Тренировочный вариант Яндекс.ЕГЭ по английскому языку № 11 за 2014 год

Anson was the eldest of six children who would some day divide a fortune of fifteen million dollars, and he reached the age of reason – is it seven? – at the beginning of the century when daring young women were already gliding along Fifth Avenue in electric "mobiles". In those days he and his brother had an English governess who spoke the language very clearly and crisply and well, so that the two boys grew to speak as she did - their words and sentences were all crisp and clear. They didn’t talk exactly like English children but got an accent that is peculiar to fashionable people in the city of New York.

In the summer the six children were moved from the house in New York to a big estate in northern Connecticut. It was not a fashionable locality – Anson’s father was a man somewhat superior to his class, which composed New York society, which was snobbish and vulgar, and he wanted his sons to learn habits of concentration and have sound constitutions and grow up into right-living and successful men. He and his wife kept an eye on them as well as they were able until the two older boys went away to school, but in huge establishments this is difficult – it was much simpler in the series of small and medium-sized houses in which my own youth was spent – I was never far out of the reach of my mother’s voice, of the sense of her presence, her approval or disapproval.

Anson’s first sense of his superiority came to him when he realized the respect that was paid to him in the Connecticut village. The parents of the boys he played with always inquired after his father and mother, and were excited when their own children were asked to play with him in his parents’ house. He accepted this as the natural state of things, and a sort of impatience with all groups of which he was not the center – in money, in position, in authority – remained with him for the rest of his life. He didn’t want to struggle with other boys for precedence – he expected it to be given him freely, and when it wasn’t he withdrew into his family. His family was enough for him.

At eighteen, Anson was tall and thick-set, with a clear complexion and a healthy color from the ordered life had led in school. His hair was yellow and grew in a funny way on his head, his nose was beaked – these two things kept him from being handsome – but he had a confident charm, and the upper-class men who passed him on the street knew without being told that he was a rich boy and had gone to one of the best schools. Nevertheless, his very superiority kept him from being success in college – the independence was mistaken for egotism, and the refusal to accept the Yale standards with the proper awe seemed to belittle all those who had. So, long before he graduated, he began to shift the center of his life to New York.

He was at home in New York – there was his own house with "the kind of servants you can’t get any more" – and his own family, and the correct manly world of the men’s clubs. His aspirations were conventional enough – they included even the decent girl he would some day marry.

He and I first met in the late summer of 1917 when he was out of Yale, and, like the rest of us, was swept up into the hysteria of the war.

Anson was the eldest of six children who would some day divide a fortune of fifteen million dollars, and he reached the age of reason – is it seven? – at the beginning of the century when daring young women were already gliding along Fifth Avenue in electric "mobiles". In those days he and his brother had an English governess who spoke the language very clearly and crisply and well, so that the two boys grew to speak as she did - their words and sentences were all crisp and clear. They didn’t talk exactly like English children but got an accent that is peculiar to fashionable people in the city of New York.

In the summer the six children were moved from the house in New York to a big estate in northern Connecticut. It was not a fashionable locality – Anson’s father was a man somewhat superior to his class, which composed New York society, which was snobbish and vulgar, and he wanted his sons to learn habits of concentration and have sound constitutions and grow up into right-living and successful men. He and his wife kept an eye on them as well as they were able until the two older boys went away to school, but in huge establishments this is difficult – it was much simpler in the series of small and medium-sized houses in which my own youth was spent – I was never far out of the reach of my mother’s voice, of the sense of her presence, her approval or disapproval.

Anson’s first sense of his superiority came to him when he realized the respect that was paid to him in the Connecticut village. The parents of the boys he played with always inquired after his father and mother, and were excited when their own children were asked to play with him in his parents’ house. He accepted this as the natural state of things, and a sort of impatience with all groups of which he was not the center – in money, in position, in authority – remained with him for the rest of his life. He didn’t want to struggle with other boys for precedence – he expected it to be given him freely, and when it wasn’t he withdrew into his family. His family was enough for him.

At eighteen, Anson was tall and thick-set, with a clear complexion and a healthy color from the ordered life had led in school. His hair was yellow and grew in a funny way on his head, his nose was beaked – these two things kept him from being handsome – but he had a confident charm, and the upper-class men who passed him on the street knew without being told that he was a rich boy and had gone to one of the best schools. Nevertheless, his very superiority kept him from being success in college – the independence was mistaken for egotism, and the refusal to accept the Yale standards with the proper awe seemed to belittle all those who had. So, long before he graduated, he began to shift the center of his life to New York.

