ADV3 2012/1


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writing program: WRITE A CPMPOSITION ABOUT LYING. (250 WORDS) Deadline: 21/5/12 monday


THE SELFISH GIANT

Note: Oscar Wilde intended this story to be read to children

Every afternoon, as they were coming from school, the children used to go and play in the Giant’s garden.
It was a large lovely garden, with soft green grass. Here and there over the grass stood beautiful flowers like stars, and there were twelve peach-trees that in the spring-time broke out into delicate blossoms of pink and pearl, and in the autumn bore rich fruit. The birds sat on the trees and sang so sweetly that the children used to stop their games in order to listen to them. ‘How happy we are here!’ they cried to each other.
One day the Giant came back. He had been to visit his friend the Cornish ogre, and had stayed with him for seven years. After the seven years were over he had said all that he had to say, for his conversation was limited, and he determined to return to his own castle. When he arrived he saw the children playing in the garden.
‘What are you doing here?’ he cried in a very gruff voice, and the children ran away.
‘My own garden is my own garden,’ said the Giant; ‘any one can understand that, and I will allow nobody to play in it but myself.’ So he built a high wall all round it, and put up a notice-board.
TRESPASSERS
WILL BE
PROSECUTED
He was a very selfish Giant.
The poor children had now nowhere to play. They tried to play on the road, but the road was very dusty and full of hard stones, and they did not like it. They used to wander round the high wall when their lessons were over, and talk about the beautiful garden inside.
‘How happy we were there,’ they said to each other.

Then the Spring came, and all over the country there were little blossoms and little birds. Only in the garden of the Selfish Giant it was still Winter. The birds did not care to sing in it as there were no children, and the trees forgot to blossom. Once a beautiful flower put its head out from the grass, but when it saw the notice-board it was so sorry for the children that it slipped back into the ground again, and went off to sleep. The only people who were pleased were the Snow and the Frost. ‘Spring has forgotten this garden,’ they cried, ‘so we will live here all the year round.’ The Snow covered up the grass with her great white cloak, and the Frost painted all the trees silver. Then they invited the North Wind to stay with them, and he came. He was wrapped in furs, and he roared all day about the garden, and blew the chimney-pots down. ‘This is a delightful spot,’ he said, ‘we must ask the Hail on a visit.’ So the Hail came. Every day for three hours he rattled on the roof of the castle till he broke most of the slates, and then he ran round and round the garden as fast as he could go. He was dressed in grey, and his breath was like ice.
‘I cannot understand why the Spring is so late in coming,’ said the Selfish Giant, as he sat at the window and looked out at his cold white garden; ‘I hope there will be a change in the weather.’
But the Spring never came, nor the Summer. The Autumn gave golden fruit to every garden, but to the Giant’s garden she gave none. ‘He is too selfish,’ she said. So it was always Winter there, and the North Wind, and the Hail, and the Frost, and the Snow danced about through the trees.
One morning the Giant was lying awake in bed when he heard some lovely music. It sounded so sweet to his ears that he thought it must be the King’s musicians passing by. It was really only a little linnet singing outside his window, but it was so long since he had heard a bird sing in his garden that it seemed to him to be the most beautiful music in the world. Then the Hail stopped dancing over his head, and the North Wind ceased roaring, and a delicious perfume came to him through the open casement. ‘I believe the Spring has come at last,’ said the Giant; and he jumped out of bed and looked out.

What did he see?
He saw a most wonderful sight. Through a little hole in the wall the children had crept in, and they were sitting in the branches of the trees. In every tree that he could see there was a little child. And the trees were so glad to have the children back again that they had covered themselves with blossoms, and were waving their arms gently above the children’s heads. The birds were flying about and twittering with delight, and the flowers were looking up through the green grass and laughing. It was a lovely scene, only in one corner it was still Winter. It was the farthest corner of the garden, and in it was standing a little boy. He was so small that he could not reach up to the branches of the tree, and he was wandering all round it, crying bitterly. The poor tree was still quite covered with frost and snow, and the North Wind was blowing and roaring above it. ‘Climb up! little boy,’ said the Tree, and it bent its branches down as low as it could; but the little boy was too tiny.

And the Giant’s heart melted as he looked out. ‘How selfish I have been!’ he said; ‘now I know why the Spring would not come here. I will put that poor little boy on the top of the tree, and then I will knock down the wall, and my garden shall be the children’s playground for ever and ever.’ He was really very sorry for what he had done.
So he crept downstairs and opened the front door quite softly, and went out into the garden. But when the children saw him they were so frightened that they all ran away, and the garden became Winter again. Only the little boy did not run, for his eyes were so full of tears that he died not see the Giant coming. And the Giant stole up behind him and took him gently in his hand, and put him up into the tree. And the tree broke at once into blossom, and the birds came and sang on it, and the little boy stretched out his two arms and flung them round the Giant’s neck, and kissed him. And the other children, when they saw that the Giant was not wicked any longer, came running back, and with them came the Spring. ‘It is your garden now, little children,’ said the Giant, and he took a great axe and knocked down the wall. And when the people were gong to market at twelve o’clock they found the Giant playing with the children in the most beautiful garden they had ever seen.

All day long they played, and in the evening they came to the Giant to bid him good-bye.
‘But where is your little companion?’ he said: ‘the boy I put into the tree.’ The Giant loved him the best because he had kissed him.
‘We don’t know,’ answered the children; ‘he has gone away.’

‘You must tell him to be sure and come here to-morrow,’ said the Giant. But the children said that they did not know where he lived, and had never seen him before; and the Giant felt very sad.
Every afternoon, when school was over, the children came and played with the Giant. But the little boy whom the Giant loved was never seen again. The Giant was very kind to all the children, yet he longed for his first little friend, and often spoke of him. ‘How I would like to see him!’ he used to say.
Years went over, and the Giant grew very old and feeble. He could not play about any more, so he sat in a huge armchair, and watched the children at their games, and admired his garden. ‘I have many beautiful flowers,’ he said; ‘but the children are the most beautiful flowers of all.’
One winter morning he looked out of his window as he was dressing. He did not hate the Winter now, for he knew that it was merely the Spring asleep, and that the flowers were resting.

Suddenly he rubbed his eyes in wonder, and looked and looked. It certainly was a marvellous sight. In the farthest corner of the garden was a tree quite covered with lovely white blossoms. Its branches were all golden, and silver fruit hung down from them, and underneath it stood the little boy he had loved.
Downstairs ran the Giant in great joy, and out into the garden. He hastened across the grass, and came near to the child. And when he came quite close his face grew red with anger, and he said, ‘Who hath dared to wound thee?’ For on the palms of the child’s hands were the prints of two nails, and the prints of two nails were on the little feet.

