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Руководство для практического занятия по дисциплине «Домашнее чтение» № 4 для студентов 1 курса факультета иностранных языков, специальность «Английский язык». Составители: Насон Н.В., Литвинова Л.А.
4. PHILOMEL COTTAGE "Good-bye, darling." "Good-bye, sweetheart." Alix Martin stood leaning over the small rustic gate, watching her husband as he walked down the road in the direction of the village. Soon he was lost to sight, but Alix still stayed in the same position, absent-minded, her eyes far away and dreamy: Alix was not beautiful, nor even, strictly speaking, pretty. In her youth, Miss Alix King had been a trim businesslike young woman, efficient, slightly brusque in manner. She had graduated in a hard school. For fifteen years, from the age of eighteen until she was thirty-three, she had supported herself (and, for seven years of those years, her invalid mother too) by her work as a shorthand typist. It was the struggle for existence which had hardened the soft lines of her girlish face. True, there had been romance – of a kind – Dick Windyford, a fellow clerk. Alix had always known that he cared. Outwardly they had been friends, nothing more. Dick had a younger brother to bring up and with his limited salary he could not think of marriage for the time being. And then suddenly in the most unexpected manner, Alix inherited a fortune from a relative. A distant cousin had died, leaving her money to Alix
- a few thousand pounds. To Alix it was freedom, life, independence. Now she and Dick need wait no longer. But Dick reacted unexpectedly, he had never directly spoken of his love to Alix; and now he seemed less inclined to do so than ever. He avoided her, became morose and gloomy. She liked him none the worse for it, and even began to think how to deal with the situation, when for the second time the unexpected happened to her. She met Gerald Martin at a friend' house. He fell violently in love with her and within a week they were engaged. Alix who had always considered herself "not the falling-in-love kind", was swept clean off her feet. Unwittingly she had found the way to arouse her former lover. Dick Windyford had come to her stammering with rage and anger. "The man's a perfect stranger to you! You know nothing about him!" "I know that I love him."
"How can you know after – in a week?" "It doesn't take everyone eleven years to find out that they are in love with a girl," cried Alix angrily. His face went white. "I've cared for you ever since I met you. I thought that you cared also." Alix was truthful. "I thought so too," she admitted. "But that was because I didn't know what love was." Then Dick had burst out into prayers, entreaties, even threats. It was amazing to Alix to see the volcano that existed beneath the reserved exterior of the man sf\e had thought she knew so well. Her thoughts went back to that conversation with Dick now, on this sunny morning, as she leant on the gate of the cottage. She had been married a month, and she was idyllically happy. Yet, in the momentary absence of the husband who was everything to her, a tinge of anxiety invaded her perfect happiness. And the cause of that anxiety was Dick Windyford. Three times since her marriage she had dreamed the same dream. The environment differed, but the main facts were always the same. She saw her husband lying dead and Dick Windyford standing over him, and knew clearly and distinctly that it was Dick who had dealt the fatal blow: And the most horrible thing was that, on awakening (for in the dream it seemed perfectly natural and inevitable), she, Alix Martin, was glad that her husband was dead: she stretched out grateful hands to the murderer, sometimes she thanked him. The dream always ended the same way, clasped in Dick Windyford's arms. She had said nothing of this dream to her husband, but secretly it had disturbed her more than she liked to admit. Was it a warning – a warning against Dick Windyford? Alix was roused from her thoughts by the sharp ringing of the telephone bell. She entered the cottage and picked up the receiver. Suddenly she swayed, and put out a hand against the wall. "Who did you say was speaking?' "Why, Alix what's the matter with your voice? I wouldn't have known it. It's Dick." "Oh!" said Alix. 'Oh! Where – where are you?' "At the Traveller's Arms – that's the right name, isn't it? Or don't you even know of the existence of your village pub? I'm on my holiday – doing a bit of fishing here. Any objection to my looking you two good people up this evening after dinner?'