He was at home in New York – there was his own house with "the kind of servants you can’t get any more" – and his own family, and the correct manly world of the men’s clubs. His aspirations were conventional enough – they included even the decent girl he would some day marry.

He and I first met in the late summer of 1917 when he was out of Yale, and, like the rest of us, was swept up into the hysteria of the war.

Anson was the eldest of six children who would some day divide a fortune of fifteen million dollars, and he reached the age of reason – is it seven? – at the beginning of the century when daring young women were already gliding along Fifth Avenue in electric "mobiles". In those days he and his brother had an English governess who spoke the language very clearly and crisply and well, so that the two boys grew to speak as she did - their words and sentences were all crisp and clear. They didn’t talk exactly like English children but got an accent that is peculiar to fashionable people in the city of New York.

In the summer the six children were moved from the house in New York to a big estate in northern Connecticut. It was not a fashionable locality – Anson’s father was a man somewhat superior to his class, which composed New York society, which was snobbish and vulgar, and he wanted his sons to learn habits of concentration and have sound constitutions and grow up into right-living and successful men. He and his wife kept an eye on them as well as they were able until the two older boys went away to school, but in huge establishments this is difficult – it was much simpler in the series of small and medium-sized houses in which my own youth was spent – I was never far out of the reach of my mother’s voice, of the sense of her presence, her approval or disapproval.

Anson’s first sense of his superiority came to him when he realized the respect that was paid to him in the Connecticut village. The parents of the boys he played with always inquired after his father and mother, and were excited when their own children were asked to play with him in his parents’ house. He accepted this as the natural state of things, and a sort of impatience with all groups of which he was not the center – in money, in position, in authority – remained with him for the rest of his life. He didn’t want to struggle with other boys for precedence – he expected it to be given him freely, and when it wasn’t he withdrew into his family. His family was enough for him.

At eighteen, Anson was tall and thick-set, with a clear complexion and a healthy color from the ordered life had led in school. His hair was yellow and grew in a funny way on his head, his nose was beaked – these two things kept him from being handsome – but he had a confident charm, and the upper-class men who passed him on the street knew without being told that he was a rich boy and had gone to one of the best schools. Nevertheless, his very superiority kept him from being success in college – the independence was mistaken for egotism, and the refusal to accept the Yale standards with the proper awe seemed to belittle all those who had. So, long before he graduated, he began to shift the center of his life to New York.

He was at home in New York – there was his own house with "the kind of servants you can’t get any more" – and his own family, and the correct manly world of the men’s clubs. His aspirations were conventional enough – they included even the decent girl he would some day marry.

He and I first met in the late summer of 1917 when he was out of Yale, and, like the rest of us, was swept up into the hysteria of the war.

Anson was the eldest of six children who would some day divide a fortune of fifteen million dollars, and he reached the age of reason – is it seven? – at the beginning of the century when daring young women were already gliding along Fifth Avenue in electric "mobiles". In those days he and his brother had an English governess who spoke the language very clearly and crisply and well, so that the two boys grew to speak as she did - their words and sentences were all crisp and clear. They didn’t talk exactly like English children but got an accent that is peculiar to fashionable people in the city of New York.

In the summer the six children were moved from the house in New York to a big estate in northern Connecticut. It was not a fashionable locality – Anson’s father was a man somewhat superior to his class, which composed New York society, which was snobbish and vulgar, and he wanted his sons to learn habits of concentration and have sound constitutions and grow up into right-living and successful men. He and his wife kept an eye on them as well as they were able until the two older boys went away to school, but in huge establishments this is difficult – it was much simpler in the series of small and medium-sized houses in which my own youth was spent – I was never far out of the reach of my mother’s voice, of the sense of her presence, her approval or disapproval.

Anson’s first sense of his superiority came to him when he realized the respect that was paid to him in the Connecticut village. The parents of the boys he played with always inquired after his father and mother, and were excited when their own children were asked to play with him in his parents’ house. He accepted this as the natural state of things, and a sort of impatience with all groups of which he was not the center – in money, in position, in authority – remained with him for the rest of his life. He didn’t want to struggle with other boys for precedence – he expected it to be given him freely, and when it wasn’t he withdrew into his family. His family was enough for him.