‘Who hath dared to wound thee?’ cried the Giant; ‘tell me, that I may take my big sword and slay him.’
‘Nay!’ answered the child; ‘but these are the wounds of Love.’
‘Who art thou?’ said the Giant, and a strange awe fell on him, and he knelt before the little child.
And the child smiled on the Giant, and said to him, ‘You let me play once in your garden, to-day you shall come with me to my garden, which is Paradise.’
And when the children ran in that afternoon, they found the Giant lying dead under the tree, all covered with white blossoms.
………………………………………….

The Monkey’s Paw
“Be careful what you wish for, you may receive it.” — Anonymous

Part I

Without, the night was cold and wet, but in the small parlour of Laburnum villa the blinds were drawn and the fire burned brightly. Father and son were at chess; the former, who posessed ideas about the game involving radical chances, putting his king into such sharp and unnecessary perils that it even provoked comment from the white-haired old lady knitting placidly by the fire.

“Hark at the wind,” said Mr. White, who, having seen a fatal mistake after it was too late, was amiably desirous of preventing his son from seeing it.

“I’m listening,” said the latter grimly surveying the board as he streched out his hand. “Check.”

“I should hardly think that he’s come tonight, ” said his father, with his hand poised over the board.

“Mate,” replied the son.

“That’s the worst of living so far out,” balled Mr. White with sudden and unlooked-for violence; “Of all the beastly, slushy, out of the way places to live in, this is the worst. Path’s a bog, and the road’s a torrent. I don’t know what people are thinking about. I suppose because only two houses in the road are let, they think it doesn’t matter.”

“Never mind, dear,” said his wife soothingly; “perhaps you’ll win the next one.”

Mr. White looked up sharply, just in time to intercept a knowing glance between mother and son. the words died away on his lips, and he hid a guilty grin in his thin grey beard.

“There he is,” said Herbert White as the gate banged to loudly and heavy footsteps came toward the door.

The old man rose with hospitable haste and opening the door, was heard condoling with the new arrival. The new arrival also condoled with himself, so that Mrs. White said, “Tut, tut!” and coughed gently as her husband entered the room followed by a tall, burly man, beady of eye and rubicund of visage.

“Sargeant-Major Morris, ” he said, introducing him.

The Sargeant-Major took hands and taking the proffered seat by the fire, watched contentedly as his host got out whiskey and tumblers and stood a small copper kettle on the fire.

At the third glass his eyes got brighter, and he began to talk, the little family circle regarding with eager interest this visitor from distant parts, as he squared his broad shoulders in the chair and spoke of wild scenes and dougty deeds; of wars and plagues and strange peoples.

“Twenty-one years of it,” said Mr. White, nodding at his wife and son. “When he went away he was a slip of a youth in the warehouse. Now look at him.”

“He don’t look to have taken much harm.” said Mrs. White politely.

“I’d like to go to India myself,” said the old man, just to look around a bit, you know.”

“Better where you are,” said the Sargent-Major, shaking his head. He put down the empty glass and sighning softly, shook it again.

“I should like to see those old temples and fakirs and jugglers,” said the old man. “what was that that you started telling me the other day about a monkey’s paw or something, Morris?”

“Nothing.” said the soldier hastily. “Leastways, nothing worth hearing.”

“Monkey’s paw?” said Mrs. White curiously.

“Well, it’s just a bit of what you might call magic, perhaps.” said the Sargeant-Major off-handedly.

His three listeners leaned forward eagerly. The visitor absent-mindedly put his empty glass to his lips and then set it down again. His host filled it for him again.

“To look at,” said the Sargent-Major, fumbling in his pocket, “it’s just an ordinary little paw, dried to a mummy.”

He took something out of his pocket and proffered it. Mrs. White drew back with a grimace, but her son, taking it, examined it curiously.

“And what is there special about it?” inquired Mr. White as he took it from his son, and having examined it, placed it upon the table.

“It had a spell put on it by an old Fakir,” said the Sargent-Major, “a very holy man. He wanted to show that fate ruled people’s lifes, and that those who interefered with it did so to their sorrow. He put a spell on it so that three separate men could each have three wishes from it.”

His manners were so impressive that his hearers were concious that their light laughter had jarred somewhat.

“Well, why don’t you have three, sir?” said Herbert White cleverly.

The soldier regarded him the way that middle age is wont to regard presumptious youth.”I have,” he said quietly, and his blotchy face whitened.

“And did you really have the three wishes granted?” asked Mrs. White.

“I did,” said the seargent-major, and his glass tapped against his strong teeth.

“And has anybody else wished?” persisted the old lady.

“The first man had his three wishes. Yes, ” was the reply, “I don’t know what the first two were, but the third was for death. That’s how I got the paw.”

His tones were so grave that a hush fell upon the group.

“If you’ve had your three wishes it’s no good to you now then Morris,” said the old man at last. “What do you keep it for?”

The soldier shook his head. “Fancy I suppose,” he said slowly.” I did have some idea of selling it, but I don’t think I will. It has caused me enough mischief already. Besides, people won’t buy. They think it’s a fairy tale, some of them; and those who do think anything of it want to try it first and pay me afterward.”

“If you could have another three wishes,” said the old man, eyeing him keenly,” would you have them?”

“I don’t know,” said the other. “I don’t know.”

He took the paw, and dangling it between his forefinger and thumb, suddenly threw it upon the fire. White, with a slight cry, stooped down and snatched it off.

“Better let it burn,” said the soldier solemnly.

“If you don’t want it Morris,” said the other, “give it to me.”

“I won’t.” said his friend doggedly. “I threw it on the fire. If you keep it, don’t blame me for what happens. Pitch it on the fire like a sensible man.”

The other shook his head and examined his possesion closely. “How do you do it?” he inquired.

“Hold it up in your right hand, and wish aloud,” said the seargent-major, “But I warn you of the consequences.”

“Sounds like the ‘Arabian Nights'”, said Mrs. White, as she rose and began to set the supper. “Don’t you think you might wish for four pairs of hands for me.”

Her husband drew the talisman from his pocket, and all three burst into laughter as the Seargent-Major, with a look of alarm on his face, caught him by the arm.

“If you must wish,” he said gruffly, “Wish for something sensible.”

Mr. White dropped it back in his pocket, and placing chairs, motioned his friend to the table. In the business of supper the talisman was partly forgotten, and afterward the three sat listening in an enthralled fashion to a second installment of the soldier’s adventures in India.

“If the tale about the monkey’s paw is not more truthful than those he has been telling us,” said Herbert, as the door closed behind thier guest, just in time to catch the last train, “we shan’t make much out of it.”

“Did you give anything for it, father?” inquired Mrs. White, regarding her husband closely.

“A trifle,” said he, colouring slightly, “He didn’t want it, but I made him take it. And he pressed me again to throw it away.”

“Likely,” said Herbert, with pretended horror. “Why, we’re going to be rich, and famous, and happy. Wish to be an emporer, father, to begin with; then you can’t be henpecked.”

He darted around the table, persued by the maligned Mrs White armed with an antimacassar.

Mr. White took the paw from his pocket and eyed it dubiously. “I don’t know what to wish for, and that’s a fact,” he said slowly. It seems to me I’ve got all I want.”

