Топики по английскому языку. Топики Тексты для чтения Экзаменационные вопросы Цветкова И. В. Клепальченко И. А
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THE PROBLEM OF THOR BRIDGE It was a cold morning in October. I went down to breakfast and found that Sherlock Holmes' had already finished his meal. "I am going to have a visitor," my friend said. "It's Neil Gibson, the Gold King. He wants to speak to me about the tragic end of his wife. You have probably read about it in the papers. The man is an American, but he bought a large estate in Hampshire some years ago. Here is a letter I received from him in the morning." I took the letter and read the following: "Dear Mr Sherlock Holmes, I can't see the best woman I have ever met go to her death.I must try to save her. I can't explain what has happened. But I know Miss Dunbar is innocent. She has a kind heart, she has never killed a fly. I'll come at eleven tomorrow. I'll give you all the money I have if only you can save her. Yours truly, J. Neil Gibson" "Now, Watson," said Sherlock Holmes after I finished reading the letter, "a few words about the story. This man is a great financier and a man of violent temper. He had a wife, a middle-aged woman, who died tragically some weeks ago. There was also a young and very attractive governess in the house who looked after the two small children. These are the three people who are connected with the tragedy. And the place where the woman met her death is an old English estate. The wife was found in the garden, nearly half a mile from the house, late at night, with a revolver bullet through her brain. No revolver was found near her. No revolver near her, Watson — remember that." "But why suspect the governess?" I asked. "A revolver was found on the floor of her wardrobe with one bullet missing." He paused and repeated slowly, "On-thefloor-of-her-wardrobe." Then he was silent for some time. "Yes, Watson, it was found. What do you say to that? Then the dead woman had a note asking her to come" to that place in the garden near the bridge. The note was signed by the governess. Do you like that? And, at last, there's the motive. Gibson is a millionaire. If his wife dies ... she will have everything — love, money, power. Remember, Watson, she is young and beautiful." "Anything else against her?" "She could not prove an alibi. She herself said she had been near Thor Bridge, the place where the woman was killed. Some passing villager had seen her there too, at about eleven o'clock. And here is our client, I think." But it was not the client. The man who entered the room was a Mr Bates. We had never heard of him before. He was a thin, nervous man with frightened eyes. He told us that he was the manager of Mr Gibson's estate, that Mr Gibson was a villain and a hard man; that he had treated his wife cruelly, and she had been very unhappy; that she had been a Brazilian, a creature of the Tropics, and she had loved him as such women could love. "We all liked her and were sorry for her," he said, "and we hated him. He didn't love her. And one thing more. He is a liar. Don't believe his words. That's all I have to say. Now I must go. I don't want to meet him here." With a frightened look our strange visitor ran to the door and disappeared. At eleven o'clock we heard heavy steps upon the stairs and the famous millionaire entered the room. As I looked at him I understood the fear and dislike of his manager. He was very tall, his face was hard and cruel, with deep lines upon it. Cold grey eyes looked at us each in turn. "Let me tell you, Mr Holmes," he began, "that money is nothing to me in this case. This woman is innocent and this woman must be cleared. You must do it. Name the sum." "I am not interested in money," my friend answered coldly. "Well, if dollars are nothing to you, think of your reputation. Your name will be in every paper in England and America." "Thank you, Mr Gibson. We are wasting time. It will probably surprise you to know that I prefer to work anonymously. Sit down, please, and give me the facts." (After A. Conan Doyle) 1 Sherlock Holmes [J3:lok 'haumz] 2 Neil Gibson [,neil 'gibsan] 3 Hampshire ['haempjia] Гемпшир 4 I can't see the best woman I have ever met go to her death Я не могу допустить, чтобы лучшей из женщин, которых я когда-либо встречал, грозила смерть. 5 Dunbar ['dAnba:] 6 she has never killed a fly она и мухи не обидит 7 Yours truly Преданный Вам (обычная форма вежливости в конце письма) 8 Watson ['wotsan] 9 with a revolver bullet through her brain с простреленной головой 10 A revolver... with one bullet missing. Револьвер..., в котором не хватало одной пули. 11 a note asking her to come записка, в которой ее просили прийти 12 She could not prove an alibi ['aelibai] Она не могла доказать свое алиби (т.