to come in handy - быть кстати a pass - увольнительная

to pop the question - сделать предложение

Answer thefollowing questions.

1.What makes people choose each other?

2.What did the first and the second couples have in common?

3.Will they be happy? If yes, then why?

4.Could it be a real story?

5.Have you ever written or received love letter?

The Love Letter

Once upon a time there lived a boy who loved a girl very much. But the girl's father didn't love the boy and didn't want his daughter to meet him. One day the boy decided to write the girl a love letter. He knew that the girl's father would read it first so he used one simple trick. Here is his secret love letter:

The great love that I have for you

is gone, and I find my dislike for you grows every day. When I see you,

I do not even like your face;

the one thing that I want to do is to look the other way. I never wanted to marry you. Our last conversation was very boring and hardly

made me look forward to seeing you again. You think only of yourself.

If we were married, I know that I would find live very difficult, and I would have know pleasure in living with you. I have a heart to give, but it is not a heart

I want to give to you. No one is more foolish and selfish than you, and less able to care for me and help me.

I sincerely want you to understand that

I speak the truth. You will do me a favour if you think this is the end. Do not try

to send me an answer. Goodbye! Believe me, I do not care for you. Please do not think

I am still your loving fnend.

When the letter arrived both the girl and her father were quite happy. The girl knew that the boy still loved her and the father decided that he had fallen out of love with his daughter. Can you guess why they are so happy?

Letters In The Mail

After Erskine Caldwell

As a general rule, almost everybody likes to receive mail, and probably nobody in the whole town of Stillwater liked to get letters in the mail more than Ray Buffin. However, the fact was that Ray received fewer letters in his box at the post-office than anybody else.

"Dog bite it" Ray would say with a sad expression on his long thin face when he took one more last look at his box and left the post-office. At a time like that his whole tall body sagged and drooped with disappointment. "No mail again this time, but I've got a good feeling deep down inside of me that one of these days I'm going to get some."

It had been like that with Ray Buffin almost all his life. He had no living relatives to write to him. But once a month he got a bill from the gas and electric company and sometimes there was a letter from some candidate who was running for a political office, and every September the county assessor mailed him a tax bill for the year. And, of course, since he had no friend to correspond with and did not know anybody outside Stillwater, he did not write letters himself. The only exception had been once many years before - he had been about thirty years old at the time - when he had written a letter to a young girl in town telling her that he loved her and saying how beautiful he thought she was. He had ended the letter by asking her to marry him, but he had not received a reply.

Like a great number of other small towns along the Gulf Coast and elsewhere, Stillwater had a population of about five hundred persons and mail was received and dispatched only once a day.

Every afternoon, except Sundays, the bus from New Orleans stopped in the town square in front of the post-office and the driver opened the door and took out two or three mailbags with letters, magazines, and parcel-post packages. When the bus was running on time, it was usually about four o'clock when it arrived.

At that time of afternoon Ray Buffin always locked up his fixit shop where he made a living repairing radios and alarm clocks, and hurried across the square to the post-office. Getting as close as he could to his box which was No. 42, he would stand there watching the little glass window for the letter while Sid Stoney, the postmaster, sorted and distributed the day's mail. A lot of people complained that Sid took too much time to sort so little mail. There were generally loud voices in the crowded room as people joked and talked while they waited but Ray Buffin did not say a word as he stood there hopefully watching for the letter in No. 42 until the last piece of mail had been distributed"

Finally, when Sid Stoney gave a sign that all the mail had been distributed, Ray would take one last look at his box and then walk slowly across the square with his thin face dropping with disappointment.

"Dog bite it," he would say to himself over and over again. "No mail again this time." When he reached his fixit shop, he unlocked the door and went inside. There he sat at

his work-bench until late at night.

Two of the young men in town, Guy Hodge and Ralph Barnhill, who were always thinking up pranks to play on people, decided that they would send Ray a letter and sign it with a fictitious name.