“If you only cleared the house, you’d be quite happy, wouldn’t you!” said Herbert, with his hand on his shoulder. “Well, wish for two hundred pounds, then; that’ll just do it.”

His father, smiling shamefacedly at his own credulity, held up the talisman, as his son, with a solemn face, somewhat marred by a wink at his mother, sat down and struck a few impressive chords.

“I wish for two hundred pounds,” said the old man distinctly.

A fine crash from the piano greeted his words, interupted by a shuddering cry from the old man. His wife and son ran toward him.

“It moved,” he cried, with a glance of disgust at the object as it lay on the floor. “As I wished, it twisted in my hand like a snake.”

“Well, I don’t see the money,” said his son, as he picked it up and placed it on the table, “and I bet I never shall.”

“It must have been your fancy, father,” said his wife, regarding him anxiously.

He shook his head. “Never mind, though; there’s no harm done, but it gave me a shock all the same.”

They sat down by the fire again while the two men finished thier pipes. Outside, the wind was higher than ever, an the old man started nervously at the sound of a door banging upstairs. A silence unusual and depressing settled on all three, which lasted until the old couple rose to retire for the rest of the night.

“I expect you’ll find the cash tied up in a big bag in the middle of your bed,” said Herbert, as he bade them goodnight, ” and something horrible squatting on top of your wardrobe watching you as you pocket your ill-gotten gains.”

He sat alone in the darkness, gazing at the dying fire, and seeing faces in it. The last was so horrible and so simian that he gazed at it in amazement. It got so vivid that, with a little uneasy laugh, he felt on the table for a glass containig a little water to throw over it. His hand grasped the monkey’s paw, and with a little shiver he wiped his hand on his coat and went up to bed.

Part II

In the brightness of the wintry sun next morning as it streamed over the breakfast table he laughed at his fears. There was an air of prosaic wholesomeness about the room which it had lacked on the previous night, and the dirty, shriveled little paw was pitched on the side-board with a carelessness which betokened no great belief in its virtues.

“I suppose all old soldiers are the same,” said Mrs White. “The idea of our listening to such nonsense! How could wishes be granted in these days? And if they could, how could two hundred pounds hurt you, father?”

“Might drop on his head from the sky,” said the frivolous Herbert.

“Morris said the things happened so naturally,” said his father, “that you might if you so wished attribute it to coincedence.”

“Well don’t break into the money before I come back,” said Herbert as he rose from the table. “I’m afraid it’ll turn you into a mean, avaricious man, and we shall have to disown you.”

His mother laughed, and following him to the door, watched him down the road; and returning to the breakfast table, was very happy at the expense of her husband’s credulity. All of which did not prevent her from scurrying to the door at the postman’s knock, nor prevent her from referring somewhat shortly to retired Sargeant-Majors of bibulous habits when she found that the post brought a tailor’s bill.

“Herbert will have some more of his funny remarks, I expect, when he comes home,” she said as they sat at dinner.

“I dare say,” said Mr. White, pouring himself out some beer; “but for all that, the thing moved in my hand; that I’ll swear to.”

“You thought it did,” said the old lady soothingly.

“I say it did,” replied the other. “There was no thought about it; I had just – What’s the matter?”

His wife made no reply. She was watching the mysterious movements of a man outside, who, peering in an undecided fashion at the house, appeared to be trying to make up his mind to enter. In mental conexion with the two hundred pounds, she noticed that the stranger was well dressed, and wore a silk hat of glossy newness. Three times he paused at the gate, and then walked on again. The fourth time he stood with his hand upon it, and then with sudden resolution flung it open and walked up the path. Mrs White at the same moment placed her hands behind her, and hurriedly unfastening the strings of her apron, put that useful article of apparel beneath the cusion of her chair.

She brought the stranger, who seemed ill at ease, into the room. He gazed at her furtively, and listened in a preoccupied fashion as the old lady apologized for the appearance of the room, and her husband’s coat, a garment which he usually reserved for the garden. She then waited as patiently as her sex would permit for him to broach his business, but he was at first strangely silent.

“I – was asked to call,” he said at last, and stooped and picked a piece of cotton from his trousers. “I come from ‘Maw and Meggins.’ ”

The old lady started. “Is anything the matter?” she asked breathlessly. “Has anything happened to Herbert? What is it? What is it?

Her husband interposed. “There there mother,” he said hastily. “Sit down, and don’t jump to conclusions. You’ve not brought bad news, I’m sure sir,” and eyed the other wistfully.

“I’m sorry – ” began the visitor.

“Is he hurt?” demanded the mother wildly.

The visitor bowed in assent.”Badly hurt,” he said quietly, “but he is not in any pain.”

“Oh thank God!” said the old woman, clasping her hands. “Thank God for that! Thank – ”

She broke off as the sinister meaning of the assurance dawned on her and she saw the awful confirmation of her fears in the others averted face. She caught her breath, and turning to her slower-witted husband, laid her trembling hand on his. There was a long silence.

“He was caught in the machinery,” said the visitor at length in a low voice.

“Caught in the machinery,” repeated Mr. White, in a dazed fashion,”yes.”

He sat staring out the window, and taking his wife’s hand between his own, pressed it as he had been wont to do in their old courting days nearly forty years before.

“He was the only one left to us,” he said, turning gently to the visitor. “It is hard.”

The other coughed, and rising, walked slowly to the window. ” The firm wishes me to covey their sincere sympathy with you in your great loss,” he said, without looking round. “I beg that you will understand I am only their servant and merely obeying orders.”

There was no reply; the old womans face was white, her eyes staring, and her breath inaudible; on the husband’s face was a look such as his freind the seargent might have carried into his first action.

“I was to say that Maw and Meggins disclaim all responsibility,” continued the other. “They admit no liability at all, but in consideration of your son’s services, they wish to present you with a certain sum as compensation.”

Mr. White dropped his wife’s hand, and rising to his feet, gazed with a look of horror at his visitor. His dry lips shaped the words, “How much?”

“Two hundred pounds,” was the answer.

Unconcious of his wife’s shriek, the old man smiled faintly, put out his hands like a sightless man, and dropped, a senseless heap, to the floor.

Part III

In the huge new cemetary, some two miles distant, the old people buried their dead, and came back to the house steeped in shadows and silence. It was all over so quickly that at first they could hardly realize it, and remained in a state of expectation as though of something else to happen – something else which was to lighten this load, too heavy for old hearts to bear.

But the days passed, and expectations gave way to resignation – the hopeless resignation of the old, sometimes mis-called apathy. Sometimes they hardly exchanged a word, for now they had nothing to talk about, and their days were long to weariness.

It was a about a week after that the old man, waking suddenly in the night, stretched out his hand and found himself alone. The room was in darkness, and the sound of subdued weeping came from the window. He raised himself in bed and listened.

“Come back,” he said tenderly. “You will be cold.”

“It is colder for my son,” said the old woman, and wept afresh.