е. что ее не было на месте преступления в момент совершения убийства) 13 a Mr Bates некто мистер Бейтс 14 a Brazilian [bra'ziljan] бразилианка 15 the IVopics ['tropiks] тропики 16 with deep lines upon it испещренное глубокими морщинами 17 this woman must be cleared с этой женщины надо снять подозрение 18 I prefer to work anonymously [a'nonimasli] я предпочитаю работать так, чтобы мое имя оставалось неизвестным A SOUND OF THUNDER The sign on the wall read: TIME SAFARI. SAFARIS TO ANY YEAR IN THE PAST. YOU NAME THE ANIMAL. WE TAKE YOU THERE. YOU SHOOT IT. Eckels put his hand into his pocket and slowly took out a check for ten thousand dollars. "Does this safari guarantee I come back alive?" he asked the man behind the desk. "We guarantee nothing," said the official, "except the dinosaurs." He turned. "This is Mr Travis, your Safari Guide in the Past. He'll tell you what and where to shoot. If he says no shooting, no shooting." "Hell and damn," Eckels said, looking at the flickering Time Machine. "A real Time Machine! If the election had gone badly yesterday, I might be here now running from the results. Thank God, Keith won. He'll make a fine President of the United States." "Yes," said the man behind the desk. "We're lucky. If Deutscher had won, we'd have the worst dictatorship. People came to us, you know, joking but not joking. Said if Deutscher became President they wanted to go live in 1492. Of course, our business is to organize Safaris, not Escapes. Anyway, Keith's President now. All you've got to worry about is — " "Shooting my dinosaur," Eckels finished it for him. "A Tyrannosaurus rex. The Thunder Lizard, the most terrible monster in history. Sign this paper. Anything happens to you, we're not responsible. Those dinosaurs are hungry". Eckels flushed angrily. "You're trying to scare me! " "Frankly, yes. We don't want anyone here who'll panic at the first shot. Six Safari Guides were killed last year, and a dozen hunters. We're here to give you the biggest thrill a real hunter ever had. Travelling you back sixty million years!" First a day and then a night and then a day and then a night, then it was day-night-day-night-day. A week, a month, a year, a decade! AD 2055. AD 2019. 1999. 1957. Gone! The machine roared. They put on their oxygen helmets and tested the intercoms. The Machine slowed, then stopped. They were in an old time, a very old time indeed, three hunters and two Safari Guides with their blue metal guns across their knees. "Christ isn't born yet," said Travis. "Moses has not gone to the mountain to talk with God. The Pyramids are still in the earth. Remember that, Alexander, Caesar, Napoleon, Hitler — none of them exists." The men nodded. "That" — Mr Travis pointed — "is the jungle of sixty million two thousand and fifty-five years before President Keith." He indicated a metal path running across the steaming swamp, among giant ferns and palms. "And that," he said, "is the Path laid by Time Safari for your use. It is six inches above the earth. It's made of an anti-gravity metal. Its purpose is to keep you from touching" this world of the past in any way. Stay on the Path. Don't go off it. I repeat. Don't go off. For any reason! And don't shoot any animal we don't okay." "Why?" asked Eckels. "We don't want to change the Future. We don't belong here in the Past." "That's not clear," said Eckels. "All right," Travis continued, "say you step on a mouse here and kill it. That means all the future families of this one mouse are destroyed, right?" "Right." "And all the families of the families of that one mouse! You destroy one, then a dozen, then a thousand, a million, a billion possible mice!" "So they're dead," said Eckels. "So what?" "So what? Well, what about the foxes that'll need those mice to survive? For want often mice, a fox dies. For want of ten foxes, a lion starves. For want of a lion, thousands of insects and billions of other life forms are thrown into destruction". Fifty-nine million years later, a cave man, one of a dozen in the entire world, goes hunting saber-tooth tigers for food. But you, friend, have stepped on all the tigers in that region. By stepping on one single mouse. So the cave man starves. And the cave man is an entire future nation. Destroy this one man, and you destroy a race, a nation, an entire history of life. Perhaps Rome never rises on its seven hills. Perhaps Europe is forever a dark forest. Perhaps there'll never be a United States at all. So be careful. Stay on the Path. Never step off!" (After R. Bradbury) 1 Hell and damn [daem] разг. Черт возьми 2 Deutscher f'doitja] нем. немец ("говорящая" фамилия кандидата является намеком на Гитлера и немецкий фашизм) 3 Tyrannosaurus rex [tiraena,so:ras 'reks] тираннозавр 4 Thunder Lizard ['0лпс1э lizad] Громогласный Ящер 5 Travelling you back sixty million years! Отправляя вас в путешествие на шестьдесят миллионов лет назад! 6 AD [.ei'di:] сокр. от лат. Anno Domini ['aenau 'dominai] нашей эры 7 intercom [Intakom] переговорное устройство 8 Moses ['mauziz] Моисей 9 Alexander [,aelig'za:nda] Александр Македонский 10 Caesar ['si:za] Цезарь 11 to keep you from touching чтобы вы не коснулись (прошлого) 12 For any reason! Ни при каких обстоятельствах! 