father washed me and fed me, pushed me in my pram to the doctor and did all the millions of other things a mother normally does for her child.
That is not an easy task for a man, especially when he has to earn his living at the same time.
But my father was a cheerful man.
I thinks that he gave me all the live he had felt for my mother when she was alive.
We were very close.
During my early years, I never had a moments unhappiness, and here I am on my fifth birthday.
I was a little boy as you can see, with dirt and oil all over me, but that was because I spent all day in the workshop helping my father with the cars.
The workshop was stone building.
My father built that himself with loving care.
We are engineers, you and I, he said to me.
We earn our living by repairing engines and we can’t do good work in a bad workshop.
It was a fine workshop, big enough to take one car comfortably.
The caravan was our house and our home.
My father said it was at least one hundred and fifty years old.
Many gipsy children, he said, he been born in it and had grown up within its wooden walls.
Different people had knocked at its doors, different people had lived in it.
But now its best years were over.
There was only one room in the caravan, and it wasn’t much bigger than a modern bathroom.
Although we had electric lights in the workshop, we were not allowed to have them in the caravan as it was dangerous.
So we got our heat and light in the same way as the gypsies had done years ago.
There was a wood — burning stove that kept us warm in winter and there were candles in candlesticks.
I think that the stew cooked by my father is the best thing I’ve ever tasted.
One plate was never enough.
For furniture, we had two narrow beds, two chairs and a small table covered with a tablecloth and some bowls, plates, cups, forks and spoons on it.
Those were all the home comforts we had.
They were all we needed.
I really lived living in that gypsy caravan.
I lived the evenings when I was in my bed and my father was telling stories.
I was happy because I was sure that when I went to sleep my father would still be there, very close to me, sitting in his chair by the fire.
My father, without any doubt, was the most wonderful and exciting father any boy ever had.
Here is a picture of him.
You may think, if you don’t know him well, that he was a serous man.
He wasn’t.
He was actually full of fun.
What made him look so serious and sometimes sad was the fact that he nevr smiled with his mouth.
He did it all with his eyes.
He had bright blue eyes and when he thought of something funny, you could see a golden light dancing in the middle of each eye.
But the mouth never moved.
My father was not what you would call an educated man.
I doubt he had read many books in his life.
But he was an excellent storyteller.
He promised to make up a bedtime story for me every time I asked him.
He always kept his promise.