The sounds of her sobs died away on his ears. The bed was warm, and his eyes heavy with sleep. He dozed fitfully, and then slept until a sudden wild cry from his wife awoke him with a start.

“THE PAW!” she cried wildly. “THE MONKEY’S PAW!”

He started up in alarm. “Where? Where is it? Whats the matter?”

She came stumbling across the room toward him. “I want it,” she said quietly. “You’ve not destroyed it?”

“It’s in the parlour, on the bracket,” he replied, marveling. “Why?”

She cried and laughed together, and bending over, kissed his cheek.

“I only just thought of it,” she said hysterically. “Why didn’t I think of it before? Why didn’t you think of it?”

“Think of what?” he questioned.

“The other two wishes,” she replied rapidly. “We’ve only had one.”

“Was not that enough?” he demanded fiercely.

“No,” she cried triumphantly; “We’ll have one more. Go down and get it quickly, and wish our boy alive again.”

The man sat in bed and flung the bedcloths from his quaking limbs.”Good God, you are mad!” he cried aghast. “Get it,” she panted; “get it quickly, and wish – Oh my boy, my boy!”

Her husband struck a match and lit the candle. “Get back to bed he said unsteadily. “You don’t know what you are saying.”

“We had the first wish granted,” said the old woman, feverishly; “why not the second?”

“A coincidence,” stammered the old man.

“Go get it and wish,” cried his wife, quivering with exitement.

The old man turned and regarded her, and his voice shook. “He has been dead ten days, and besides he – I would not tell you else, but – I could only recognize him by his clothing. If he was too terrible for you to see then, how now?”

“Bring him back,” cried the old woman, and dragged him towards the door. “Do you think I fear the child I have nursed?”

He went down in the darkness, and felt his way to the parlour, and then to the mantlepiece. The talisman was in its place, and a horrible fear that the unspoken wish might bring his mutillated son before him ere he could escape from the room seized up on him, and he caught his breath as he found that he had lost the direction of the door. His brow cold with sweat, he felt his way round the table, and groped along the wall until he found himself in the small passage with the unwholesome thing in his hand.

Even his wife’s face seemed changed as he entered the room. It was white and expectant, and to his fears seemed to have an unnatural look upon it. He was afraid of her.

“WISH!” she cried in a strong voice.

“It is foolish and wicked,” he faltered.

“WISH!” repeated his wife.

He raised his hand. “I wish my son alive again.”

The talisman fell to the floor, and he regarded it fearfully. Then he sank trembling into a chair as the old woman, with burning eyes, walked to the window and raised the blind.

He sat until he was chilled with the cold, glancing ocasionally at the figure of the old woman peering through the window. The candle-end, which had burned below the rim of the china candlestick, was throwing pulsating shadows on the ceiling and walls, until with a flicker larger than the rest, it expired. The old man, with an unspeakable sense of relief at the failure of the talisman, crept back back to his bed, and a minute afterward the old woman came silently and apethetically beside him.

Neither spoke, but lat silently listening to the ticking of the clock. A stair creaked, and a squeaky mouse scurried noisily through the wall. The darkness was oppressive, and after lying for some time screwing up his courage, he took the box of matches, and striking one, went downstairs for a candle.

At the foot of the stairs the match went out, and he paused to strike another; and at the same moment a knock came so quiet and stealthy as to be scarcely audible, sounded on the front door.

The matches fell from his hand and spilled in the passage. He stood motionless, his breath suspended until the knock was repeated. Then he turned and fled swiftly back to his room, and closed the door behind him. A third knock sounded through the house.

“WHATS THAT?” cried the old woman, starting up.

“A rat,” said the old man in shaking tones – “a rat. It passed me on the stairs.”

His wife sat up in bed listening. A loud knock resounded through the house.

“It’s Herbert!”

She ran to the door, but her husband was before her, and catching her by the arm, held her tightly.

“What are you going to do?” he whispered hoarsely.

“It’s my boy; it’s Herbert!” she cried, struggling mechanically. “I forgot it was two miles away. What are you holding me for? Let go. I must open the door.”

“For God’s sake don’t let it in,” cried the old man, trembling.

“You’re afraid of your own son,” she cried struggling. “Let me go. I’m coming, Herbert; I’m coming.”

There was another knock, and another. The old woman with a sudden wrench broke free and ran from the room. Her husband follwed to the landing, and called after her appealingly as she hurried downstairs. He heard the chain rattle back and the bolt drawn slowly and stiffly from the socket. Then the old womans voice, strained and panting.

“The bolt,” she cried loudly. “Come down. I can’t reach it.”

But her husband was on his hands and knees groping wildly on the floor in search of the paw. If only he could find it before the thing outside got in. A perfect fusillade of knocks reverberated throgh the house, and he heard the scraping of a chair as his wife as his wife put it down in the passage against the door. He heard the creaking of the bolt as it came slowly back, and at the same moment he found the monkeys’s paw, and frantically breathed his third and last wish.

The knocking ceased suddenly, although the echoes of it were still in the house. He heard the chair drawn back, and the door opened. A cold wind rushed up the staircase, and a long loud wail of dissapointment and misery from his wife gave him the courage to run down to her side, and then to the gate beyond. The streetlamp flickering opposite shone on a quiet and deserted road.

…………………………………………………….
http://www.manythings.org/voa/stories/The_Boarded_Window_-_By_Ambrose_Bierce.html