At eighteen, Anson was tall and thick-set, with a clear complexion and a healthy color from the ordered life had led in school. His hair was yellow and grew in a funny way on his head, his nose was beaked – these two things kept him from being handsome – but he had a confident charm, and the upper-class men who passed him on the street knew without being told that he was a rich boy and had gone to one of the best schools. Nevertheless, his very superiority kept him from being success in college – the independence was mistaken for egotism, and the refusal to accept the Yale standards with the proper awe seemed to belittle all those who had. So, long before he graduated, he began to shift the center of his life to New York.

He was at home in New York – there was his own house with "the kind of servants you can’t get any more" – and his own family, and the correct manly world of the men’s clubs. His aspirations were conventional enough – they included even the decent girl he would some day marry.

He and I first met in the late summer of 1917 when he was out of Yale, and, like the rest of us, was swept up into the hysteria of the war.

Anson was the eldest of six children who would some day divide a fortune of fifteen million dollars, and he reached the age of reason – is it seven? – at the beginning of the century when daring young women were already gliding along Fifth Avenue in electric "mobiles". In those days he and his brother had an English governess who spoke the language very clearly and crisply and well, so that the two boys grew to speak as she did - their words and sentences were all crisp and clear. They didn’t talk exactly like English children but got an accent that is peculiar to fashionable people in the city of New York.

In the summer the six children were moved from the house in New York to a big estate in northern Connecticut. It was not a fashionable locality – Anson’s father was a man somewhat superior to his class, which composed New York society, which was snobbish and vulgar, and he wanted his sons to learn habits of concentration and have sound constitutions and grow up into right-living and successful men. He and his wife kept an eye on them as well as they were able until the two older boys went away to school, but in huge establishments this is difficult – it was much simpler in the series of small and medium-sized houses in which my own youth was spent – I was never far out of the reach of my mother’s voice, of the sense of her presence, her approval or disapproval.

Anson’s first sense of his superiority came to him when he realized the respect that was paid to him in the Connecticut village. The parents of the boys he played with always inquired after his father and mother, and were excited when their own children were asked to play with him in his parents’ house. He accepted this as the natural state of things, and a sort of impatience with all groups of which he was not the center – in money, in position, in authority – remained with him for the rest of his life. He didn’t want to struggle with other boys for precedence – he expected it to be given him freely, and when it wasn’t he withdrew into his family. His family was enough for him.

At eighteen, Anson was tall and thick-set, with a clear complexion and a healthy color from the ordered life had led in school. His hair was yellow and grew in a funny way on his head, his nose was beaked – these two things kept him from being handsome – but he had a confident charm, and the upper-class men who passed him on the street knew without being told that he was a rich boy and had gone to one of the best schools. Nevertheless, his very superiority kept him from being success in college – the independence was mistaken for egotism, and the refusal to accept the Yale standards with the proper awe seemed to belittle all those who had. So, long before he graduated, he began to shift the center of his life to New York.

He was at home in New York – there was his own house with "the kind of servants you can’t get any more" – and his own family, and the correct manly world of the men’s clubs. His aspirations were conventional enough – they included even the decent girl he would some day marry.

He and I first met in the late summer of 1917 when he was out of Yale, and, like the rest of us, was swept up into the hysteria of the war.

Anson was the eldest of six children who would some day divide a fortune of fifteen million dollars, and he reached the age of reason – is it seven? – at the beginning of the century when daring young women were already gliding along Fifth Avenue in electric "mobiles". In those days he and his brother had an English governess who spoke the language very clearly and crisply and well, so that the two boys grew to speak as she did - their words and sentences were all crisp and clear. They didn’t talk exactly like English children but got an accent that is peculiar to fashionable people in the city of New York.

In the summer the six children were moved from the house in New York to a big estate in northern Connecticut. It was not a fashionable locality – Anson’s father was a man somewhat superior to his class, which composed New York society, which was snobbish and vulgar, and he wanted his sons to learn habits of concentration and have sound constitutions and grow up into right-living and successful men. He and his wife kept an eye on them as well as they were able until the two older boys went away to school, but in huge establishments this is difficult – it was much simpler in the series of small and medium-sized houses in which my own youth was spent – I was never far out of the reach of my mother’s voice, of the sense of her presence, her approval or disapproval.