As she rounded the corner of the house, Alix was surprised to see the old gardener in question busy over the flowerbeds. She was surprised because his days for work were Mondays and Fridays, and today was Wednesday. "Why, George, what are you doing here?", she asked as she came towards him. The old man straightened up with a chuckle, touching the brim of aged cap. "I thought as how you'd be surprised, ma'am. But 'tis this way. There be a fete over to Squire's on Friday, and I sez to myself, I sez, neither Mr. Martin nor yet his good lady won't take it amiss if I come for once on a Wednesday instead of a Friday." "That's quite all right," said Alix. 'I hope you'll enjoy yourself at the fete." "I will," said George simply. 'It's a fine thing to be able to eat your fill and know all the time as it's not you as is paying for it. Squire alius has a proper sit-down tea for 'is tenants. Then I thought too, ma'am, as I might as well see you before you goes away as to learn your wishes for the borders. You have no idea when you'll be back, ma'am, I suppose?" "But I'm not going away." George stared. "Ain't you going to London tomorrow?' "No. What put such an idea into your head?' George jerked his head over his shoulder. 'Met maister down to village yesterday. He told me you was both going away to London tomorrow, and it was uncertain when you'd be back again." "Nonsense," said Alix laughing. 'You must have misunderstood him." All the same, she wondered what it could have been that Gerald had said to lead the old man into such a curious mistake. Going to London? She never wanted to go to London again. "I hate London," she said suddenly and harshly. "Ah!" said George placidly. 4 must have been mistook somehow, and yet he said it plain enough, it seemed to me. I'm glad you're stopping on here. I don't think nothing of London. I've never needed to go there. Too many moty cars – that's the trouble nowadays. Once people have got a moty car, blessed if they can stay still anywheres. Mr. Ames, wot used to have this house – nice peaceful sort of gentleman he was until he bought one of them things. Hadn't had it a month before he put up this cottage for sale. A tidy lot he'd spent on it too, with taps in all the bedrooms, and the electric light and all. 'You'll never see your money back,' I sez to him. 'But/ he sez to me, Til get every penny of two thousand pounds for this house.' And, sure enough, he did."
"He got three thousand," said Alix, smiling. "Two thousand," repeated George. "The sum he was asking was talked of at the time." "It really was three thousand," said Alix. "Ladies never understand figures," said George, unconvinced. "You'll not tell me that Mr. Ames had the face to stand to you and say three thousand brazen-like in a loud voice?" "He didn't say it to me," said Alix. 'He said it to my husband." George stooped again to his flowerbed. "The price was two thousand," he said obstinately. Alix did not trouble to argue with him. Moving to one of the farther beds, she began to pick an armful of flowers. As she moved with her fragrant posy towards the house, Alix noticed a small dark-green object peeping from between some leaves in one of the beds. She stooped and picked it up, recognizing it for her husband's pocket diary. She opened it, scanning the entries with some amusement. Almost from the beginning of their married life she had realized that the impulsive and emotional Gerald had the specific virtues of neatness and method. He was extremely punctual about meals, and always planned his day ahead with the accuracy of a timetable. Looking through the diary, she was amused to notice the entry on the date of May 14th: "Marry Alix St. Peter's 2.30." "The big silly," murmured Alix to herself turning the pages. Suddenly she stopped. "Wednesday, June I8th – why, that's today." In the space for that day was written in Gerald's neat, precise hand: "9 p.m.." Nothing else. What had Gerald planned to do at 9 p.m.? Alix wondered. She smiled to herself as she realized that had this been a story, like those she had so often read, the diary would doubtless have helped her with some sensational revelation. It would have had in it for certain the name of another woman. She fluttered the back pages idly. There were dates, appointments, cryptic references to business deals, but only one woman's name – her own. Yet as she slipped the book into her pocket and went on with her flowers to the house, she was aware of a vague uneasiness. Those words of Dick Windyford's recurred to her: "The man's a perfect stranger to you. You know nothing about him." It was true. What did she know about him? After all, Gerald was forty. In forty years there must have been women in his life...
