نمایش نتایج: از 1 به 9 از 9
  1. #1
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    Dec 2011
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    تشکر شده 1,791 بار در 695 پست
    میزان امتیاز
    1374

    داستان به زبان انگلیسی

    The Monkey's Paw


    Without, the night was cold and wet, but in the small parlor of Lakesnam Villa the blinds were drawn and the fire burned brightly. Father and son were at chess, the former, who possessed ideas about the game involving radical changes, putting his king into suchm sharp and unnecessary perils that it even provoked comment from the whitehaired 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 stretched out his hand. "Check."

    "I should hardly think that he'd 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," bawled 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. Pathway's a bog, and the road's a torrent. I don't know what people are thinking about. I suppose because only two houses on 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.

    "Sergeant Major Morris," he said, introducing him.

    The sergeant major shook hands, and taking the proffered seat by the fire, watched contentedly while his host got out whisky 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 strange scenes and doughty 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 round a bit, you know."

    "Better where you are," said the sergeant major, shaking his head. He put down the empty glass, and sighing softly, shook it again.

    "I should like to see those old temples and fa***s and jugglers," said the old man. "What was 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 sergeant major offhandedly.

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

    "To look at," said the sergeant 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 fa***," said the sergeant major, "a very holy man. He wanted to show that fate ruled people's lives, and that those who interfered 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 manner was so impressive that his hearers were conscious that their light laughter jarred somewhat.

    "Well, why don't you have three, sir?" said Herbert White cleverly.

    The soldier regarded him in the way that middle age is wont to regard presumptuous 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 sergeant major, and his glass tapped against his strong teeth.

    "And has anybody else wished?" inquired 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 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 front finger 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 old man, "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 again, like a sensible man."

    The other shook his head and examined his new possession closely. "How do you do it?" he inquired.

    "Hold it up in your right hand and wish aloud," said the sergeant 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 then all three burst into laughter as the sergeant 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 into 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 their guest, just in time for him to catch the last train, "we shan't make much out of it."

    "Did you give him anything for it, Father?" inquired Mrs. White, regarding her husband closely.

    "A trifle," said he, coloring 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 emperor, Father, to begin with; then you can't be henpecked."

    He darted around the table, pursued 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 at the piano and struck a few impressive chords.

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

    A fine crash from the piano greeted the words, interrupted 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 their pipes. Outside, the wind was higher than ever, and the old man started nervously at the sound of a door banging upstairs. A silence unusual and depressing settled upon all three, which lasted until the old couple rose to retire for 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 good night, "and something horrible squatting up on top of the wardrobe watching you as you pocket your ill-gotten gains."

    In the brightness of the wintry sun next morning as it streamed over the breakfast table, Herbert 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 sideboard 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 coincidence."

    "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 sergeant 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 daresay," 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 connection 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 cushion of her chair.

    She brought the stranger, who seemed ill at ease, into the room. He gazed furtively at Mrs. White, 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 *** 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 he eyed the other wistfully.

    "I'm sorry--" began the visitor.

    "Is he hurt?" demanded the mother.

    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 suddenly as the sinister meaning of the assurance dawned upon her and she saw the awful confirmation of her fears in the other's averted face. She caught her breath, and turning to her slower-witted husband, laid her trembling old hand upon 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 blankly out at 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 wished me to convey their sincere sympathy with you in your great loss," he said, without looking around. "I beg that you will understand I am only their servant and merely obeying orders."

    There was no reply; the old woman's face was white, her eyes staring, and her breath inaudible; on the husband's face was a look such as his friend the sergeant 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.

    Unconscious 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.

    In the huge new cemetery, some two miles distant, the old people buried their dead, and came back to a house steeped in shadow 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 expectation gave place to resignation--the hopeless resignation of the old, sometimes miscalled apathy. Sometimes they hardly exchanged a word, for now they had nothing to talk about, and their days were long to weariness.

    It was about a week after that 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 sound 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 cry from his wife awoke him with a start.

    "The monkey's paw!" she cried wildly. "The monkey's paw!"

    He started up in alarm. "Where? Where is it? What's 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 parlor, 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 up in bed and flung the bedclothes 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 and get it and wish," cried the old woman, and dragged him toward the door.

    He went down in the darkness, and felt his way to the parlor, and then to the mantelpiece. The talisman was in its place, and a horrible fear that the unspoken wish might bring his mutilated son before him ere he could escape from the room seized upon 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 around 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 shudderingly. 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 occasionally 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 to his bed, and a minute or two afterward the old woman came silently and apathetically beside him.

    Neither spoke, but both lay 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, the husband 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, so quiet and stealthy as to be scarcely audible, sounded on the front door.

    The matches fell from his hand. 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.

    "What's 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 screamed. "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 followed to the landing, and called after her appealingly as she hurried downstairs. He heard the chain rattle back and the bottom bolt drawn slowly and stiffly from the socket. Then the old woman's 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 he could only find it before the thing outside got in. A perfect fusillade of knocks reverberated through the house, and he heard the scraping of a chair 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 monkey'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 disappointment and misery from his wife gave him courage to run down to her side, and then to the gate beyond. The streetlamp flickering opposite shone on a quiet and deserted road.

    سعی کنید در همه پست ها یک تصویر مرتبط قرار بدید .

