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^ ЛЕКСИКА ДО ТЕКСТУ №1
to content one's thirst
to be damn ill to take no notice of smth/smb
to betoken one's poverty to get rid of smth/smb
to butt into to frown one's eyebrows
to seem awful to shrug one's shoulders
to make a roll-call of smth
^ ЛЕКСИКА ДО ТЕКСТУ №2
to suit (to match) to make a pocket
to take one's ease to be at one's wits' end
to keep oneself from starvation to believe one's own ears
slums to be absolutely stranded
to be fed up cheek-bones
to content one's hunger
^ ЛЕКСИКА ДО ТЕКСТУ №3
to accommodate/to lodge to promise (to give a word)
the more … the more to hire smth/smb
to be terrified by smth/smb a place of destination
to steer smth
^ ЛЕКСИКА ДО ТЕКСТУ №4
to sleep a wink to take one's revenge
to step upon smb's foot to justify oneself
to get on smb's nerves to be out of a beaten way
to feel ashamed to fall upon evil days/times
^ ЛЕКСИКА ДО ТЕКСТУ №5
to be on the tip of the tongue
at the distance of
to sleep and stick
to embrace smb
to keep a loud speak
For the tenth time in the last hour, Benji's stomach growled and twisted, reminding him that he was hungry. Even a drink of water would help. The liquid Dietrich had held to his nose in Houston had made his mouth and throat feel dry as dust.
When he and Tiffany were unloaded from the plane, Benji expected to see Mary, Paul, and Cindy smiling at him, but all he had seen was another cart piled high with suitcases. Then they were towed off to a big room.
Their cages were side by side on a counter, and Benji could hear Tiffany's low whimper, but he had no way of seeing her. Perhaps that was just as well because Tiffany looked terrible. She had barked and whimpered until she was exhausted, and now her head rested between her paws as she gazed forlornly out at the stacks of bags and boxes.
Somewhere across the room a bell rang…continued ringing repeatedly. Peering between two stacks of suitcase, Benji saw a man in coveralls pick up the telephone.
The man nodded as he listened. Then he frowned and looked off into the room.
I. F. Love "For the Love of Benji"
I remember that December afternoon as clearly as if I were there again now in the living room trimming the tree with Trissy. Light glowed and glimmered in the ornaments. Outside snow was falling. Mama sat on the couch opening Christmas cards that had just come in the mail.
I can still hear the soft sliding sound of cards coming from envelopes.
"Cousin Grace." Mama leaned forward and handed a card to Daddy.
"There's a note on the back," Mama added. "Aunt Sarah hasn't been feeling well. The cold weather, I suppose." Daddy lifted an eyebrow. He thought there was a lot more wrong with Mama's Aunt Sarah than cold weather could account for. But he didn't argue. He was feeling lazy and content in the warm Christmas room. Aunt Sarah was too far away, to worry about.
"Grace wonders if I could possibly get out for a visit before summer."
I hung a silver trumpet on a high branch. Only Daddy could reach the top, to put on the star.
"Actually, it might not be bad to go in the spring this year, when the girls have their spring vacation", Mama said thoughtfully. "It's always so hot at Aunt Sarah's in the summer."
Carol Beach York "Revenge of the Dolls"
I never did see Aunt Sarah's house in the wintertime.
I never saw the garden deep with snow, the ice formed between the flagstones of the path leading to the grape arbor. I never saw the woods silent and white. I never saw the road to town blown over with drifting snow, that winter place from which the Christmas card had come.
But I did at last see fires in the big old-fashioned fireplaces with brick hearths and clocks chiming on the mantelpieces.
We went for a week in early spring—Mama, Trissy, and I, and the weather was damp and chill. There was always a fire in the living room, and I liked to sit beside it and watch the flames. The blazing fire made the whole room beautiful. Light glowed on the polished tabletops, the brass jardinieres, and the oil paintings in their heavy frames.
And there was always a fire in Aunt Sarah's room upstairs. But the fire was less welcoming there. It cast mysterious shadows on the carpet, on the dark furniture, on the faces of the dolls—and made their glass eyes gleam like the eyes of wolves on the fringes of a campfire.
Carol Beach York "Revenge of the Dolls"
Cousin Grace came to meet our train. I saw her first, a thin, melancholy woman in a beaver coat. The rails were silvery with rain as the train ground to a stop, and through the rain-streaked windows I could see Cousin Grace appear in the dusk like an apparition with her dark eyes and pale cheeks. Her face floated there in the misty light, and I drew back from the window silently, though I had been about to cry out, "There she is, Mama. I see Cousin Grace."
Later Trissy and I sat in the back of the car, lost on the wide, velvety, dove-gray seat. No one had ever used the ashtrays set into the doors. No fingerprints marred their chrome lids. No smudges stained the gray carpet at our feet.
Mama sat in front beside Cousin Grace. All we could see was the back of their heads. I watched the streets of town slip by and the desolate stretch of countryside begin. The fields and small patches of woods looked forsaken, forlorn. The trees were bare.
"Christina and Jason are coming tomorrow". Cousin Grace spoke to Mama in a somber tone.
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