…………………………………………………….
The Story of X
by Lois Gould
Once upon a time, a Baby named X was born. It
was named X so that nobody could tell whether it
was a boy or girl. Its parents could tell, of course,
but they couldn’t tell anybody else. They couldn’t
even tell Baby X – at least not until much, much
later.
You see, X was a part of a very important Secret
Scientific Xperiment known officially as Project
Baby X. This Xperiment was going to cost Xactly
23 billion dollars and 72 cents. Which might seem
like a lot for one Baby, even if it was an important
Secret Scientific Xperiment Baby. But when you
remember the cost of strained carrots, stuffed
bunnies, booster shots, 28 shiny quarters from the
tooth fairy…you begin to see how it adds up.
Long before Baby X was born, the smartest
scientists had to work out the secret details of the
Xperiment and to write the Official Instruction
Manual in secret code for Baby X’s parents,
whoever they were. These parents had to be
selected very carefully. Thousands of people
volunteered to take thousands of tests with
thousands of tricky questions. Almost everybody
failed because it turned out almost everybody
wanted a boy or a girl and not a Baby X at all.
Also, almost everybody thought a Baby X would be
more trouble than a boy or girl. (They were right
too!)
There were families with grandparents named
Milton and Agatha, who wanted the baby named
Milton or Agatha instead of X, even if it was an X.
There were aunts who wanted to knit tiny dresses
and uncles who wanted to send tiny baseball mitts.
Worst of all, there were families with other children
who couldn’t keep a Secret. Not if they knew the
Secret was worth 23 billion dollars and 72 cents –
and all you had to do was take one little peek at
Baby X in the bathtub to know what it was.
Finally, the scientists found the Joneses, who
really wanted to raise an X more than any other
kind of baby – no matter how much trouble it was.
The Joneses promised to take turns holding X,
feeding X, and singing X to sleep. And they
promised never to hire any babysitters. The
scientists knew that a babysitter would probably
peek at X in the bathtub, too.
The day the Joneses brought their baby home, lots
of friends and relatives came to see it. And the first
thing they asked was, what kind of a baby X was.
When the Joneses said, “It’s an X!” nobody knew
what to say. They couldn’t say, “Look at her cute
little dimples!” On the other hand, they couldn’t
say, “Look at his
husky little biceps!”
And they didn’t feel
right about saying
just plain “kitchycoo”.
The relatives
all felt embarrassed
about having an X in
the family. “People
will think there’s
something wrong
with it!” they whispered. “Nonsense!” the Joneses
said stoutly. “What could possibly be wrong with
this perfectly adorable X?”
Clearly, nothing at all was wrong.
Nevertheless, the cousins who had sent a tiny
football helmet could not come and visit any more.
And the neighbors who sent a pink-flowered
romper suit pulled their shades down when the
Joneses passed their house.
The Official Instruction Manual had warned
the new parents that this would happen, so they
didn’t fret about it. Besides, they were too busy
learning how to bring up Baby X. Ms. and Mr.
Jones had to be Xtra careful. If they kept bouncing
it up in the air and saying how strong and active it
was, they’d be treating it more like a boy than an X.
But if all they did was cuddle it and kiss it and tell
it how sweet and dainty it was, they’d be treating it
more like a girl than an X. On page 1654 of the
Official Instruction Manual, the scientists
prescribed: “Plenty of bouncing and plenty of
cuddling, both. X ought to be strong and sweet
and active. Forget about dainty altogether”.
There were other problems, too. Toys, for
instance. And clothes. On his first shopping trip,
Mr. Jones told the store clerk, “I need some things
for a new baby”. The clerk smiled and said, “Well,
now, is it a boy or a girl?” “It’s an X,” Mr. Jones
said, smiling back. But the clerk got all red in the
face and said huffily, “In that case, I’m afraid I can’t
help you, sir.î Mr. Jones wandered the aisles trying
to find what X needed. But everything was in
sections marked BOYS or GIRLS: “Boys’ Pajamas”
and “Girls’ Underwear” and “Boys’ Fire Engines”
and “Girls’ Housekeeping Sets”. Mr. Jones went
home without buying anything for X.
That night he and Ms. Jones consulted page
2326 of the Official Instruction Manual. It said
firmly: “Buy plenty of everything!” So they bought
all kinds of toys. A boy doll that made pee-pee and
cried “Pa-Pa”. And a girl doll that talked in three
languages and said, “I am the
Pre-i-dent of Gen-er-al Mo-tors”.
They bought a storybook about a
brave princess who rescued a
handsome prince from his tower,
and another one about a sister
and brother who grew up to be a
baseball star and a ballet star and
you had to guess which.
The head scientists of Project Baby X checked
all their purchases and told them to keep up the
good work. They also reminded the Joneses to see
page 4629 of the Manual where it said, “Never
make Baby X feel embarrassed or ashamed about
what it wants to play with. And if X gets dirty
climbing rocks, never say, “nice little Xes don’t get
dirty climbing rocks”.
Likewise, it said, “if X falls down and cries,
never say, “Brave little Xes don’t cry. Because, of
course, nice little Xes do get dirty, and brave little
Xes do cry. No matter how dirty X gets or how
hard it cries, don’t worry. It’s all part of the
Xperiment.”
Whenever the Joneses pushed Baby X’s stroller
in the park, smiling strangers would come over and
coo: “is that a boy or a girl?” The Joneses would
smile back and say, “it’s an X”. The stringers would
stop smiling then and often snarl something nasty –
as if the Joneses had said something nasty to them.
Once a little girl grabbed X’s shovel in the
sandbox and zonked X on the head with it. “Now,
now Tracy,” the mother began to scold, “little girls
mustn’t hit little – and she turned to ask X, “Are you
a little boy or a little girl, dear?” Mr. Jones, who
was sitting near the sandbox, held his breath and
crossed his fingers. X smiled politely, even though
X’s head had never been zonked so hard in its life.
“I’m a little X”, said X. “You’re a what?” the lady
exclaimed angrily. “You’re a little b-r-a-t, you
mean!” “But little girls mustn’t hit little Xes either!”
said X, retrieving the shove
l with another polite smile. “What good’s hitting,
anyway?” X’s father finally X-hailed, uncrossed his
fingers, and grinned. And at their next secret
Project Baby X meeting,t he scientists grinned, too.
Baby X was doing fine.
But then it was time for X to start school. The
Joneses were really worried about this, because
school was even more full of rules for boys and
girls, and there were no rules for Xes. Teachers
would tell boys to form a line, and girls to form
another line. There would be boys’ games and
girls’ games, and boys’ secrets and girls’ secrets.
The school library would have a list of
recommended books for girls and a different list for
boys. There would even be a bathroom marked
BOYS and another one marked GIRLS. Pretty
soon, boys and girls would hardly talk to each
other. What would happen to poor little X?
The Joneses spent weeks consulting their
Instruction Manual. There were 249 pages of
advice under “First Day of School”. Then they were
all summoned to an Urgent Xtra Special
Conference with the smart scientists of Project Baby
X.
The scientists had to make sure that X’s mother
had taught X how to throw and catch a ball
properly, and that X’s father had been sure to teach
X what to serve at a doll’s tea party. X had to know
how to shoot marbles and jump rope and, most of
all, what to say when the other children asked
whether X was a boy or a girl.
Finally, X was ready. X’s teacher had promised
that the class could line up alphabetically, instead
of forming separate lines for boys and girls. And X
had permission to use the principal’s bathroom,
because it wasn’t marked anything except
BATHROOM. But nobody could help X with the
biggest problem of all – Other Children.
Nobody in X’s class had ever known an X.
Nobody had even heard grown-ups say, “Some of
my best friends are Xes”. What would other
children think? Would they make Xist jokes? or
Would they make friends? You couldn’t tell what
X was by its clothes. Overalls don’t even button
right to left, like girls’ clothes, or left to right, like
boys’ clothes. And did X have a girl’s short haircut
or a boy’s long haircut? As for the games X liked,
either X played ball very well for a girl, or else
played house very well for a boy.
The children tried to find out by asking X tricky
questions, like “who’s your favorite sports star?” X
had two favorite sports stars: a girl jockey named
Robyn Smith and a boy archery champion named
Robin Hood. Then they asked, “What’s your
favorite TV show?” And X said: “Lassie” which
stars a girl dog played by a boy dog. When X said
its favorite toy was a doll, everyone decided that X
must be a girl. But then X said the doll was really a
robot and that X had computerized it and it was