The way they planned the joke on Ray, they would tell everybody in the post-office to watch Ray when he received a letter in his box, and then somebody would ask him in a loud voice if he had received a love letter from a girl. After that somebody would snatch the letter out of his hand and read it out loud for everybody to hear.

Guy and Ralph went around the comer to the telephone exchange, where Grade Brooks was the night switchboard operator".

Gracie was an elderly girl who had worked for the telephone company since she graduated from high school. She had remained single all those years, and because she lived such a lonely life, operated the switchboard all night and slept during the day, she realized that there was little opportunity now for her to meet somebody who would marry her.

At first, after Guy Hodge and Ralph Barnhill had told her what they were planning to do and had asked her to write the letter to Ray, because they wanted it to be in feminine handwriting, Gracie said that she would have nothing to do with their plan.

"That's cruel," she told them. "I could never do such a cruel thing. Besides, I wish you wouldn't get anybody else to write it, either-not to Ray Buffin."

"But it's only a joke, Gracie," Ralph tried to explain. "Everybody likes a joke once in a while. And just think of the sight it's going to be when Ray gets a love letter on pink paper from somebody named Myrtle or Jenny or Florence saying she has loved him for a long time. The sad look on his face will disappear so fast that nobody in town will recognise him."

"No! It's cruel!" she protested loudly. "I wouldn't do a cruel thing like that for anything in the world."

"Come on, Gracie," Ralph said. "We won't tell Ray or anybody else that you wote it. He'll never know. You won't have to worry about that."

Suddenly Gracie turned round and hid her face as she was unable to keep her eyes from filling with tears. It seemed like a lifetime since she had received a letter from Ray Buffin saying he loved her and wanted to marry her. She had just graduated from high school then and had started to work for the telephone company, and since she was young and had no thoughts about marriage, she did not answer the letter. During all those years they had seen each other occasionally, but seldom more than a polite greeting had passed between them, and each time she saw Ray he looked sadder and more lonely. In recent years there had been times when she wanted to run to Ray, throw her arms around his neck, and beg him to forgive her for not answering his letter. If she had answered his letter, they probably would have been married all those years and neither of them would be lonely now.

"Please, Gracie," Guy Hodge begged her. "Come on and write the letter for us. If you don't we'll have to find somebody else to write it."

"No!" she said quickly, wiping the tears from her eyes and cheeks. "Don't do that! I want to write it! I don't want anybody else to do it!"

"That's the spirit, Gracie," Ralph said. "I knew you'd like a good joke as well as the rest of us. Now let's see what you can say in it. And you can sign it with any name you want to."

"I think I know what to say," she told them with a quick nodding of her head. "I'll write the letter tonight and mail it early tomorrow morning."

After they left the telephone exchange, Gracie cried for a long time. Late that night she wrote the letter to Ray Buffin, and the next morning she mailed it at the post-office.

Guy Hodge and Ralph BamhUI were waiting in the post-office that afternoon at four o'clock when Ray came in and stood in front of his box. By that time a larger crowd than usual had gathered in the post-office.

Sid Stoney had not even begun to sort the mail that had arrived on the bus from New Orleans when Ray saw a letter in his box. He looked at it through the little glass window for a long time. After that, with shaking hand, he opened the box and took out the pink envelope. Turning it over in his hands, he went to the comer of the room to read it.

As he began to read, the sadness of his long thin face disappeared and he began to smile. After hurriedly reading the letter the first time, he began reading it a second time, his lips slowly and carefully forming the sounds of the words. When he finished, he quickly drew the palm of his hand over his face. Then, suddenly he put the letter into his pocket and ran out ofthe post-office before anybody had a chance to say anything to him or to stop him.