Anson’s first sense of his superiority came to him when he realized the respect that was paid to him in the Connecticut village. The parents of the boys he played with always inquired after his father and mother, and were excited when their own children were asked to play with him in his parents’ house. He accepted this as the natural state of things, and a sort of impatience with all groups of which he was not the center – in money, in position, in authority – remained with him for the rest of his life. He didn’t want to struggle with other boys for precedence – he expected it to be given him freely, and when it wasn’t he withdrew into his family. His family was enough for him.

At eighteen, Anson was tall and thick-set, with a clear complexion and a healthy color from the ordered life had led in school. His hair was yellow and grew in a funny way on his head, his nose was beaked – these two things kept him from being handsome – but he had a confident charm, and the upper-class men who passed him on the street knew without being told that he was a rich boy and had gone to one of the best schools. Nevertheless, his very superiority kept him from being success in college – the independence was mistaken for egotism, and the refusal to accept the Yale standards with the proper awe seemed to belittle all those who had. So, long before he graduated, he began to shift the center of his life to New York.

He was at home in New York – there was his own house with "the kind of servants you can’t get any more" – and his own family, and the correct manly world of the men’s clubs. His aspirations were conventional enough – they included even the decent girl he would some day marry.

He and I first met in the late summer of 1917 when he was out of Yale, and, like the rest of us, was swept up into the hysteria of the war.

Anson was the eldest of six children who would some day divide a fortune of fifteen million dollars, and he reached the age of reason – is it seven? – at the beginning of the century when daring young women were already gliding along Fifth Avenue in electric "mobiles". In those days he and his brother had an English governess who spoke the language very clearly and crisply and well, so that the two boys grew to speak as she did - their words and sentences were all crisp and clear. They didn’t talk exactly like English children but got an accent that is peculiar to fashionable people in the city of New York.

In the summer the six children were moved from the house in New York to a big estate in northern Connecticut. It was not a fashionable locality – Anson’s father was a man somewhat superior to his class, which composed New York society, which was snobbish and vulgar, and he wanted his sons to learn habits of concentration and have sound constitutions and grow up into right-living and successful men. He and his wife kept an eye on them as well as they were able until the two older boys went away to school, but in huge establishments this is difficult – it was much simpler in the series of small and medium-sized houses in which my own youth was spent – I was never far out of the reach of my mother’s voice, of the sense of her presence, her approval or disapproval.

Anson’s first sense of his superiority came to him when he realized the respect that was paid to him in the Connecticut village. The parents of the boys he played with always inquired after his father and mother, and were excited when their own children were asked to play with him in his parents’ house. He accepted this as the natural state of things, and a sort of impatience with all groups of which he was not the center – in money, in position, in authority – remained with him for the rest of his life. He didn’t want to struggle with other boys for precedence – he expected it to be given him freely, and when it wasn’t he withdrew into his family. His family was enough for him.

At eighteen, Anson was tall and thick-set, with a clear complexion and a healthy color from the ordered life had led in school. His hair was yellow and grew in a funny way on his head, his nose was beaked – these two things kept him from being handsome – but he had a confident charm, and the upper-class men who passed him on the street knew without being told that he was a rich boy and had gone to one of the best schools. Nevertheless, his very superiority kept him from being success in college – the independence was mistaken for egotism, and the refusal to accept the Yale standards with the proper awe seemed to belittle all those who had. So, long before he graduated, he began to shift the center of his life to New York.

He was at home in New York – there was his own house with "the kind of servants you can’t get any more" – and his own family, and the correct manly world of the men’s clubs. His aspirations were conventional enough – they included even the decent girl he would some day marry.

He and I first met in the late summer of 1917 when he was out of Yale, and, like the rest of us, was swept up into the hysteria of the war.

I shall never forget, as long as I live, the day when I first set (A) ________ in London. I had come from a quiet little town in Switzerland and I had never before lived in a big city, so London was a new (B) ________ to me and I was dying to find out more about it for myself.

The general (C) ________ abroad is that London has fog or rain, or both, every day of the year, but on the day that I (D) ________ it was fine and warm, there was a bright sun and a cloudless sky. The next day was just as beautiful; there was a slight wind that gently moved the leaves on the trees, and you could smell the spring in the air. "Life is grand," I thought, as I (E) ________ Johnny, the little boy of the house, for a walk in Kensington Gardens. It was a straight road and I found the way quite easily. When I got my first (F) ________ of the gardens the beauty of it nearly took my (G) ________ away.