programmed to bake fudge and then clean up the
kitchen. After X told them that, they gave up
guessing what X was. All they knew was they’d
like to see X’s doll.
After school, X wanted to play with the other
children. “How about shooting baskets in the
gym?” X asked the girls. But all they did was make
faces and giggle behind X’s back. “Boy, is he
weird,” whispered Jim to Joe. “How about weaving
some baskets in the arts and crafts room?” X asked
the boys. But they all made faces and giggled
behind X’s back, too. “Boy, is she weird,”
whispered Susie to Peggy.
That night, Ms. and Mr. Jones asked X how
things had gone at school. X tried to smile, but
there were two big tears in its eyes. “The lessons
are okay,” X began, “but….” “But?” said Ms. Jones.
“The Other Children hate me,” X whispered. “Hate
you?” said Mr. Jones. X nodded, which made the
two big tears roll down and splash on its overalls.
Once more, the Joneses reached for their
Instruction Manual. Under “Other Children”, it
said: “What did you Xpect? Other Children have
to obey silly boy-girl rules, because their parents
taught them to. Lucky X – you don’t have rules at
all. All you have to do is be yourself. P.S. We’re
not saying it’ll be easy.
X liked being itself. But X cried a lot that night.
So X’s father held X tight and cried a little too. X’s
mother cheered them up with an Xciting story
about an enchanted prince called Sleeping
Handsome, who woke up when Princess Charming
kissed him.
The next morning, they all felt much better, and
little X went back to school with a brave smile and
a clean pair of red and white checked overalls.
There was a seven-letter word spelling bee in
class that day. And a seven-lap boys’ relay race in
the gym. And a seven-layer-cake baking contest in
the girls’ kitchen corner. X won the spelling bee. X
also won the relay race. And X almost won the
baking contest Xcept it forgot to light the oven.
(Remember nobody’s perfect.)
One of the Other Children noticed something
else, too. He said: “X doesn’t care about winning.
X just thinks it’s fun playing boys’ stuff and girls’
stuff. “Come to think of it,” said another one of the
Other Children. “X is having twice as much fun as
we are!”
After school that day, the girl who beat X in the
baking contest gave X a big slice of her winning
cake. And the boy X beat in the relay race asked X
to race him home. From then on, some really
funny things began to happen.
Susie, who sat next to X, refused to wear pink
dresses to school any more. She wanted red and
white checked overalls – just like X’s. Overalls, she
told her parents, were better for climbing monkey
bars. Then Jim, the class football nut, started
wheeling his little sister’s doll carriage around the
football field. He’d put on his entire football
uniform, except for the helmet. Then he’d put the
helmet in the carriage, lovingly tucked under an
old set of shoulder pads. Then he’d jog around the
field, pushing the carriage and singing “Rockabye
Baby” to his helmet. He said X did the same thing,
so it must be okay. After all, X was the team’s star
quarterback.
Susie’s parents were horrified by her behavior, and
Jim’s parents were worried sick about his. But the
worst came when the twins, Joe and Peggy,
decided to share everything with each other.
Peggy used Joe’s hockey skates, and his
microscope, and took half his newspaper route. Joe
used Peggy’s needlepoint kit, and her cookbooks,
and took two of her three baby-sitting jobs. Peggy
ran the lawn mower, and Joe ran the vacuum
cleaner. Their parents weren’t one bit pleased with
Peggy’s science experiments, or with Joe’s terrific
needlepoint pillows. They didn’t care that Peggy
mowed the lawn better, and that Joe vacuumed the
carpet better. In fact, they were furious. It’s all that
little X’s fault, they agreed. X doesn’t know what it
is or what it’s supposed to
be! So X wants to mix
everybody else up, too!
Peggy and Joe were
forbidden to play with X
any more. So was Susie
and then Jim and then all
the Other Children. But it
was too late. The Other Children stayed mixed up
and happy and free and refused to go back to the
way they’d been before X.
Finally, the parents held an emergency meeting
to discuss “The X Problem”. They sent a report to
the principal stating that X was a “bad influence”
and demanding immediate action. The Joneses,
they said, should be forced to tell whether X was a
boy or a girl. And X should be force to behave like
whichever it was.
If the Joneses refused to tell, the parents said,
then X must take an Xamination. An Impartial
Team of Xperts would Xtract the secret. Then X
would start obeying all the old rules. Or else. And
if X turned out to be some kind of mixed-up misfit,
then X must be Xpelled from school. Immediately!
So that no little Xes would ever come to school
again. The principal was very upset. Was X a bad
influence? A mixed-up misfit? But X was an
Xcellent student! X set a fine Xample! X was
Xtraordinary! X was president of the student
council, X had won first prize in the art show,
honorable mention in the science fair, and six
events on field day, including the potato race.
Nevertheless, insisted the parents, X is a
Problem Child. X is the biggest problem child we
have ever had! So the principal reluctantly notified
X’s parents and the Joneses reported this to the
Project X scientists, who referred them to page
85769 of the Instruction Manual. “Sooner or later,”
it said, “X will have to be Xamined by an Impartial
Team of Xperts.” “This may be the only way any of
us will know for sure whether X is mixed up – or
everyone else is.”
At Xactly 9 o’clock the next day, X reported to
the school health office. The principal, along with a
committee from the Parents’ Association, X’s
teacher, X’s classmates, and Ms. and Mr. Jones,
waited in the hall outside. Inside, the Xperts had
set up their famous testing machine: the
Superpsychobiometer. Nobody knew Xactly how
the machine worked, but everybody knew that this
examination would reveal Xactly what everyone
wanted to know about X, but were afraid to ask.
It was terribly quiet in the hall. Almost
spooky. They could hear very strange noises from
the room. There were buzzes. And a beep or two.
And several Bells. An occasional light flashed
under the door. Was it an X-ray? Through it all,
you could hear the Xperts’ voices, asking questions,
and X’s voice answering answers. I wouldn’t like
to be in X’s overalls right now, the children
thought. At last, the door opened. Everyone
crowded around to hear the results. X didn’t look
any different. In fact, X was smiling. But the
Impartial Team of Xperts looked terrible. They
looked as if they were crying! “What happened?”
everyone began shouting. “Sssh,” sshed the
principal. “The Xperts are trying to speak.” Wiping
his eyes and clearing his throat, one Xpert began:
“In our opinion,” he whispered – you could tell he
must be very upset – “In our opinion, young X here-
” “Yes! Yes!” shouted a parent. “Young X,” said the
other Xpert, frowning, “is just about the least
mixed-up child we’ve ever Xamined!” Xclaimed the
two Xperts together. Behind the closed door, the
Superpsychamedicosocietymeter made a noise like
a contented hum. “Yay for X!” yelled one of the
children. And then the others began yelling, too.
Clapping and cheering and jumping up and down.
“SSSH!” SSShed the principal, but nobody did.
The Parents’ Committee was angry and
bewildered. How could X have passed the whole
Xamination? Didn’t X have an identify problem!
Wasn’t X messed up at all! Wasn’t X any kind of a
misfit? How could it not be, when it didn’t even
know what it was?
“Don’t you see?” asked the Xperts. “X isn’t one
bit mixed up! As for being a misfit – ridiculous! X
knows perfectly well what it is! Don’t you, X?” The
Xperts winked. X winked back. “But what is X?”
shrieked Peggy and Joe’s parents. “We still want to
know what it is!” “Ah, yes,” said the Xperts,
winking again. “Well, don’t worry. You’ll all know
one of these days. And you won’t need us to tell
you.”
“What? What do they mean?” Jim’s parents
grumbled suspiciously. Susie and Peggy and Joe
all answered at once. “They mean that by the time
it matters which sex X is, it won’t be a secret any
more!” With that, the Xperts reached out to hug
Ms. and Mr. Jones. “If we ever have an X of our
own,” they whispered, “we sure hope you’ll lend us
your Instruction Manual.”
Needless to say, the Joneses were very happy.
The Project Baby X scientists were rather pleased,
too. So were Susie, Jim, Peggy, Joe and all the
Other Children. Even the parents promised not to
make any trouble. Later that day, all X’s friends
put on their red and white checked overalls and
went over to see X. They found X in the backyard,
playing with a very tiny baby that none of them
had ever seen before. The baby was wearing very
tiny red and white checked overalls.
“How do you like our new baby?” X asked the
Other Children proudly. “It’s got cute dimples,”
said Jim. “It’s got husky biceps, too,” said
Susie. “What kind of baby is it?” asked Joe and
Peggy. X frowned at them. “Can’t you tell?” Then,
X broke into a big, mischievous grin. “It’s a Y

