THE OPEN WINDOW (after H. Munro)“My

THE OPEN WINDOW (after H. Munro)
“My aunt will come down in a few minutes, Mr Nuttel,” said a girl of fifteen, showing him into the sitting-room. Mr Nuttel was a young painter who had recently had a nervous breakdown. The doctors had told him that he should go away for a holiday. They warned him, however, against crowded resorts and recommended a complete rest in a quiet country-place. So here he was, in a little village, with letters of introduction from his sister to some of the people she knew.
“Some of the people there are quite nice," his sister had said to him. "1 advise you to call on Mrs Sappleton as so on as you arrive. } owe the wonderful holiday I had to her.”
"Do you know many of the people round here?” as ked the girl when "they were sitting comfortably on the sofa.
“No, I’m afraid I don’t," answered Mr Nuttel. “I’ve never been here before. My sister stayed here four years ago, you know, and she gave me letters of introduction to some of the people here.”
“Then you know nothing about my aunt, do you?” asked the girl.
"Only her name and address,” said the visitor.
“Her great tragedy happened just three years ago,” said the child.
“Her tragedy?” asked Mr Nuttel.
“You may wonder why we keep that window wide open on вп October afternoon,” went on the girl, pointing to a Large French window.
“It’s quite warm for this time of year,” said Mr Nut- tfc!. “But has that window anything to do with the tra gedy?’
“Exactly three years ago my aunt’s husband and her two young brothers walked out through that window. They went shooting and never came back. When they were cros sing the river their boat probably turned over and they were all drowned. Their bodies were never found. That was the most horrible part of the tragedy.” Here the girl stopped. There were tears in her eyes and she drew a handkerchief out of her pocket. “Three years have passed, but my poor aunt still thinks that they will come back some day, they and the little brown dog that was drowned with them, and walk in through that window just as they always did. That is why the window is kept open every evening till it’s quite dark. Poor dear aunt, she can’t understand that they’ve left for ever. She’s crowing worse day by day, so let me give you some advice. Don’t be surprised at anything she says or does: she will start telling you all over again how they went out — her husband, with his coat over his arm, and her youngest brother, singing ‘Bertie, why don’t you come?...’ as she once told me. You know, sometimes, on quiet evenings like this, 1 almost get a feeling that they will all walk in through that window, and the whole family will be gathered in here again.’’ The young girl finished her sad story. There was a long pause, and Mr Nut- tel was glad when Mrs Sappleton at last entered the room. .
“I’m sorry I’m late,” she said, “but I hope my niece has entertained you well."
“Yes, she’s been very amusing,” said Mr Nuttel.
“D’you mind the open window?” asked Mrs Sappleton. “My husband and brothers will soon be home from shooting and they always come into the house this way." And she went on speaking gaily about shooting. After what Mr Nut tel had just heard, he looked worried.
“The doctors told me,” he said, trying to change the subject, “to have a rest here and to avoid anything that would make me feel nervous.”
“Did they?” said Mrs Sappleton in a voice which showed that she was not at all interested in what Mr Nuttel was saying. She never took her eyes off the open window and suddenly cried out:
“Here they are at last! Just in time for tea. How tired they look.”
Mr Nuttel looked at the girl and saw that she was looking out through the open window with horror in her eyes. Mr Nuttel turned round slowly in his seat, looked in the same direction and saw three figures walking across the garden towards the window. They all carried guns and one of them had a coat over his shoulder. A tired brown dog w’as following them. Noiselessly they approached the house, and then a young voice began to sing. “Bertie, why don’t you come?”
Mr Nuttel seized his hat and ran out of the house like mad.
“Here we are, my dear,” said Mrs Sappleton’s husband, coming in through the window. “We’ve enjoyed ourselves very much. I wonder what made that gentleman run out so quickly when we came up? Who is he?”
“A very strange young man, called Nuttel. He could only talk about his illness. He didn’t say a single interes ting thing. I don’t understand why he ran out that way without saying good-bye,” said his wife.
“I think it was the dog,” said the niece calmly. "He told me that he was afraid of dogs. Once when he was attacked by a pack of dogs somewhere in India, he was so frightened that he started running like mad, and finding himself in a cemetery, climbed down into a newly-dug grave, where he had to spend the night. Since then he has always been afraid of dogs.”
She was very good at inventing stories and did it artis tically.