Gerald looked a little vexed. "My dear girl," he said, with a shade of testiness in his manner, "One should always plan a thing for a definite time. Then one gets through one's work properly." Alix sat for a minute or two in silence, watching her husband as he lay in his chair smoking. And suddenly, from some unknown source a wave of panic surged over her, so that she cried out before she could stop herself. "Oh! Gerald, I wish I knew more about you!" Her husband turned an astonished face upon her. "But, my dear Alix, you do know all about me. I've told you of my boyhood in Northumberland, of my life in South Africa and these last ten years in Canada which have brought me success." "Oh! business!" said Alix scornfully. Gerald laughed suddenly. "I know what you mean – love affairs. You women are all the same. Nothing interests you but the personal element." Alix felt her throat go dry, as she muttered indistinctly. "Well, but there must have been – love affairs. I mean – if I only knew–" There was silence again for a minute or two. Gerald Martin was frowning a look of indecision on his face. "Do you think it wise, Alix– this– Bluebeard's chamber business? There have been women in my life; yes, I don't deny it. You wouldn't believe me if I denied it. But I can swear to you truthfully that not one of them meant anything to me." There was a ring of sincerity in his voice which comforted the listening wife. "Satisfied, Alix?" he asked, with a smile. Then he looked at her with a shade of curiosity. 'What has turned your mind on to these unpleasant subjects tonight?" Alix got up and began to walk about restlessly. "Oh, I don't know," she said. "I've been nervy all day." "That's odd," said Gerald, in a low voice, as though speaking to himself. 'That's very odd." "Why is it odd?" "Oh, my dear girl, don't flash out at me so. I only said it was odd because, as a rule, you're so sweet and serene." Alix forced a smile. "Everything's conspired to annoy me today," she confessed. "Even old George had got some ridiculous idea into his head that we were going away to London. He said you had told him so." "Where did you see him?" asked Gerald sharply. "He came to work today instead of Friday." "Damned old fool," said Gerald angrily.
Alix stared in surprise. Her husband's face was convulsed with rage. She had never seen him so angry. Seeing her astonishment Gerald made an effort to regain control of himself. "Well, he is a damned old fool," he protested. "What can you have said to make him think that?" "I? I never said anything. At least – oh, yes, I remember; I made some weak joke about being "off to London in the morning," and I suppose he took it seriously. Or else he didn't hear properly. You undeceived him, of course?" He waited anxiously for her reply. "Of course, but he's the sort of old man who if once he gets an idea in his head – well, it isn't so easy to get it out again." Then she told him of George's insistence on the sum asked for the cottage. Gerald was silent for a minute or two, then he said slowly: "Ames was willing to take two thousand in cash and the remaining thousand on mortgage. That's the origin of that mistake, I fancy." "Very likely," agreed Alix. Then she looked up at the clock, and pointed to it with a mischievous finger. "We ought to be getting down to it, Gerald. Five minutes behind schedule." A very peculiar smile came over Gerald Martin's face. "I've changed my mind," he said quietly; "I shan't do any photography tonight." A woman's mind is a curious thing. When she went to bed that Wednesday night, Alix's mind was contented and at rest. But by the evening of the following day she felt there was something still bothering her. Again and again those words of Dick recurred to her: " The man's a perfect stranger. You know nothing about him." And with them came the memory of her husband's face, photographed clearly on her brain, as he said, "Do you think it wise, Alix, this - 'Bluebeard's Chamber' business?" Why had he said? There had been a warning in them. It was as though he had said: "You had better not pry into my life, Alix. You may get a nasty shock if you do." By Friday morning Alix had convinced herself that there must be a woman in Gerald' life. Her jealousy, slow to awaken, was now rampant. Was it a woman he had been going to meet that night at 9 p.m.? Was his story of photographs to develop a lie invented upon the spur of the moment?
pulled it open. But there was nothing in it but a roll of newspaper clippings already dirty and discoloured with age. Alix breathed a sigh of relief. Nevertheless, she glanced at the clippings, curious to know what subject had interested Gerald so much that he had taken the trouble to keep the dusty roll. They were nearly all American papers, dated some seven years ago, and dealing with the trial of the notorious swindler and bigamist, Charles Lemaitre. Lemaitre had been suspected of doing away with his women victims. A skeleton had been found beneath the floor of one of the houses he had rented and most of the women he had 'married'" had never been heard of again. He had defended himself from the charge with supreme skill, aided by one of the best lawyer in the United States. The Scottish verdict of "Not Proven" might have stated the case best. He was found Not Guilty on the capital charge, though sentenced to a long term of imprisonment on the other charges pressed against him. Alix remembered the excitement caused by the case at the time and also the sensation aroused by the escape of Lemaitre, some three years later. He had never been recaptured. The personality of the man and his extraordinary power over women had been discussed in the English papers at the time. They said that he had protested passionately all the charges against him and even had played sudden physical collapses which he claimed were due to a weak heart. There was a picture of him in one of the clippings Alix held and she studied it with some interest – a long-bearded, scholarly looking gentleman. Who was it the face reminded her of? Suddenly, with a shock, she realized that it was Gerald himself. The eyes and brow bore a strong resemblance to his. Perhaps he had kept the cutting for that reason. Her eyes went on to the paragraph beside the picture. Certain dates had been mentioned in Charles Lemaitre's pocket book, and they all had coincided with the dates when he, as claimed, had done away with his victims. Then a woman gave evidence and identified the prisoner positively by the fact that he had a mole on his left wrist, just below the palm of the hand. Alix dropped the papers and swayed as she stood. On his left wrist\ just below the palm, her husband had a small scar... The room whirled round her. Afterwards it struck her: Gerald Martin was Charles Lemaitre! She knew it, and accepted it in a flash. Disjointed fragments whirled through her brain, like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle fitting into place.