……………………………………………….

The Fun They Had – I. Asimov

The Fun They Had

Isaac Asimov (1920-1992)

Margie even wrote about it that night in her diary. On the page headed May 17, 2155, she wrote, Today Tommy found a real book!
was a very old book. Margie’s grandfather once said that when he was a little boy his grandfather told him that there was a time when all stories were printed on paper.
They turned the pages, which were yellow and crankily, and it was awfully funny to read words that stood still instead of moving the way they were supposed to – on a screen, you know. And then, when they turned back to the page before, it had the same words on it that it had had when they read it the first time.
Gee, said Tommy, what a waste. When you’re though with the book, you just throw it away, I guess. Our television screen must have had a million books on it and it’s good for plenty more. I wouldn’t throw it away.
Same with mine, said Margie. She was eleven and hadn’t seen as many telebooks as Tommy had. He was thirteen.
She said, Where did you find it?
In my house. He pointed without looking, because he was busy reading. In the attic.
What’s it about?
School.
Margie was scornful. School? What’s there to write about school? I hate school. Margie had always hated school, but now she hated it more than ever. The mechanical teacher had been giving her test after test in geography and she had been doing worse and worse until her mother had shaken her head sorrowfully and sent for the County Inspector.
He was a round little man with a red face and a whole box of tools with dials and wires. He smiled at her and gave her an apple, then took the teacher apart. Margie had hoped he wouldn’t know how to put it together again, but he knew how all right and, after an hour or so, there it was again, large and black and ugly with a big screen on which all the lessons were shown and the questions were asked. That wasn’t so bad. The part she hated the most was the slot where she had to put homework and test papers. She always had to write them out in a punch code they made her learn when she was six years old, and the mechanical teacher calculated the mark in no time.
The inspector had smiled after he was finished and patted her head. He said to her mother, It’s not the little girl’s fault, Mrs. Jones. I think the geography sector was geared a little too quick. Those things happen sometimes. I’ve slowed it up to an average ten-year level. Actually, the over-all pattern of her progress is quite satisfactory. And he patted Margie’s head again.
Margie was disappointed. She had been hoping they would take the teacher away altogether. They had once taken Tommy’s teacher away for nearly a month because the history sector had blanked out completely.
So she said to Tommy, Why would anyone write about school?
Tommy looked at her with very superior eyes. Because it’s not our kind of school, stupid. This is the old kind of school that they had hundreds and hundreds of years ago.
Margie was hurt. Well, I don’t know what kind of school they had all that time ago. She read the book over his shoulder for a while, then said, Anyway, they had a teacher.
Sure they had a teacher, but it wasn’t a regular teacher. It was a man.
A man. How could a man be a teacher?
Well, he just told the boys and girls things and gave them homework and asked them questions.
A man isn’t smart enough.
Sure he is. My father knows as much as my teacher.
He can’t. A man can’t know as much as a teacher.
He knows almost as much I betcha.
Margie wasn’t prepared to dispute that. She said, I wouldn’t want a strange man in my house to teach me.
Tommy screamed with laughter. You don’t know much, Margie. The teachers didn’t live in the house. They had a special building and all the kids went there.
And all the kids learned the same thing?
Sure, if they were the same age.
But my mother says a teacher has to be adjusted to fit the mind of each boy and girl it teaches and that each kid has to be taught differently.
Just the same, they didn’t do it that way then. If you don’t like it, you don’t have to read the book.
I didn’t say I didn’t like it, Margie said quickly. She wanted to read about those funny schools.
They weren’t nearly half finished when Margie’s mother called, Margie! School!
Margie looked up. Not yet, mamma.
Now, said Mrs. Jones. And it’s probably time for Tommy, too.
Margie said to Tommy, Can I read the book some more with you after school?
Maybe, he said, nonchalantly. He walked away whistling, the dusty old book tucked beneath his arm.
Margie went to the schoolroom. It was right next to her bedroom, and the mechanical teacher was on and waiting for her. It was always on at the same time every day except for Saturday and Sunday, because her mother said little girls learned better if they learned at regular hours.
The screen was lit up, and it said: Today’s arithmetical lesson is on the addition of proper fractions. Please insert yesterday’s homework in the proper slot.
Margie did so with a sigh. She was thinking about the old schools they had when her grandfather’s grandfather was a boy. All the kids from the whole neighborhood came, laughing and shouting in the school yard, sitting together in the schoolroom, going home together at the end of the day. They learned the same things so they could help one another on the homework and talk about it.
And the teachers were people…
The mechanical teacher was flashing on the screen. When we add the fractions ½ and ¼ …
Margie was thinking about how the kids must have loved it in the old days. She was thinking about the fun they had.
ALONE
1. Read your extract of the story.
2. Note down all words/expressions you might like to teach your colleagues.
3. Describe the setting.
4. List and describe the characters.
5. Define the style and technique used in this short story.
6. Be ready to summarize the extract you read.
7. Be ready to read it aloud. Check pronunciation. Use a dictionary.
IN YOUR GROUP
1. Summarize and read your extract of the story.
2. Order the different extracts. Account for your proposals and decisions.
3. Complete the descriptions of (i) setting and (ii) characters with input from your colleagues.
4. See if you agree as opinions about style and technique are concerned.
5. What is the story really about? Discuss.
ALONE
Write an ending to this story. Write about 100 words.
KEY / NOTES
SETTING
May 17, 2155
No schools as we know them; children stay at home and have mechanical teachers (machines) that explain, check and assess. Materials and subject-matter set to fit each child individually, and each child is taught differently. Children ‘communicate’ with teacher by means of a punch-card which they learn to use at six.
Books are not printed, only on-screen (tele-books)
Margie
11 years old (but the inspector sets her ‘teacher’ for an average 10-year-old); just a child so has no experience; curious (wants to find out more about the mysterious book/reads over Tommy’s shoulder).
Doesn’t like school, hates homework and tests; looks up to her brother
Tommy
Margie’s friend (probably, he lives in another house); 13-year-old boy; likes to give himself airs (show off) when Margie is around; acts superior and patronizing;
Mother/
Mrs Jones
Very strict with ‘school’ timetables; believes you should learn at regular hours; worries about her daughter’s learning
Inspector
Round lttle man with red face; friendly, pats Margie’s head; encourages her; tries to boost back confidence back; sets her teacher so lessons will be easier
Teacher
A machine that sometimes malfunctions/breaks down/’crashes/goes blank/is not adjusted. Large, black and ugly screen with a slot to insert punch cards. Made of dials and wires.
STYLE & TECHNIQUE
Informal style. Past tenses mainly – past simple / past perfect simple and continuous
The narrator conveys the atmosphere and the naivety of 10-13 year-olds. Simple sentences, mostly dialogue to portray the atmosphere – and the mind – of children. Interjections (Gee); childish talk ‘My father knows more…’; the thrill of discovering things…
THEME
Set in the future but not really about the future…
The things we take for granted because we don’t know more; we grow up with them and we don’t even imagine they can be different;
Also about learning: how do you learn?
And interaction and communication: you need to be with your peers… (there’s always talk about machines ‘suck life out of you’ SEE BELOW
TWO POEMS by D. H. LAWRENCE (1885-1930)
New Houses, New Clothes
New houses, new furniture, new streets, new clothes, new sheets
everything new and machine-made sucks life out of us