I shall never forget, as long as I live, the day when I first set (A) ________ in London. I had come from a quiet little town in Switzerland and I had never before lived in a big city, so London was a new (B) ________ to me and I was dying to find out more about it for myself.

The general (C) ________ abroad is that London has fog or rain, or both, every day of the year, but on the day that I (D) ________ it was fine and warm, there was a bright sun and a cloudless sky. The next day was just as beautiful; there was a slight wind that gently moved the leaves on the trees, and you could smell the spring in the air. "Life is grand," I thought, as I (E) ________ Johnny, the little boy of the house, for a walk in Kensington Gardens. It was a straight road and I found the way quite easily. When I got my first (F) ________ of the gardens the beauty of it nearly took my (G) ________ away.

I shall never forget, as long as I live, the day when I first set (A) ________ in London. I had come from a quiet little town in Switzerland and I had never before lived in a big city, so London was a new (B) ________ to me and I was dying to find out more about it for myself.

The general (C) ________ abroad is that London has fog or rain, or both, every day of the year, but on the day that I (D) ________ it was fine and warm, there was a bright sun and a cloudless sky. The next day was just as beautiful; there was a slight wind that gently moved the leaves on the trees, and you could smell the spring in the air. "Life is grand," I thought, as I (E) ________ Johnny, the little boy of the house, for a walk in Kensington Gardens. It was a straight road and I found the way quite easily. When I got my first (F) ________ of the gardens the beauty of it nearly took my (G) ________ away.

I shall never forget, as long as I live, the day when I first set (A) ________ in London. I had come from a quiet little town in Switzerland and I had never before lived in a big city, so London was a new (B) ________ to me and I was dying to find out more about it for myself.

The general (C) ________ abroad is that London has fog or rain, or both, every day of the year, but on the day that I (D) ________ it was fine and warm, there was a bright sun and a cloudless sky. The next day was just as beautiful; there was a slight wind that gently moved the leaves on the trees, and you could smell the spring in the air. "Life is grand," I thought, as I (E) ________ Johnny, the little boy of the house, for a walk in Kensington Gardens. It was a straight road and I found the way quite easily. When I got my first (F) ________ of the gardens the beauty of it nearly took my (G) ________ away.

I shall never forget, as long as I live, the day when I first set (A) ________ in London. I had come from a quiet little town in Switzerland and I had never before lived in a big city, so London was a new (B) ________ to me and I was dying to find out more about it for myself.

The general (C) ________ abroad is that London has fog or rain, or both, every day of the year, but on the day that I (D) ________ it was fine and warm, there was a bright sun and a cloudless sky. The next day was just as beautiful; there was a slight wind that gently moved the leaves on the trees, and you could smell the spring in the air. "Life is grand," I thought, as I (E) ________ Johnny, the little boy of the house, for a walk in Kensington Gardens. It was a straight road and I found the way quite easily. When I got my first (F) ________ of the gardens the beauty of it nearly took my (G) ________ away.

I shall never forget, as long as I live, the day when I first set (A) ________ in London. I had come from a quiet little town in Switzerland and I had never before lived in a big city, so London was a new (B) ________ to me and I was dying to find out more about it for myself.

The general (C) ________ abroad is that London has fog or rain, or both, every day of the year, but on the day that I (D) ________ it was fine and warm, there was a bright sun and a cloudless sky. The next day was just as beautiful; there was a slight wind that gently moved the leaves on the trees, and you could smell the spring in the air. "Life is grand," I thought, as I (E) ________ Johnny, the little boy of the house, for a walk in Kensington Gardens. It was a straight road and I found the way quite easily. When I got my first (F) ________ of the gardens the beauty of it nearly took my (G) ________ away.

I shall never forget, as long as I live, the day when I first set (A) ________ in London. I had come from a quiet little town in Switzerland and I had never before lived in a big city, so London was a new (B) ________ to me and I was dying to find out more about it for myself.

The general (C) ________ abroad is that London has fog or rain, or both, every day of the year, but on the day that I (D) ________ it was fine and warm, there was a bright sun and a cloudless sky. The next day was just as beautiful; there was a slight wind that gently moved the leaves on the trees, and you could smell the spring in the air. "Life is grand," I thought, as I (E) ________ Johnny, the little boy of the house, for a walk in Kensington Gardens. It was a straight road and I found the way quite easily. When I got my first (F) ________ of the gardens the beauty of it nearly took my (G) ________ away.