The money paid for the house – her money – her money only; the bearer bonds she had entrusted to his keeping. Even her dream appeared in its true significance. Deep down in her, her subconscious self had always feared Gerald Martin and wished to escape from him. And it was to Dick Windyford this self of hers had looked for help. That, too, was why she was able to accept the truth so easily, without doubt or hesitation. She was to have been another of Lemaitre's victims. Very soon, perhaps... A half-cry escaped her as she remembered something. Wednesday 9 p.m. The cellar! Once before he had buried one of his victims in a cellar. It had been all planned for Wednesday night. But what had saved her? What could possibly have saved her? Had he taken pity on her at the last minute? No. In a flash the answer came to her – old George. She understood now her husband's sudden anger. Doubtless he had told everyone he met that they were going to London the next day. Then George had come to work unexpectedly, had mentioned London to her, and she had contradicted the story. Too risky to do away with her that night, with old George repeating that conversation. But what an escape! If she had not happened to mention that trivial matter – Alix shuddered. But there was no time to be lost. She must get away at once – before he came back. She hurriedly replaced the roll of clippings in the drawer, shut it, and locked it. And then she stayed still as though frozen to stone: She had heard the creak of the gate into the road. Her husband had returned. For a moment Alix stayed motionless, then she crept on tiptoe to the window, looking out from behind the shelter of the curtain. Yes, it was her husband. He was smiling to himself and humming a little tune. In his hand he held a brand-new spade. Alix's heart stop beating. // was to be tonight... But there was still a chance. Without hesitating a moment, she ran down the stairs and out of the cottage. But just as she appeared at the door, her husband came round the back of the house. "Hello," he said, "where are you running off to in such a hurry?" She realized that her chance was gone for the moment. "I was going to walk to the end of the lane and back," she said in a voice that sounded weak and uncertain to her own ears. "Right," said Gerald. "I'll come with you." "No – please, Gerald. I'm – nervy, headachy – I'd rather go alone." He looked at her attentively. A momentary suspicion gleamed in his eye.
"It keeps the moths out. I hate moths. Are you afraid I'm going to make love to the butcher, silly?" Once inside, she snatched down the telephone receiver and gave the number of the Traveller's Arms. She was put through at once. "Mr. Windyford? Is he still there? Can I speak to him?" Then her heart gave a sickening thump. The door was pushed open and her husband came into the hall. "Do go away, Gerald," she said pettishly. "I hate anyone listening when I'm telephoning." He merely laughed and threw himself into a chair. "Sure it really is the butcher you're telephoning to?" he questioned. Alix was in despair. Her plan had failed. In a minute Dick Windyford would come to the phone. Should she risk all and cry out an appeal for help? And then, as she nervously depressed and released the little key in the receiver she was holding, which permits the voice to be heard or not heard at the other end, another plan flashed into her head. "It will be difficult," she thought to herself. "It means keeping my head, and thinking of the right words, and not faltering for a moment, but I believe I could do it. I must do it." And at that minute she heard Dick Windyford's voice at the other end of the phone. Alix drew a deep breath. Then she depressed the key firmly and spoke. "Mrs Martin speaking– from Philomel Cottage. Please come (she released the key) tomorrow morning with six nice veal cutlets (she depressed the key again). It's very important (she released the key). Thank you so much, Mr. Hexworthy, you don't mind my ringing you up so late, I hope, but those veal cutlets are really a matter of (she depressed the key again) life or death (she released it). Very well – tomorrow morning (she depressed it) as soon as possible. She replaced the receiver on the hook and turned to face her husband, breathing hard. "So that's how you talk to your butcher, is it?" said Gerald. "It's the feminine touch," said Alix lightly. She was simmering with excitement. He had suspected nothing. Dick, even if he didn't understand, would come. She passed into the sitting-room and switched on the electric light. Gerald followed her. "You seem very full of spirits now?" he said watching her curiously. "Yes," said Alix. 'My headache's gone."