As soon as they realised what had happened, Guy and Ralph ran after him, calling to him to come back to the post-office. Instead, Ray hurried around the comer to the telephone exchange. Ordinarily, Gracie Brooks did not come to work until six o'clock in the evening, but this time she had been there since four o'clock. When Guy and Ralph ran inside, Gracie was seated at the switchboard and Ray Buffin was standing close beside her with the widest and happiest smile they had ever seen on his face.

Neither of them spoke and they were too excited to realise, or to care, that Guy and Ralph were in the office watching them. Then Ray reached down and took Gracie's hand in his. She responded at once by putting her head against him.

Guy and Ralph went out of the telephone exchange. They did not say a word until they got to the street.

"I don't understand what happened. Do you suppose Gracie Brooks signed her own name by mistake?" Ralph asked as they walked back towards the post-office.

"She signed her own name, all right, and it wasn't by mistake, either," Guy said. "I think they have wanted to get married for a long time but didn't do anything about it. I'll bet they never would have done anything about it if we hadn't thought up this letter­ writing joke."

"But the next time we plan a joke, let's be sure it's going to work out the way we plan it," Ralph said, shaking his head to himself.

"Somehow or other," Guy said, "I'm glad it turned out the way it did. Every time I see Ray Buffin after this, I can think to myself that I did one good deed in life, because from now on nobody will have to look at that sad face of his in the post-office every day."

Answer thefollowing questions.

1.Who is the main character of the story?

2.What did he like most of all?

3.Did he receive letters very often?

4.How did Ray Buffin make a living?

5.What sort ofjoke did Guy and Ralf plan to play on Ray?

6.Who did they choose to realize their plan?

7.Why did Gracie agree to help them? What was her way of living?

8.How did Ray Buffin read the letter?

9.What did he do after having read it?

10.What did Guy and Ralf see when they came to the telephone exchange?

11.Why is it sometimes necessary to help people be together?

The End Of The Story

After Jack London

One day Grant Linday came to a cabin that stood beside the roaring Little Peco. Coming in from the bright sunshine to the dark cabin, he observed little of its occupants But he was not interested in them. He went directly to the bunk where lay the injured man The latter was lying on his back, with eyes closed.

"What dressings have you been using?" Grant Linday asked the woman. "Corrosive sublimate, regular solution," came the answer.

He glanced quickly at her, shot an even quicker glance at the face of the injured man. and stood up. She breathed sharply.

Linday busied himself with an examination of the patient. "So?" he said. "So that'; your Rex Strang." She dropped her eyes to the man in the bunk and then in silence returned Linday's glance. "Why don't you speak?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "What is the use? You know it is Rex Strang."

"Thank you. Though I might remind you that it is the first time I have ever seen him. Sit down." He waved her to a stool, himself taking the bench.

"What are you going to do?" she asked, after a minute's wait. "Eat and rest up before I start back."

"What are you going to do about..." She inclined her head toward the unconscious

man.

"Nothing."

"You mean you will kill him," she said slowly. "Kill him by doing nothing, for you can save him if you will."

"Take it that way." He considered a moment, and stated his thought with a little laugh. "From time immemorial in this old world it has been a not uncommon custom so to dispose of wife-stealers;"

"You are unfair, Grant," she answered gently. "You forget that I was willing and that I desired. Rex never stole me. It was you who lost me. I went with him, willing and eager, with a song on my lips. As well accuse me of stealing him. We went together."

"A good way of looking at it," Grant said. "I see you are as keen a thinker as ever, Madge. That must have bothered him."

"A keen thinker can be a good lover." "And not so foolish," he broke in.

"Do you remember Lake Geneva?" she asked. "I ought to. I was rather absurdly happy."

She nodded, and her eyes were luminous. "There is such a thing as old sake. Won't you, Grant, please just remember back... a little... oh, so little... of what we were to each other... then?"

"Now you're taking advantage," he smiled. "No, thank you. I'm not playing the Good Samaritan."

"Yet you made this hard journey for an unknown man," she urged.

His impatience was sharply manifested. "Do you fancy I'd have moved a step had I known he was my wife's lover?"