13 are thrown into destruction обречены на гибель 14 saber-tooth f'seibatu:©] tiger саблезубый тигр A NAME ON THE WALL Steve Mason had lived in New York for three years. His address book was filled with the phone numbers of girls he knew and had dated. Then why, he wondered, was he sitting in a phone booth about to dial PL 1-2450 — the phone number of a girl he had never seen or even heard about? Because he was curious. He had seen the name Pam Starr and the number PL 1-2450 twice in one week. The first time had been on the wall of a phone booth on 42nd Street. Then a minute ago he saw the name and number again — this time near a phone in a drugstore. The name Pam Starr was the same. The handwriting was the same. And below it the same person had written, "Quite a chick". Steve was so curious that he decided to call. He wanted to find out what would happen. It could be an interesting adventure. He could hear himself telling the whole story to his friends and laughing about it when it was over. So he took a deep breath and dialled PL 1-2450. He heard two rings; then a soft, pleasant, girl's voice said, "Hello". "May I speak to Pam Starr?" Steve asked. "This is Pam," she answered. "Who is this?" "Steven Wordsley," he said using a phoney name. "You don't know me," he added quickly. "I've just moved to New York from Chicago. But before I left, a friend of a friend of mine gave me your name... So how about a date?" He paused. "Come on. Gamble.I swear I don't have two heads." She laughed and said, "I'm sure you don't. I've got an idea. I like your voice, and I think I'll like you. But I might not. And then again, you might not like me. So why don't we go to a movie? You pick one out and call me back. Then we'll go out, and even if we don't like each other at least we can both enjoy the show." "Uh, all right, sure," Steve answered. He felt proud of himself. There was no question in his mind that this chick knew her way around with men. Steve found a movie that sounded good, but he didn't call her back right away. He waited two days so he wouldn't seem too eager. Then he called and made a date for the next Saturday evening. At seven-thirty Saturday night Steve went to her address. For a moment he hesitated. But he was too curious to give up now. She opened the door, and Steve knew he was a loser. The girl had tried to make herself look attractive, but she couldn't hide her homeliness. She wasn't really ugly, but she was no gorgeous chick. Steve covered up his disappointment with a friendly smile. "Hello, Pam. I'm Steve." She laughed and said, "I know I'm not the most beautiful girl in the world, but —" "I wasn't looking for the most beautiful girl in the world," Steve lied. "Come on, let's go see the movie." He smiled as cheerfully as he could. This homely girl probably accepted a lot of blind dates just so she could go out. And someone probably thought it was a good joke to write her name and number on the walls of phone booths. "Do you go out often?" Steve asked. "It's probably luck," she said, "but I get enough phone calls to keep me busy. I get a lot of calls from guys I don't know. I'm not sure where they get my name. Maybe from a friend, like you did. I don't know. Some are nice and some aren't." "Well, which am I?" Steve asked. "Nice," she laughed. On their way back to her apartment, Steve lied again and told Pam that his company was sending him back to Chicago the next week and that he didn't know when he would return to New York. Steve couldn't decide if she believed his story, but he didn't really care. He had taken her out and shown her a good time. That was all she could expect with her looks. When they got to her apartment, they stood in the doorway and said goodnight. "Thanks for the lovely evening," she said. She seemed to know that she wouldn't be asked for another date. Suddenly Steve felt very sorry for her. He decided that it wouldn't hurt him to fake an interest in her, and it would probably mean a lot to her if she thought someone wanted to see her again. "I'm sorry I have to leave town," he said. "There's just a chance that I'll get back to New York soon. For a day or so. Maybe we can go out again. Could I call you?" For a minute she looked as if she didn't believe what she had heard. Then her smile got brighter. "Could you? I'd love that! Do you think they'll send you back soon?" "Sure, sure, you never know," Steve said. "You won't lose my number, will you? But if you're here only for a day, you could call me at my office. I'll write down my office number for you right now. Wait just a second." She ran into her apartment to get a pencil and some paper. As she ripped a sheet from a pad, she dropped the pencil on the floor. She got down on her hands and knees and scrambled after the rolling pencil. Finally she grabbed the pencil and then quickly wrote her name and office phone number. Steve watched her sadly. Even before she handed him the piece of paper, he knew that her handwriting would be the same as the handwriting on the phone booth walls. (After