She sat down in her usual seat and smiled at her husband as he sank into his own chair opposite her. She was saved. It was only five and twenty past eight. Long before nine o'clock Dick would have arrived. "I didn't think much of that coffee you gave me," complained Gerald. 4 It tasted very bitter." "It's a new kind I was trying. We won't have it again if you don't like it, dear." Alix took up a piece of needlework and began to stitch. Gerald read a few pages of his book. Then he glanced up at the clock and tossed the book away. "Half-past eight. Time to go down to the cellar and start work." The sewing slipped from Alix's fingers. "Oh, not yet. Let us wait until nine o'clock." "No, my girl – half-past eight. That's the time I fixed. You'll be able to get to bed all the earlier." "But I'd rather wait until nine." "You know when I fix a time I always stick to it. Come along, Alix. I'm not going to wait a minute longer." Alix looked up at him. She felt a wave of terror slide over her. The mask had been lifted. Gerald's hands were twitching, his eyes were shining with excitement, he was continually passing his tongue over his dry lips. He no longer cared to conceal his excitement. Alix thought, "It's true – he can > wait – he's like a madman." She was powerless. She couldn't get away – she couldn't do anything – and he was coming towards her. "Now, Alix-" "No – no, Gerald, – stop – I've got something to tell you, something to confess–" He did stop. "To confess?" he said curiously. "Yes, to confess." She had used the words at random, but she went on desperately, seeking to hold his arrested attention. A look of contempt swept over his face. "A former lover. I suppose," he sneered. "No," said Alix. "Something else. You'd call it, I expect – yes, you'd call it a crime." And at once she saw that she had struck the right note. Again his attention was arrested. Seeing that, her nerve came back to her. She felt mistress of the situation once more. "You had better sit down again," she said quietly.
"It was very peaceful. I sat watching him. Once he gasped a little and asked for air. I opened the window. Then he said he could not move from his chair. Presently he died" She stopped, smiling. It was a quarter to nine. Surely they would come soon. "How much," said Gerald, 'was the insurance money?" "About two thousand pounds. I speculated with it, and lost it. I went back to my office work. But I never meant to remain there long. Then I met another man. He didn't know I had been married before. He was a younger man, rather good-looking, and quite well-off. We were married quietly in Sussex. He didn't want to insure his life, but of course he made a will in my favour. He liked me to make his coffee myself just as my first husband had done." Alix smiled reflectively, and added simply. "I make very good coffee." Then she went on: "I had several friends in the village where we were living. They were very sorry for me, with my husband dying suddenly of heart failure one evening after dinner. I didn't quite like the doctor. I don't think he suspected me, but he was certainly very surprised at my husband's sudden death. My second husband left about four thousand pounds. I didn't speculate with it this time; I invested it. Then, you see –" But she was interrupted. Gerald Martin, his face suffused with blood, half-choking, was pointing a shaking forefinger at her. "The coffee - my God! the coffee!" She stared at him. "I understand now why it was bitter. You devil! You've been up to your tricks again." His hands gripped the arms of his chair. He was ready to spring upon her. "You've poisoned me." Alix had retreated from him to the fireplace. Now, terrified, she opened her lips to deny – and then paused. In another minute he would spring upon her. She summoned all her strength. Her eyes held his steadily, hypnotically. "Yes," she said. "I poisoned you. Already the poison is working. At this minute you can't move from your chair – you can't move –" If she could keep him there – even a few minutes... Ah! What was that? Footsteps on the road. The creak of the gate. Then footsteps on the path outside. The outer door opening. " You can 4 move" she said again. Then she slipped past him and fled headlong from the room to fall fainting into Dick Windyford's arms. "My God! Alix," he cried.