"But you are here... now. And there he lies. What are you going to do?" "Nothing. Why should I? I am not at the man's service. He robbed me."

She went unsteadily back to the stool, where she watched him and fought for control. From the fireplace came the singing of a cricket. She saw a smile, not altogether pleasant, form on Grant's lips.

"How much do you love him?" he asked.

Her breast filled and rose, and her eyes shone with a light unashamed and proud. He nodded that he was answered.

"Do you mind if I take a little time?" He stopped, thinking about the way to begin. "I remember reading a story - Herbert Show wrote it, I think. I want to tell you about it. There was a woman, young and beautiful; a man magnificent, a lover of beauty. 1 don't know how much like your Rex Strang he was, but I fancy a sort of resemblance. Well, this man was a painter, a bohemian. He kissed - oh, several times and for several weeks —and went away. She possessed for him what I thought you possessed for me... at Lake Geneva. In ten years she wept the beauty out of her face. Some women turn yellow, you know, when grief upsets their natural juices."

"Now it happened that the man went blind, and ten years afterwards, led as a child by the hand, he came back to her. There was nothing left. He could no longer paint. And she was very happy, and glad he could not see her face. Remember, he worshipped beauty. And he continued to hold her in his arms and believe in her beauty. The memory of it was vivid in him. He never stopped to talk about it."

"One day he told her of five great pictures he wished to paint. If only his sight could be restored to paint them, he could write finis and be content. And then, no matter how, there came into her hands an elixir. With its help the sight would surely and fully return."

Grant shrugged his shoulders.

"You see her struggle. With sight, he could paint his five pictures. Also, he would leave her. Beauty was his religion. It was impossible that he could see her ruined face. Five days she struggled. Then she gave him the elixir."

Grant broke off and searched her with his eyes.

"The question is, do you love Rex Strang as much as that?" "And if I do?" she asked.

"Do you?" "Yes."

"You can sacrifice? You can give him up?" Slow was her "Yes."

"And you will come with me?"

"Yes." This time her voice was a whisper. "When he is well - yes."

"You understand. It must be Lake Geneva over again. You will be my wife." She seemed to shrink but her head nodded.

"Very well." He stood up, went to his pack, and began unstrapping. "I shall need help. Boiling water - let there be lots of it. I've brought bandages..."

Famous for his bravery and success as a surgeon, through the days and weeks that followed Grant exceeded himself in bravery and success. Never had he had so terrible a case. But he had never had a healthier specimen of human being to work upon.

There were days of high temperature and delirium; days of heart-sinking when Strang's pulse was barely perceptible, days when he lay conscious, the sweat of pain on his face. Grant was cruelly efficient and fortunate, brave and winning. He was not content to make the man live. He devoted himself to the intricate problem of making him whole and strong again.

"He will be a cripple?" Madge asked.

"He will not merely walk and talk and be a caricature of his former self," he told her. "He shall run and leap, swim, ride bears, fight panthers, and do all things to the top of his desire. And I warn you, he will fascinate women just as of old. Will you like that? Are you happy? Remember, you will not be with him and you'll need a divorce before we can marry again. What do you say? Shall we go to Lake Geneva?"

"As you will," she said.

"What did you see in him, anyway? I know he had money. But you and I were managing to get along with some sort of comfort. My practice was around forty thousand a year then."

"Perhaps you've explained it," she answered. "Perhaps you were too interested in your practice. Maybe you forgot me."

"Humph," he sneered. "And may not your Rex be too interested in panthers?"

"There is no explanation," she replied. And, finally, she added, "No one can explain love, I least of all. I only knew love, the divine fact, that is all."

***

Came the day when Strang's bed was carried out of doors and into the sunshine. "Let me tell him now," she said to Grant.

"No, wait," he answered.

Later Strang was able to sit up on the edge of the bed, able to walk his first steps, supported on either side.