A. The English immigrants who settled on America’s northern seacoast, appropriately called New England, came in order to practice their religion freely. They were either Englishmen who wanted to reform the Church of England or people who wanted to have an entirely new church. These two groups combined, especially in what became Massachusetts, came to be known as "Puritans", so named after those who wished to "purify" the Church of England.

B. John provoked the English barons into revolt, though their economic difficulties through high inflation were not his fault. Civil war broke out, and John was forced to sign the document later known as Magna Carta. Magna Carta was the first document forced onto a King of England by a group of his subjects, the feudal barons, in an attempt to limit his powers by law and protect their privileges. It provided redress of grievances, but later ages took it as a statement of civil liberties.

C. More important than packing your bag full of money, pack a bag full of patience and curiosity. There's no such thing as a bad trip, just good travel stories to tell back home. Always travel with a smile and remember that you're the one with the strange customs visiting someone else's country. And, finally, the more time you spend coming to understand the ways of others, the more you'll understand yourself. The journey abroad reflects the one within – the most unknown and foreign and unmapped terra incognita.

D. Architecture is the art and the technique of building, employed to fulfill the practical and expressive requirements of civilized people. Almost every settled society that possesses the techniques for building produces architecture. It is necessary in all but the simplest cultures; without it, man is confined to a primitive struggle with the elements; with it, he has not only a defense against the natural environment but also the benefits of a human environment, a prerequisite for and a symbol of the development of civilized institutions.

E. In Europe, May Day started out as a nice pagan holiday to celebrate the spring planting, then turned into a holiday of love (complete with twirling ribbons around a Maypole). It began its metamorphosis into a working class holiday at the end of the 19th century – in memory of a workers' demonstration in Chicago (calling, among other things, for an eight-hour working day), which ended in bloodshed. The idea of decent working conditions caught on with the Russian comrades. "Here's to the eight-hour working day!", an early May Day pamphlet read.

F. Dinner finally became en evening meal in the 1850s. As the distance between breakfast and dinner widened, it became necessary to create a smaller meal around the middle of the day, for which the world ‘luncheon’ was appropriated. ‘Luncheon’ originally signified a lump or portion. In 1755 Samuel Johnson was still defining it as a quantity of food – ‘as much food as one’s hand can hold’ – and only slowly over the next century did it come to signify, in refined circles at least, the middle meal of the day.

G. The evolution of the Olympic Movement during the 20th and 21st centuries has resulted in several changes to the Olympic Games. Some of these adjustments include the creation of the Winter Games for ice and winter sports, the Paralympic Games for athletes with a physical disability, and the Youth Olympic Games for teenage athletes. The International Olympic Committee has had to adapt to the varying economic, political, and technological realities of the 20th century.

Alan Austen found himself in a tiny room, which contained no furniture but a plain table, a rocking chair, and an ordinary chair. On one of the walls were a couple of shelves, containing a dozen bottles and jars.

An old man sat in the rocking chair, reading a newspaper. Alan, without a word, handed him his card.

"Sit down, Mr. Austen," said the old man very politely. (A)________.

"Is it true," asked Alan, "that you have a certain mixture that has – er – quite extraordinary effects?"

"My dear sir," replied the old man, "I think nothing I sell has effects which could be precisely described as ordinary."

"Well, the fact is – "began Alan. "Here, for example," interrupted the old man, reaching for a bottle from the shelf.

"Here is a liquid as colorless as water, quite imperceptible in any beverage. (B)________.

"Do you mean it is a poison?" cried Alan, much horrified.

"Call it a glove-cleaner if you like," said the old man indifferently. "Maybe it will clean gloves. I have never tried. One might call it a life-cleaner. Lives need cleaning sometimes."

"I want nothing of the sort," said Alan.

"Do you know the price of this? For one teaspoonful, I ask five thousand dollars."

"I hope all your mixtures are not as expensive," said Alan apprehensively.

"Oh dear, no," said the old man. "It would be no good charging that sort of price for a love portion. Young people who need a love potion very seldom have five thousand dollars. Otherwise they would not need a love potion."

"I am glad to hear that," said Alan.

"I look at it like this," said the old man. "Please a customer with one article, and he will come back when he needs another. Even if it is more costly. He will save up for it, if necessary."

"So," said Alan, "you really do sell love potions?"

(C)________ said the old man, reaching for another bottle, "I should not have mentioned the other matter to you."