REVIEW FOR THE END-OF-TERM TEST
ADVANCED 3
NAME: _________________________________________________ CLASS TIME: _________
TEACHER: _________________________________________________________________
I. MATCH THE COLUMNS TO FORM SHORT DIALOGS.
(a) I can’t believe Jason is not coming for dinner
tonight. He’s going to play soccer. I don’t
think he loves me anymore…
( ) You really owe me one, brother.
(b) What’s the problem? You look tired… ( ) Really? I think she’s going to be in a real bind.
Her boss won’t be happy about it.
(c) Why did it take you so long to get
downstairs? The building was on fire!
( ) Yeah, I’m fed up. I don’t think I can
take it anymore.
(d) Did you hear Susan missed the deadline for that
big project?
( ) Forget it! It’s all in your mind.
(e) I finally got my promotion! ( ) Because it was pitch black… I couldn’t see
a thing.
(f) If I had to describe my shortcomings, being
a perfectionist would be top of the list.
( ) Gee, I think you’re overreacting. He’s just
having fun.
(g) Thanks a lot for helping me get away… ( ) That can’t be true. That’s too good to be
true. She’s not that nice.
(h) Don’t you think Mr. Johnson doesn’t like me?
I don’t think he’s happy about my work…
( ) Way to go, Josh!
(i) Susan, I heard Ms. Villanueva is giving us three
days-off next week.
( ) I know what you mean. I’m like that myself.
II. COMPLETE THE SENTENCES WITH THE CORRECT ADJECTIVE OR ADVERB RELATED TO THE
NOUNS IN PARENTHESES:
a) He was a nice guy. He was always _________________________ to try to help everybody. This
was something he really liked to do. (WILL)
b) They were truly ______________________ (HEROISM) in battle. They fought __________________
(COURAGE) against their enemies.
c) We are _____________________________ Jane will pass the entrance exam. (CONFIDENCE)
d) Mother Teresa was famous for being very ____________________________ (GENEROSITY)
e) My parents were _______________________of my work in the community. (PRIDE)
f) I’ve always been____________________. Since I was a kid. I’ve never been afraid of insects,
roller coasters, airplanes, the dark, etc. (FEAR)
III.  PAIR WORK. SHARE IDEAS WITH YOUR PARTNER ABOUT DREAMS.
1. Do you usually remember your dreams? Talk about a recent dream you remember.
2. Do you tend to have the same dream again and again? Describe it.
3. Have you had dreams in other languages? How often do you dream in English? Would you
like to? Why (not)?
4. Have you ever had a dream that later came true? Why do you think this might have happened?
P.T.O.
ADVANCED 3 – UNITS 3,5 – REVIEW EXERCISES P.2
IV. CHOOSE THE CORRECT PAST TENSE AND COMPLETE THE SENTENCE. YOU CAN USE THE
SIMPLE PAST, PAST CONTINUOUS, PAST PERFECT OR THE PAST PERFECT CONTINUOUS.
a) He _____________________________ (NEG – USE TO) get up so early when he ___________ (LIVE)
in L.A.
b) There was no food left when I _____________________ (RETURN) because they ________________
(EAT) everything!
c) If I ____________________________ (BE) you, I ____________________________ (FINISH) my
homework right now.
d) I ____________________________ (READ) the letter when the wind _________________________
(BLOW) it out of my hands.
e) Mary ___________________________ (DRIVE) for less than an hour when she ran out of gas.
f) _____________________________ (FEED) the dog before they left on vacation?
V. FILL IN THE BLANKS WITH PHRASES IN THE BOX.
act of – clap of – grains of – kind of – a symbol of
1 . If you spill salt, you might have bad luck. You should throw a few _________________________
salt over your shoulder to make sure you don’t.
2. Thunder is usually frightening, but if you hear a _________________________ thunder after
a funeral, that means good luck.
3. This is the ___________________________ behavior I can’t stand anymore.
4. A(n) ______________________ of kindness is something you do to help people or cheer them up.
VI. COMPLETE THE SENTENCES WITH NO MATTER + WHAT / WHEN / WHERE / WHO / HOW.
a) _______________________________________ hard I try, Math has always been very difficult for me.
b) Nobody will ever believe you, _____________________________________________ you say.
c) ______________________________________ calls me late at night, I never answer the phone.
d) It’s always good to travel, _________________________________________ you go.
e) _______________________________________ you decide to go to Cabo Frio, it’s always crowded.
VII. USE A, THE OR X (NO ARTICLE) TO COMPLETE THE PASSAGE.
_____ anger is _____ normal, healthy emotion everyone experiences. However, many people have
_____trouble handling their anger. _____ experts say there is _____ healthy approach to handling _____
anger, and _____ most people can learn to do it. It is called “calming.” It means doing something to calm
yourself down at _____ moment when you start to feel angry. Counting to ten, breathing deeply, taking
_____ short walk, or thinking of _____ something pleasant or funny are _____ good ways to redirect
_____ negative energy associated with _____ anger.
AMDTdtm
0512

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