Words and expressions for analysing the text

The text/story under analysis (is written by) Анализируемый текст/рассказ(написан);

The text runs under the title…./ The title of the text is… Текст озаглавлен….

The story is told in the 1st person singular Рассказ ведётся от первого лица (ед.ч.);

a 1^ST/3d person narration повествование от 1/3 лица

narration interlaced   with   descriptive   passages   and      dialogues   of   the personages

повествование переплетённое с описаниями и диалогами

It deals with Он рассматривает….

the main character(s): how old they are; their social status; what they do for a living; traits of character главный/е герой/и: возраст, социальное положение, чем зарабатывают на жизнь; черты характера

The story is told in the 1st person singular Рассказ ведётся от первого лица (ед.ч.);

The action takes place in…. Действие происходит в….

The scene of the story/novel is laid in… Действие рассказа/романа происходит в …

Here are the main events.. Вот главные события..

The story teller introduces.. Раccказчик вводит…

The text we are dealing with.. Рассматриваемый текст

The text runs under the title…./ The title of the text is… Текст озаглавлен….

to acquaint/ to familiarize oneself with/to make acquaintance with.. знакомиться с..

to get to know/to learn узнать

The text falls into …paragraphs/parts.. Текст делится на…абзацы/части

In the first/final/closing paragraph.. В первом/ заключительном абзаце

to emphasize, to lay stress/emphasis on, to accentuate, to stress подчёркивать;

The unicorn in the garden James Thurber

Once upon a sunny morning a man who sat in a breakfast nook looked up from his scrambled eggs to see a white unicorn with a golden horn quietly cropping the roses in the garden. The man went up to the bedroom where his wife was still asleep and woke her. "There's a unicorn in the garden," he said. "Eating roses." She opened one unfriendly eye and looked at him. "The unicorn is a mythical beast," she said, and turned her back on him. The man walked slowly downstairs and out into the garden. The unicorn was still there; he was now browsing among the tulips. "Here, unicorn," said the man and pulled up a lily and gave it to him. The unicorn ate it gravely. With a high heart, because there was a unicorn in his garden, the man went upstairs and roused his wife a gain. "The unicorn," he said, "ate a lily." His wife sat up in bed and looked at him, coldly. "You are a booby, (дурак)" she said, "and I am going to have you put in a booby-hatch.(психушка)" The man, who never liked the words "booby" and "booby-hatch," and who liked them even less on a shining morning when there was a unicorn in the garden, thought for a moment. "We'll see about that," he said. He walked over to the door. "He has a golden horn in the middle of his forehead," he told her. Then he went back to the garden to watch the unicorn; but the unicorn had gone away. The man sat among the roses and went to sleep.

And as soon as the husband had gone out of the house, the wife got up and dressed as fast as she could. She was very excited and there was a gloat (злорадство) in her eye. She telephoned the police and she telephoned the psychiatrist; she told them to hurry to her house and bring a strait-jacket (смирительная рубашка). The police and the psychiatrist looked at her with great interest. "My husband," she said, "saw a unicorn this morning." The police looked at the psychiatrist and the psychiatrist looked at the police. "He told me it ate a lily," she said. The psychiatrist looked at the police and the police looked at the psychiatrist. "He told me it had a golden horn in the middle of its forehead," she said. At a solemn signal from the signal from the psychiatrist, the police leaped from their chairs and seized the wife. They had a hard time subduing her, for she put up a terrific struggle, but they finally subdued her. Just as they got her into the strait-jacket, the husband came back into the house.

"Did you tell your wife you saw a unicorn?" asked the police. "Of course not," said the husband. "The unicorn is a mythical beast." "That's all I wanted to know," said the psychiatrist. "Take her away. I'm sorry, sir, but your wife is crazy." So they took her away, cursing and screaming, and shut her up in an institution. The husband lived happily ever after.

 Moral: Don't count your boobies until they are hatched. (вспомните пословицу -Don’t count your chickens until they are hatched-Цыплят по осени считают. ) Не спеши называть психами тех, кто еще не в психушке.

 

  Ruthless After W. de Mille

Judson Webb was an American businessman. He had a comfortable flat in New York but in summer he used to leave the dusty city and go to the country. There he had a cottage which consisted of three rooms, a bathroom and a kitchen. In one of the rooms there was a big closet. He liked his cottage very much, especially his closet where he kept his guns, fishing-rods,wine and other things. It was his own closet and even his wife was not allowed to have a key, for Judson Webb loved his personal possessions and got very angry when anybody else touched them.

It was autumn now and Judson was packing his things for the winter. In a few minutes he would be driving back to civilization – to New York.

As he looked at the shelf on which the whiskey stood his face was serious. All the bottles were unopened except one. The bottle was less than half full.

Helen, his wife, came into the room carrying her suitcase.

“Judson”, she exclaimed, “You’re not taking a drink at ten in the morning, are you?”

“No, my dear, I’m not taking anything of this bottle, I’m just putting something into it”. He took two small white tablets out of his pocket. Then he opened the bottle and dropped the tablets into it.

“The person who broke into my closet last winter and stole my whiskey will probably try to do it again while we are away”, he went on, “only this time he’ll be very sorry if he comes”.

His wife looked at him in horror. “What are they?” she asked him at last. “Will they make the man sick?”

“Not only sick. They will kill him”, he answered with satisfaction. He was pleased.

Helen’s face was pale. “Don’t do it Jason”, she cried. “It’s horrible, it’s murder!”

“When it comes to protecting my property, I make my own laws”.

He was now like a big dog which was afraid that somebody would take away his bone. She knew it was useless to argue. He had always been ruthless in business.

“I’ll walk down the road and say good-bye at the farmhouse”, said she quietly. She had made up her mind to tell the caretaker’s wife about it. Someone had to know. Helen went down the road and Judson started to close the closet door. He suddenly remembered that he had not packed his hunting boots. So, leaving the door open, he went to fetch them. But when he went to reach for his boots he suddenly slipped on the stone and his head struck the massive table as he fell.

Several minutes later he felt a strong arm round him and the caretaker’s voice was saying: “It’s all right, Mr. Webb, it was not a bad fall. Take this – it’ll make you feel better”.

A small whiskey-glass was pressed to his lips. Half-conscious, he drank.