"And these potions," said Alan. "They are not just – just – er –" "Oh, no," said the old man. "Their effects are permanent. For indifference," said the old man, "they substitute devotion. For scorn, adoration. Give one tiny measure of this to the young lady – its flavor is imperceptible in orange juice, soup, or cocktails – and she will change altogether. She will want nothing but solitude and you."

"I can hardly believe it," said Alan. (D)________.

"She will not like them any more," said the old man. (E)________.

"She will actually be jealous?" cried Alan in rapture. "Of me?"

"Yes, she will want to be everything to you."

"She is already. Only she doesn't care about it."

"She will, when she has taken this. She will care intensely. You will be her sole interest in life."

"Wonderful!" cried Alan.

"She will want to know all you do," said the old man. "All that happened to you during the day. She will want to know what you are thinking about, why you smile suddenly, why you are looking sad."

"That is love!" cried Alan.

"How carefully she will look after you! She will never allow you to be tired, to sit in the draft, to neglect your food. If you are an hour late, she will be terrified. She will think you are killed, or that some siren has caught you. And by the way, since there are always sirens, you need not worry. She will forgive you – in the end."

"That will not happen," said Alan fervently.

"Of course not," said the old man. "But, if it did, you need not worry. She would never divorce you."

"How much is the love potion?" said Alan.

"Oh, that is just a dollar."

"I can’t tell you how grateful I am," said Alan.

"I like to oblige," said the old man. "Then customers came back, later in life, (F)________, and want more expensive things. Here you are. You will find it very effective."

"Thank you again," said Alan. "Goodbye."

"Au revoir," said the old man.

(1) Certainly, one of the pleasures of an open fire is to sit and watch the red and yellow flames (CHANGE) ________ shape as they burn the coal.

(2) In the country people burn wood also, which (DO) ________ not cost so much as coal, and has a pleasant smell.

(3) Sometimes it is hard to get the fire to start. (4) The flame burns unsteadily and then dies out, and you must relay the fire and start again. (5) But when the wind (HEAR) ________ outside and darkness slowly comes, the English love (THEY) ________ blazing fire.

(1) Certainly, one of the pleasures of an open fire is to sit and watch the red and yellow flames (CHANGE) ________ shape as they burn the coal.

(2) In the country people burn wood also, which (DO) ________ not cost so much as coal, and has a pleasant smell.

(3) Sometimes it is hard to get the fire to start. (4) The flame burns unsteadily and then dies out, and you must relay the fire and start again. (5) But when the wind (HEAR) ________ outside and darkness slowly comes, the English love (THEY) ________ blazing fire.

(1) Certainly, one of the pleasures of an open fire is to sit and watch the red and yellow flames (CHANGE) ________ shape as they burn the coal.

(2) In the country people burn wood also, which (DO) ________ not cost so much as coal, and has a pleasant smell.

(3) Sometimes it is hard to get the fire to start. (4) The flame burns unsteadily and then dies out, and you must relay the fire and start again. (5) But when the wind (HEAR) ________ outside and darkness slowly comes, the English love (THEY) ________ blazing fire.

(1) Certainly, one of the pleasures of an open fire is to sit and watch the red and yellow flames (CHANGE) ________ shape as they burn the coal.

(2) In the country people burn wood also, which (DO) ________ not cost so much as coal, and has a pleasant smell.

(3) Sometimes it is hard to get the fire to start. (4) The flame burns unsteadily and then dies out, and you must relay the fire and start again. (5) But when the wind (HEAR) ________ outside and darkness slowly comes, the English love (THEY) ________ blazing fire.

(1) To make matters worse, Rick was in love. (2) The girl he loved was the daughter of a former army (OFFICE) ________ who had lost his temper and his health in India, and had never found either of them again. (3) Rick loved her so much that he was ready to kiss her feet; and she loved him too. (4) They were the best-looking pair in London, and had no money at all. (5) Her father was very fond of Rick, but would not hear of any (MARRY) ________ plans.

(6) One morning, Rick called in to see a great friend of his, Alan Haddon. (7) Haddon was a (PAINT) ________. (8) He was a strange, rough man, with a spotty face and an (TO OVERGROW) ________ red beard. (9) He had been much attracted by Rick at first, just because of his (PERSON) ________ charm. (10) But after he got to know Rick better, he liked him quite as much for his bright, cheerful spirits, and his (GENEROSITY) ________, carefree nature, and had asked him to visit whenever he liked.

