blue WednesdayThe first Wednesday i

blue Wednesday

The first Wednesday in every month was a Perfectly Awful Day--a day to
be awaited with dread, endured with courage and forgotten with haste.
Every floor must be spotless, every chair dustless, and every bed
without a wrinkle. Ninety-seven squirming little orphans must be
scrubbed and combed and buttoned into freshly starched ginghams; and
all ninety-seven reminded of their manners, and told to say, 'Yes,
sir,' 'No, sir,' whenever a Trustee spoke.

It was a distressing time; and poor Jerusha Abbott, being the oldest
orphan, had to bear the brunt of it. But this particular first
Wednesday, like its predecessors, finally dragged itself to a close.
Jerusha escaped from the pantry where she had been making sandwiches
for the asylum's guests, and turned upstairs to accomplish her regular
work. Her special care was room F, where eleven little tots, from four
to seven, occupied eleven little cots set in a row. Jerusha assembled
her charges, straightened their rumpled frocks, wiped their noses, and
started them in an orderly and willing line towards the dining-room to
engage themselves for a blessed half hour with bread and milk and prune
pudding.

Then she dropped down on the window seat and leaned throbbing temples
against the cool glass. She had been on her feet since five that
morning, doing everybody's bidding, scolded and hurried by a nervous
matron. Mrs. Lippett, behind the scenes, did not always maintain that
calm and pompous dignity with which she faced an audience of Trustees
and lady visitors. Jerusha gazed out across a broad stretch of frozen
lawn, beyond the tall iron paling that marked the confines of the
asylum, down undulating ridges sprinkled with country estates, to the
spires of the village rising from the midst of bare trees.

Результаты (английский) 1:

Blue MondayThe first Wednesday in every month was a Perfectly Awful Day-a day tobe awaited with dread, endured with courage and forgotten with haste.Every floor must be spotless every chair, dustless, and every bedwithout a wrinkle. Ninety-seven squirming little orphans must bescrubbed and combed and buttoned into freshly starched ginghams; andall ninety-seven reminded of their manners, and told to say, ' Yes,Sir, ' ' No, sir, ' whenever a Trustee spoke.It was a distressing time; and poor Jerusha Abbott, being the oldestorphan, had to bear the brunt of it. But this particular firstWednesday, like its predecessors, finally dragged itself to a close.Jerusha escaped from the pantry where she had been making sandwichesfor the asylum's guests, and turned the upstairs to accomplish her regularwork. Her special care was room F, where eleven little tots, from fourto seven, occupied eleven little cots set in a row. Jerusha assembledher charges, straightened their rumpled frocks, wiped their noses, andstarted them in an orderly and willing line towards the dining-room toengage themselves for a blessed half hour with bread and milk and prunepudding.Then she dropped down on the window seat and leaned throbbing templesagainst the cool glass. She had been on her feet since five thatmorning, doing everybody's bidding, scolded and hurried by a "nervousmatron. Mrs. Lippett, behind the scenes, did not always maintain thatcalm and pompous dignity with which she faced an audience of Trusteesand lady visitors. Jerusha gazed out across a broad stretch of frozenlawn, beyond the tall iron paling that marked the confines of theasylum, down undulating ridges sprinkled with country estates, to thespires of the village rising from the midst of bare trees.

Результаты (английский) 3:

blue wednesdaythe first wednesday of every month was a awful day premier inn - a day tobe instructors with dread, endured with courage and often with haste.every floor must be), every chair dustless, and every bedwithout a wrinkle. ninety seven squirming little orphans must bescrubbed and combed and buttoned into it starched ginghams; andall ninety seven day of their manners, and told to say, "yes,sir, "" no, sir, "whenever a Trustee spoke.it was a distressing time; and poor Jerusha abbott, being the oldestorphan, had to bear the brunt. but this particular firston wednesday, like its demographic studies have utilized the concept, finally dragged itself to a close.Jerusha escaped from the pantry where she had been making sandwichesfor the asylum"s guests, and turned to take water to accomplish her regularwork. her special care was room f, where eleven little tots, from ovento seven, occupied eleven little cots set in a row. Jerusha assembledher charges, straightened their rumpled frocks, wiped their noses, andfor them in an orderly and willing line towards the dining - room toengage themselves for a self-contained half hour with signage and milk and prunepudding.then she dropped down on the window seat and leaned throbbing templesagainst the cool glass. she had been on her feet since five.morning, doing everybody"s bidding, scolded and hurried by a nervousmatron. mrs. Lippett, behind the program, did not always maintain thatlarge and pompous dignity with which she faced an audience of trusteesand lady visitors. Jerusha gazed out across a broad stretch of frozenlawn, beyond the tall iron paling that marked the, i think they"re actually theasylum, down undulating ridges sprinkled with country estates, to thespires of the village rising from the midst of bare trees.