Then he turned to the man with him, a tall stout figure in policeman's uniform. "Go and see what's been happening in that room." He laid Alix carefully down on a couch and bent over her. "My little girl," he murmured. "My poor little girl. What have they been doing to you?" Her eyelids fluttered and her lips just murmured his name. Dick was aroused by the policeman's touching him on the arm. "There's nothing in that room, sir, but a man sitting in a chair. Looks as though he'd had some kind of bad fright, and –" "Yes?" "Well, sir, he's - dead." They were startled by hearing Alix's voice. She spoke as though in some kind of dream, her eyes still closed. "And presently" she said, almost as though she were quoting from something, he died–"
Ex. 3. Find the English equivalents in the text. Reproduce the situations in which these words and word combinations are used.
- получить наследство
- «сбить с ног»
- заикаться от страсти и гнева
- тень беспокойства
- чуть изменившимся голосом
- отсутствие теплоты в голосе
- единственное препятствие
- прийти на помощь
- неясное беспокойство
- отчетливое желание
- притворная строгость (суровость)
- на самом деле
- немного раздосадованный
- тень раздражения в манере обращения
- неразборчиво бормотать
- с искренностью в голосе
- совать нос в чью-то жизнь
- экспромтом
- собственное подсознание
- усыпить чьи-то подозрения
- наугад
- чье-то абсолютное внимание
- больничная амбулатория
- она рискнула и одержала победу.
- получить наследство
- «сбить с ног»
- заикаться от страсти и гнева Ex. 4. Paraphrase each of the following sentences into ones with complex subjects. Model : It seemed that Christie became even more private, silent and inadequate in public. – Christie seemed to become even more private, silent and inadequate in public.
- It was never openly suggested that the house was inhabited with ghosts.
- It seemed that he was quite unprepared to the question.
- They said that the emerald necklace had belonged to Catherine de Medici.
- It appeared that the question embarrassed him considerably.
- It seemed that the words amused him.
- It appeared that Mr. Parker made up his mind.
- Now it seemed that he was less inclined to speak about love than ever.
- It is supposed that it is the child's ghost that haunts the place. Ex. 5. The verb+ing in each of the following sentences is either a participle or a gerund. Can you distinguish each of them?
- The neighbours, not knowing that his father had gone away, often heard him sobbing in the loneliness of the empty house.
- He was in the attic, sitting on the floor crying, but he ran away when he saw me.
- Poirot finished the first part of the sentence without taking any notice of the exclamation.
- But Poirot maintained silence waiting for the information.
- Mr. Palgrove was saved from having to respond as at the moments he was cursed by another driver.
- Any objection to my looking you two good people up this evening after dinner?
- He now took the line of least resistance following blindly behind any car in front.
- Having got the address of M. de Saint Alard, 1 wasted no time.
- By keeping silence I too was a murderer.
- You denied having asked him to get medicine for you. Reading Comprehension and Discussion Tasks Ex. 6. Who said each of the following words and to whom were they speaking?
- "The man's a perfect stranger to you."
- "What put such an idea into your head?"
- "Ladies never understand figures."
- "Everything's conspired to annoy me today""
- "You undeceived him, of course?"
- "You don't mind my ringing you up so late, I hope"
- "I've got something to tell you, something to confess –"
- "You've been up to your tricks again."
- "Go and see what's been happening in that room."
- "Well, sir, he's - dead." Ex. 7. Using the following expressions recall and retell the episode in the story: a) describe Alix's portrait and her social and personal life before her marriage: a trim businesslike young woman; graduated in a hard school; a shorthand typist; the struggle for existence; she knew he cared; to inherit a fortune from a relative; freedom, independence; they were engaged within a week; b) Alix's repeating dream and her feeling about it: circumstances; the main facts; the fatal blow; to stretch out grateful hands to the murderer; clasped in Dick's arms; it disturbed her; to admit; c) Alix's attitude to Philomel Cottage: Alix was captivated; rather lonely; nice and comfortable; a victim of its charm; the owner declined to let it; she came to the rescue; to contribute half; to regret the choice; to be starved of domestic life; without servants to help; d) Alix's obsessive idea to find evidence of Gerald's having a woman: restless and ill at ease; to struggle with a temptation; to assure herself; thorough tidying; the shame of her action; to hunt breathlessly; e) Alix's sudden idea of Dick's helping her: a sudden idea flashed into her mind; to telephone to the butcher; to keep the moths out; to make love to the butcher; to be in despair; to depress and release; the little key in the receiver; to keep her head; not to falter for a moment;