(1) To make matters worse, Rick was in love. (2) The girl he loved was the daughter of a former army (OFFICE) ________ who had lost his temper and his health in India, and had never found either of them again. (3) Rick loved her so much that he was ready to kiss her feet; and she loved him too. (4) They were the best-looking pair in London, and had no money at all. (5) Her father was very fond of Rick, but would not hear of any (MARRY) ________ plans.

(6) One morning, Rick called in to see a great friend of his, Alan Haddon. (7) Haddon was a (PAINT) ________. (8) He was a strange, rough man, with a spotty face and an (TO OVERGROW) ________ red beard. (9) He had been much attracted by Rick at first, just because of his (PERSON) ________ charm. (10) But after he got to know Rick better, he liked him quite as much for his bright, cheerful spirits, and his (GENEROSITY) ________, carefree nature, and had asked him to visit whenever he liked.

(1) To make matters worse, Rick was in love. (2) The girl he loved was the daughter of a former army (OFFICE) ________ who had lost his temper and his health in India, and had never found either of them again. (3) Rick loved her so much that he was ready to kiss her feet; and she loved him too. (4) They were the best-looking pair in London, and had no money at all. (5) Her father was very fond of Rick, but would not hear of any (MARRY) ________ plans.

(6) One morning, Rick called in to see a great friend of his, Alan Haddon. (7) Haddon was a (PAINT) ________. (8) He was a strange, rough man, with a spotty face and an (TO OVERGROW) ________ red beard. (9) He had been much attracted by Rick at first, just because of his (PERSON) ________ charm. (10) But after he got to know Rick better, he liked him quite as much for his bright, cheerful spirits, and his (GENEROSITY) ________, carefree nature, and had asked him to visit whenever he liked.

(1) To make matters worse, Rick was in love. (2) The girl he loved was the daughter of a former army (OFFICE) ________ who had lost his temper and his health in India, and had never found either of them again. (3) Rick loved her so much that he was ready to kiss her feet; and she loved him too. (4) They were the best-looking pair in London, and had no money at all. (5) Her father was very fond of Rick, but would not hear of any (MARRY) ________ plans.

(6) One morning, Rick called in to see a great friend of his, Alan Haddon. (7) Haddon was a (PAINT) ________. (8) He was a strange, rough man, with a spotty face and an (TO OVERGROW) ________ red beard. (9) He had been much attracted by Rick at first, just because of his (PERSON) ________ charm. (10) But after he got to know Rick better, he liked him quite as much for his bright, cheerful spirits, and his (GENEROSITY) ________, carefree nature, and had asked him to visit whenever he liked.

(1) To make matters worse, Rick was in love. (2) The girl he loved was the daughter of a former army (OFFICE) ________ who had lost his temper and his health in India, and had never found either of them again. (3) Rick loved her so much that he was ready to kiss her feet; and she loved him too. (4) They were the best-looking pair in London, and had no money at all. (5) Her father was very fond of Rick, but would not hear of any (MARRY) ________ plans.

(6) One morning, Rick called in to see a great friend of his, Alan Haddon. (7) Haddon was a (PAINT) ________. (8) He was a strange, rough man, with a spotty face and an (TO OVERGROW) ________ red beard. (9) He had been much attracted by Rick at first, just because of his (PERSON) ________ charm. (10) But after he got to know Rick better, he liked him quite as much for his bright, cheerful spirits, and his (GENEROSITY) ________, carefree nature, and had asked him to visit whenever he liked.

(1) To make matters worse, Rick was in love. (2) The girl he loved was the daughter of a former army (OFFICE) ________ who had lost his temper and his health in India, and had never found either of them again. (3) Rick loved her so much that he was ready to kiss her feet; and she loved him too. (4) They were the best-looking pair in London, and had no money at all. (5) Her father was very fond of Rick, but would not hear of any (MARRY) ________ plans.

(6) One morning, Rick called in to see a great friend of his, Alan Haddon. (7) Haddon was a (PAINT) ________. (8) He was a strange, rough man, with a spotty face and an (TO OVERGROW) ________ red beard. (9) He had been much attracted by Rick at first, just because of his (PERSON) ________ charm. (10) But after he got to know Rick better, he liked him quite as much for his bright, cheerful spirits, and his (GENEROSITY) ________, carefree nature, and had asked him to visit whenever he liked.