R. Marmorstein) 1 drugstore ['diwgsto:] амер. аптека 2 quite a chick [tjik] зд. классная девчонка 3 Chicago [Ji'kaigau] Чикаго 4 Gamble ['gaembl] зд. Рискни 5 knew her way around with men умела обращаться с мужчинами 6 blind date [.blaind 'deit] свидание вслепую (с человеком, которого раньше не видел) THE MODEL MILLIONAIRE If you are not wealthy there is no use in being a charming fellow. Romance is the privilege of the rich, not the profession of the unemployed. The poor should be practical and prosaic. It is better to have a permanent income than to be charming. These are the great truths of modern life which Hughie Erskine never realised. Poor Hughie! He was wonderfully good-looking, but poor. To make matters worse, he was in love. The girl he loved was Laura Merton, the daughter of a retired colonel. Laura adored him, and he was ready to kiss her shoestrings. They were the handsomest couple in London, and had not a penny between them. The Colonel was very fond of Hughie, but would not hear of any engagement. "Come to me, my boy, when you have got ten thousand pounds of your own, and we'll see about it," he used to say; and that made Hughie very unhappy. One morning, as he was on his way to Holland Park, where the Mertons lived, he dropped to see his friend Alan Trevor, a painter. When Hughie came in he found Trevor putting the finishing touches to a wonderful life-size picture of a beggar-man. The beggar himself was standing on a raised platform in a corner of the studio. He was a wizened old man, wit!) a wrinkled face, and a most piteous expression. "What an amazing model!" whispered Hughie, as he shook hands with his friend. "An amazing model?" cried Trevor. "I should think so! You don't meet such beggars every day. What an etching Rembrandt would have made of him!" "Poor old man!" said Hughie, "how miserable he looks!" "Certainly," replied Trevor, "you don't want a beggar to look happy, do you?" At this moment the servant came in, and told Trevor that the framemaker wanted to speak to him. "Don't run away, Hughie," he said, as he went out, "I'll be back in a moment." The old beggar-man took advantage of Trevor's absence to rest for a moment on a wooden bench that was behind him. He looked so miserable that Hughie could not help pitying him, and felt in his pockets to see what money he had. All he could find was a sovereign and some coppers. "Poor old fellow," he thought to himself, "he wants it more than I do", and he walked across the studio and slipped the sovereign into the beggar's hand. The old man got up, and a faint smile appeared on his lips. "Thank you, sir," he said, "thank you." Then Trevor arrived, and Hughie took his leave, blushing a little at what he had done. The next day he met Trevor again. "Well, Alan, is your picture finished?" he asked. "Finished and framed, my boy!" answered Trevor. "By the way, the old model you saw is quite devoted to you. I had to tell him all about you — who you are, where you live. What your income is, what prospects you have — " "My dear Alan," cried Hughie, "I'll probably find him waiting for me when I go home. But of course, you are only joking. Poor old man! I wish I could do something for him. I have heaps of old clothes at home — do you think he would care for them? His rags were falling to bits." "But he looks splendid in them," said Trevor. "I wouldn't paint him in a frock coat for anything. What you call rags I call romance. However, I'll tell him of your offer." "And now tell me how Laura is," said Trevor. "The old model was quite interested in her." "You don't mean to say you talked to him about her?" said Hughie. "Certainly I did. He knows all about the retired colonel, the lovely Laura, and the 10,000 pounds." "You told that old beggar all my private affairs?" cried Hughie, looking very red and angry. "My dear boy," said Trevor, smiling, "That old beggar, as you call him, is one of the richest men in Europe. He has a house in every capital, dines off gold plate, and could buy all London tomorrow if he wished." "What on earth do you mean?" exclaimed Hughie. "What I say," said Trevor. "The old man you saw in the studio is Baron Housberg. He is a great friend of mine, buys all my pictures, and he paid me a month ago to paint him as a beggar." "Baron Hausberg!" cried Hughie. "Good heavens! I gave him a sovereign!" "Gave him a sovereign!" cried Trevor, and he burst into laughter. "My dear boy, you'll never see it again." , Hughie walked home, feeling very unhappy, and leaving Alan Trevor in fits of laughter. The next morning, as he was at breakfast, the servant handed him an envelope. On the outside was written, "A wedding present to Hughie Erskine and Laura Merton, from an old beggar," and inside was a cheque for 10,000 pounds. When they were married Alan Trevor was the best man, and the Baron made a speech at the wedding breakfast. (After O. Wilde) 1 Hughie Erskine [,hju:i siskin] 2 Laura Merton [,lo:ra 'тз:1п] 3 Baron Housberg [,Ьзегэп 'hausbaig] 4 best man шафер, свидетель на свадьбе |