During the baking hot months of the

During the baking hot months of the summer holidays my mother and I used to escape to one of the scattered lakes north of Prince Albert. In its magic surroundings we used to spend the long summer days in the open air, swimming and canoeing or just lying dreaming in the sun. In the evening the lake was always a bright, luminous grey after the unbelievable sunset colours had faded.

The last summer before we returned to England was particularly enchanted. For one thing, I was in love for the first time. No one will ever convince me that one cannot be in love at fifteen. I loved then as never since, with all my heart and without doubts or reservations or pretence.

My boyfriend Don worked in Saskatoon, but the lake was ''his place'' - the strange and beautiful wilderness drew him with an obsessive urgency, so I suspected it was not to see me that he got on his motor-cycle as many Fridays as he possibly could, and drove three hundred-odd miles along the pitted prairie roads to spend the weekends at our place.

Sometimes he couldn't come, and the joy would go out of everything until Monday, when I could start looking forward to Friday again. He could never let us know in advance, as we were too far from civilization to have a phone or even a telegraph service. Three hundred miles in those conditions is quite a journey. Besides, Don was hard up, and sometimes worked overtime at weekends.

One Friday night a storm broke out. I lay in bed and listened to the thunder and the rain beating on the roof. Once I got up and stood looking out over the treetops, shivering. I tried not to expect Don that night hoping he would have enough sense to wait until the storm ended. Yet in my frightened thoughts I couldn't help imagining Don fighting the storm. His motorbike, which had always looked to me so heavy and solid, seemed in my thoughts frail enough to be blown onto its side by the first gust that struck it. I thought of Don pinned under it, his face pressed into the mud.

I crawled back into bed, trying to close my throat against the tears. But when my mother, prompted by the deep sympathy and understanding between us, came in to me, she kissed my cheek and found it wet.

"Don't get upset, Jane,'' she said softly. ''He may still come.''

When she had tucked me in and gone, I lay thinking about Don, about the danger of the roads. You couldn't ride or walk along them safely after heavy rain; your feet would slip from under you. The roads in Northern Canada are not like the friendly well-populated English ones, where there are always farmhouses within walking distance and cars driving along them day and night.

It was hours later, that I suddenly realized the sound of the roaring engine was real. The storm was dying.

Where did Jane used to spend every summer?

Why was the last summer was fascinating for Jane?

What did Jane think about the love at fifteen?

Why did Don travel three hundred-odd miles every weekend?

What was the reason why sometimes Don didn't come to see Jane and her mother on Friday?

Why did mother come into Jane's room during the storm?

Результаты (английский) 1:

During the baking hot months of the summer holidays my mother and I used to escape to one of the scattered lakes north of Prince Albert. Magic in its surroundings we used to spend the long summer days in the open air, swimming and canoeing or just lying dreaming in the sun. In the evening the lake was always a bright, luminous grey after the unbelievable sunset colours had faded.The last summer before we returned to England was particularly enchanted. For one thing, I was in love for the first time. No one will ever convince me that one cannot be in love at fifteen. I loved then as never since, with all my heart and without doubts or reservations or pretence.My boyfriend Don worked in Saskatoon, but the lake was "his place"-the strange and beautiful wilderness drew him with an obsessive urgency, so I suspected it was not to see me that he got on his motor-cycle as many Fridays as he possibly could, and drove three hundred-odd miles along the pitted prairie roads to spend the weekends at our place.Sometimes he couldn't come, and the joy would go out of everything until Monday, when I could start looking forward to Friday again. He could never let us know in advance, as we were too far from civilization to have a phone or even a telegraph service. Three hundred miles in those conditions is quite a journey. Besides, Don was hard up, and sometimes worked overtime at weekends.One Friday night a storm broke out. I lay in bed and listened to the thunder and the rain beating on the roof. Once I got up and stood looking out over the treetops, shivering. I tried not to expect Don that night hoping he would have enough sense to wait until the storm ended. Yet in my frightened thoughts I couldn't help imagining Don fighting the storm. His motorbike, which had always looked to me so heavy and solid, seemed in my thoughts frail enough to be blown onto its side by the first gust that struck it. I thought of Don pinned under it, his face pressed into the mud.I crawled back into bed, trying to close my throat against the tears. But when my mother, prompted by the deep sympathy and understanding between us, came in to me, she kissed my cheek and found it wet."Don't get upset, Jane,'' she said softly. ''He may still come.''When she had tucked me in and gone, I lay thinking about Don, about the danger of the roads. You couldn't ride or walk along them safely after heavy rain; your feet would slip from under you. The roads in Northern Canada are not like the friendly well-populated English ones, where there are always farmhouses within walking distance and cars driving along them day and night.It was hours later, that I suddenly realized the sound of the roaring engine was real. The storm was dying.Where did Jane used to spend every summer?Why was the last summer was fascinating for Jane?What did Jane think about the love at fifteen?Why did Don travel three hundred-odd miles every weekend?What was the reason why sometimes Don didn't come to see Jane and her mother on Friday?Why did mother come into Jane's room during the storm?

Результаты (английский) 2:

During the baking hot months of the summer holidays my mother and I used to escape to one of the scattered lakes north of Prince Albert. In its magic surroundings we used to spend the long summer days in the open air, swimming and canoeing or just lying dreaming in the sun. The the evening dress with In lake WAS the always a bright, luminous Grey the after the unbelievable sunset HAD Colours Faded.

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Sometimes he Could not have come , and the joy would go out of everything until Monday, when I could start looking forward to Friday again. He could never let us know in advance , as we were too far from civilization to have a phone or even a telegraph service. Three hundred miles in those conditions is quite a journey. Besides the, by Don WAS up closeup of hard, and sometimes Do worked overtime AT weekends are not.

The One on Friday night loe a storm Broke out. I lay in bed and listened to the thunder and the rain beating on the roof. Once I got up and stood looking out over the treetops, shivering. I tried not to expect Don that night hoping he would have enough sense to wait until the storm ended. Yet in my frightened thoughts I could not help imagining Don fighting the storm. His motorbike, which had always looked to me so heavy and solid, seemed in my thoughts frail enough to be blown onto its side by the first gust that struck it. Thought of by Don I of pinned under IT, a His face pressed Into the the mud.

I of crawled back Into bed, Trying to address close e-up my throat Against the tears. The when up my mother But, Prompted by the sympathy and deep-Understanding Between us, CAME in to me, she Kissed up my cheek and found! IT wet.

"The Do not the get an upset, Jane ',' 'she Said softly.' 'The He may have come to still . ''

for When she HAD are tucked me in and gone, I of lay thinking about by Don, about the danger of the Roads You Could not ride or a walk Along Them running safely the after heavy rain;. Would your of feet slip from under you of the Roads in. Northern Canada are not like the friendly a well-Populated English ones, where clause there are the always farmhouses Within walking Included distance and cars driving Along Them day and night loe.

It WAS hours later, That I of Suddenly Realized the sound of the Roaring engine WAS real. of the storm WAS Dying.

for Where DID Jane 'USED to Spend every summer?

Why WAS the for last summer WAS a fascinating for Jane'?

for What DID Jane 'of think about the love AT fifteen?

Why DID by Don travel to a three hundred-odd Miles every weekend?

for What WAS the reason why sometimes Do DID not have come by Don to see Jane 'and HER mother on on Friday?

Why DID have come Into Jane' mother's room DURING the storm?