Владимир Аракин - Практический курс английского языка 3 курс [calibre 2.43.0]

вы и не должны были делать. 10. Не надо было поднимать одной этот ящик! — Право же со мной от этого ничего не

случилось. Вы зря беспокоитесь. 11. Вы можете звонить ей весь день и все же ничего не добьетесь: она не поднимает трубку.

12. Джим прекрасно знал, что это все, на что он мог надеяться. И все же он не отчаивался. 13. Вот все, что я должен ска зав

тебе. Надеюсь, ты отнесешься к этому серьезно. 14. Кирилл прекрасно разбирается в старинных вещах. Вы бы лучше

спросили у него, стоит ли эта ваза таких денег. 15. Никогда не встречал человека, с которым было бы так интересно

поговорить,

6.Make up two sentences of your own on each pattern.

7.Make up and act out in front of the class a suitable dialogue using the Speech Patterns.

TEXT SEVEN THE HAPPY MAN

By Somerset Maugham

William Somerset Maugham (1874-1966), a well-known English novelist, short-story writer, playwright and essayist, was the son of a British diplomat.

He was educated at King's School in Canterbury, studied painting in Paris, went to Heidelberg University in Germany and studied to be a doctor at St.

Thomas Hospital in England. Although Somerset Maugham did not denounce the contemporary social order, he was critical of the morals, the narrow-

mindedness and hypocrisy of bourgeois society. It was his autobiographical novel Of Human Bondage (1951) and the novel The Moon and Sixpence (1919)

based on the life of the French artist Paul Gauguin, that won him fame. Somerset Maugham was also a master of the short story.

Somerset Maugham's style of writing is clear and precise. He does not impose his views on the reader. He puts a question and leaves it to the reader to

answer it. When criticizing something he sounds rather amused than otherwise.

It is a dangerous thing to order the lives of others and I have often wondered at the self-confidence of the politicians, reformers

and sucMike who are prepared to force upon their fellows measures that must alter their manners, habits, and points of view. I have

always hesitated to give advice, for how can one advise another how to act unless one knows that other as well as one knows

himself? Heaven knows, I know little enough of myself: I know nothing of others. We can only guess at the thoughts and emotions of

our neighbours. Each one of us is a prisoner in a solitary tower and he communicates with the other prisoners, who form mankind, by

conventional signs that have not quite the same meaning for them as for himself. And life, unfortunately, is something that you can

lead but once; mistakes are often irreparable and who am I that I should tell this one and that how he should lead it? Llfels a diffi-

cult business and I have found it hard enough to make my own a complete and rounded thing; I have not been tempted to teach my

neighbour what he should do with his. But there are men who flounder at the journey's start, the way before them is confused and

hazardous, and on occasion, however unwillingly, I have been forced to point the finger of fate. Sometimes men have said to me,

what shall I do with my life ? and I have seen myself for a moment wrapped in the dark cloak of Destiny.

Once I know that I advised well.

I was a young man, and I lived in a modest apartment in London near Victoria Station. 1 Late one afternoon, when I was

beginning to think that I had worked enough for that day, I heard a ring at the bell. I opened the door to a total stranger. He asked me

my name; I told him. He asked if he might come in.

"Certainly."

I led him into my sitting-room and begged him to sit down. He seemed a trifle embarrassed. I offered him a cigarette and he had

some difficulty in lighting it without letting go off his hat. When he had satisfactorily achieved this feat I asked him if I should not

put it on a chair for him. He quickly did this and while doing it dropped his umbrella.

"I hope you don't mind my coming to see you like this," he said. "My name is Stephens and I am a doctor. You're in the medical, I

believe?"

"Yes, but I don't practise."

"No, I know. I've just read a book of yours about Spain and I wanted to ask you about it."

"It's not a very good book, I'm afraid."

"The fact remains that you know something about Spain and there's no one else I know who does. And I thought perhaps you

wouldn't mind giving me some information."

"I shall be very glad."

He was silent for a moment. He reached out for his hat and holding it in one hand absent-mindedly stroked it with the other. I sur-

mised that it gave him confidence.

' ?1I hope you won't think it very odd for a perfect stranger to talk to you like this." He gave an apologetic laugh. "I'm not going to tell

you the story of my life."

When people say this to me I always know that it is precisely what they are going to do. I do not mind. In fact I rather like it.

"I was brought up by two old aunts. I've never been anywhere. I've never done anything. I've been married for six years. I have

no children. I'm a medical officer at the Camberwell Infirmary.2 I can't stick it any more."

There was something very striking in the short, sharp sentences he used. They had a forcible ring. I had not given him more than

a cursory glance, but now I looked at him with curiosity. He was a little man, thick-set and stout, of thirty perhaps, with a round red

face from which shone small, dark and very bright eyes. His black hair was cropped close to a bullet-shaped head. He was dressed in

a blue suit a good deal the worse for wear. It was baggy at the knees and the pockets bulged untidily.

"You know what the duties are of a medical officer in an infirmary. One day is pretty much like another. And that's all I've got to

look forward to for the rest of my life. Do you think it's worth it?"

"It's a means of livelihood," I answered.

"Yes, I know. The money's pretty good."

"I don't exactly know why you've come to me."

"Well, I wanted to know whether you thought there would be any chance for an English doctor in Spain?"

"Why Spain?"

"I don't know, I just have a fancy for it."

"It's not like Carmen, you know."

"But there's sunshine there, and there's good wine, and there's colour, and there's air you can breathe. Let me say what I have to

say straight out. I heard by accident that there was no English doctor in Seville.3 Do you think I could earn a living there? Is it

madness to give up a good safe job for an uncertainty?"

"What does your wife think about it?"

"She's willing."

"It's a great risk."

"I know. But if you say take it, I will; if you say stay where you are, I'll stay."

He was looking at me intently with those bright dark eyes of his and I knew that he meant what he said. I reflected for a moment.

"Your whole future is concerned; you must decide for yourself. But this I can tell you: if you don't want money but are content to

earn just enough to keep body and souljogether, then go. For you will lead a wonderful life."

He left me, I thought about him for a day or two, and then forgot. The episode passed completely from my memory.

Many years later, fifteen at least, I happened to be in Seville and having some Jriflingjiiilisposition asked the hotel porter whether