Результаты (русский) 1:

THE OPEN WINDOW (after H. Munro)“My aunt will come down in a few minutes, Mr Nuttel,” said a girl of fifteen, showing him into the sitting-room. Mr Nuttel was a young painter who had recently had a nervous breakdown. The doctors had told him that he should go away for a holiday. They warned him, however, against crowded resorts and recommended a complete rest in a quiet country-place. So here he was, in a little village, with letters of introduction from his sister to some of the people she knew.“Some of the people there are quite nice," his sister had said to him. "1 advise you to call on Mrs Sappleton as so on as you arrive. } owe the wonderful holiday I had to her.”"Do you know many of the people round here?” as ked the girl when "they were sitting comfortably on the sofa.“No, I’m afraid I don’t," answered Mr Nuttel. “I’ve never been here before. My sister stayed here four years ago, you know, and she gave me letters of introduction to some of the people here.”“Then you know nothing about my aunt, do you?” asked the girl."Only her name and address,” said the visitor.“Her great tragedy happened just three years ago,” said the child.“Her tragedy?” asked Mr Nuttel.“You may wonder why we keep that window wide open on вп October afternoon,” went on the girl, pointing to a Large French window.“It’s quite warm for this time of year,” said Mr Nut- tfc!. “But has that window anything to do with the tra gedy?’«Ровно три года назад Моя тетка мужа и ее двух молодых братьев вышел через это окно. Они пошли съемки и никогда не вернулся. Когда они были ОЦР петь реки вероятно перевернул лодку и все они были утоплены. Их тела не были найдены. Это было самое ужасное частью трагедии.» Здесь девушка остановился. Там были слезы на глазах, и она обратила платок из кармана. «Прошло уже три года, но тетя бедных все еще думает, что они будут возвращаться некоторые день, они и маленький коричневый собака, который потонул с ними и ходить в через это окно, так же, как они всегда делали. Вот почему окна хранится открыт каждый вечер, пока он совсем темно. Бедные Дорогие тетя, она не может понять, что они уже покинули навсегда. Она криком хуже с каждым днем, поэтому позвольте мне дать вам несколько советов. Не удивляйтесь, на что она говорит или делает: она будет начать рассказывать вам все снова как они вышли — ее муж, с его шерсть над его руку и ее младший брат, пение ' Берти, почему бы вам не прийти?...' как она однажды сказал мне. Вы знаете, иногда по вечерам в тихой как это, 1 почти получить ощущение, что они все будут ходить в через это окно, и вся семья будет снова собрались здесь.'' Молодая девушка закончил ее печальная история. Там была долгая пауза, и г-н гайка Тель был рад, когда миссис Sappleton наконец вошел в комнату. .“I’m sorry I’m late,” she said, “but I hope my niece has entertained you well."“Yes, she’s been very amusing,” said Mr Nuttel.“D’you mind the open window?” asked Mrs Sappleton. “My husband and brothers will soon be home from shooting and they always come into the house this way." And she went on speaking gaily about shooting. After what Mr Nut tel had just heard, he looked worried.“The doctors told me,” he said, trying to change the subject, “to have a rest here and to avoid anything that would make me feel nervous.”“Did they?” said Mrs Sappleton in a voice which showed that she was not at all interested in what Mr Nuttel was saying. She never took her eyes off the open window and suddenly cried out:“Here they are at last! Just in time for tea. How tired they look.”Mr Nuttel looked at the girl and saw that she was looking out through the open window with horror in her eyes. Mr Nuttel turned round slowly in his seat, looked in the same direction and saw three figures walking across the garden towards the window. They all carried guns and one of them had a coat over his shoulder. A tired brown dog w’as following them. Noiselessly they approached the house, and then a young voice began to sing. “Bertie, why don’t you come?”Mr Nuttel seized his hat and ran out of the house like mad.“Here we are, my dear,” said Mrs Sappleton’s husband, coming in through the window. “We’ve enjoyed ourselves very much. I wonder what made that gentleman run out so quickly when we came up? Who is he?”“A very strange young man, called Nuttel. He could only talk about his illness. He didn’t say a single interes ting thing. I don’t understand why he ran out that way without saying good-bye,” said his wife.“I think it was the dog,” said the niece calmly. "He told me that he was afraid of dogs. Once when he was attacked by a pack of dogs somewhere in India, he was so frightened that he started running like mad, and finding himself in a cemetery, climbed down into a newly-dug grave, where he had to spend the night. Since then he has always been afraid of dogs.”She was very good at inventing stories and did it artis tically.