    *** توجه***
    در صورت تمایل به همکاری
    اگر توانایی مدیریت یکی از بخشهای سایت را دارید با ما
    تماس بگیرید .


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  3. #2
    مدير کل
    تاریخ عضویت
    Dec 2011
    نوشته ها
    1,087
    تشکر ها
    2,758
    تشکر شده 1,791 بار در 695 پست
    میزان امتیاز
    1374
    A Haunted House


    Whatever hour you woke there was a door shutting. From room to room they went, hand in hand, lifting here, opening there, making sure--a ghostly couple.

    "Here we left it," she said. And he added, "Oh, but here tool" "It's upstairs," she murmured. "And in the garden," he whispered. "Quietly," they said, "or we shall wake them."

    But it wasn't that you woke us. Oh, no. "They're looking for it; they're drawing the curtain," one might say, and so read on a page or two. "Now they've found it,' one would be certain, stopping the pencil on the margin. And then, tired of reading, one might rise and see for oneself, the house all empty, the doors standing open, only the wood pigeons bubbling with content and the hum of the threshing machine sounding from the farm. "What did I come in here for? What did I want to find?" My hands were empty. "Perhaps its upstairs then?" The apples were in the loft. And so down again, the garden still as ever, only the book had slipped into the grass.

    But they had found it in the drawing room. Not that one could ever see them. The windowpanes reflected apples, reflected roses; all the leaves were green in the glass. If they moved in the drawing room, the apple only turned its yellow side. Yet, the moment after, if the door was opened, spread about the floor, hung upon the walls, pendant from the ceiling--what? My hands were empty. The shadow of a thrush crossed the carpet; from the deepest wells of silence the wood pigeon drew its bubble of sound. "Safe, safe, safe" the pulse of the house beat softly. "The treasure buried; the room . . ." the pulse stopped short. Oh, was that the buried treasure?

    A moment later the light had faded. Out in the garden then? But the trees spun darkness for a wandering beam of sun. So fine, so rare, coolly sunk beneath the surface the beam I sought always burned behind the glass. Death was the glass; death was between us, coming to the woman first, hundreds of years ago, leaving the house, sealing all the windows; the rooms were darkened. He left it, left her, went North, went East, saw the stars turned in the Southern sky; sought the house, found it dropped beneath the Downs. "Safe, safe, safe," the pulse of the house beat gladly. 'The Treasure yours."

    The wind roars up the avenue. Trees stoop and bend this way and that. Moonbeams splash and spill wildly in the rain. But the beam of the lamp falls straight from the window. The candle burns stiff and still. Wandering through the house, opening the windows, whispering not to wake us, the ghostly couple seek their joy.

    "Here we slept," she says. And he adds, "Kisses without number." "Waking in the morning--" "Silver between the trees--" "Upstairs--" 'In the garden--" "When summer came--" 'In winter snowtime--" "The doors go shutting far in the distance, gently knocking like the pulse of a heart.

    Nearer they come, cease at the doorway. The wind falls, the rain slides silver down the glass. Our eyes darken, we hear no steps beside us; we see no lady spread her ghostly cloak. His hands shield the lantern. "Look," he breathes. "Sound asleep. Love upon their lips."

    Stooping, holding their silver lamp above us, long they look and deeply. Long they pause. The wind drives straightly; the flame stoops slightly. Wild beams of moonlight cross both floor and wall, and, meeting, stain the faces bent; the faces pondering; the faces that search the sleepers and seek their hidden joy.

    "Safe, safe, safe," the heart of the house beats proudly. "Long years--" he sighs. "Again you found me." "Here," she murmurs, "sleeping; in the garden reading; laughing, rolling apples in the loft. Here we left our treasure--" Stooping, their light lifts the lids upon my eyes. "Safe! safe! safe!" the pulse of the house beats wildly. Waking, I cry "Oh, is this your buried treasure? The light in the heart."

    سعی کنید در همه پست ها یک تصویر مرتبط قرار بدید .

    *** توجه***
    در صورت تمایل به همکاری
    اگر توانایی مدیریت یکی از بخشهای سایت را دارید با ما
    تماس بگیرید .


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  5. #3
    مدير کل
    تاریخ عضویت
    Dec 2011
    نوشته ها
    1,087
    تشکر ها
    2,758
    تشکر شده 1,791 بار در 695 پست
    میزان امتیاز
    1374
    Language Confusion



    Laura is at the airport. She waits for her flight. Her flight is to Berlin, and it is 4 hours away. Laura walks around the airport and looks at the shops. She has a nice time.

    After an hour she wants to visit the bathroom. She searches for it, but she doesn't find it.

    "Where is the bathroom?" she asks herself.

    She looks and looks but she can't find it. She starts asking people where it is.

    Laura: "Excuse me sir, could you please tell me where is the bathroom?"

    Man: "You mean the restroom, right?"

    Laura: "No, I mean the bathroom."

    Man: "Well, the restroom is over there." He says and walks away.

    Laura doesn't understand. She asks a lady: "Excuse me madam, could you please tell me where is the bathroom?"

    "The restroom is over there," the lady answers and walks away.

    Laura is confused. "What's their problem? I need to use the bathroom and they send me to rest?! I don't need a restroom, I need the bathroom!"

    After a while Laura gives up. She feels tired of all this walking and asking. She decides that maybe they are all right and she does need to rest.

    She walks to the restroom. Now she is surprised. She realizes the restroom is actually the name for a public bathroom


    سعی کنید در همه پست ها یک تصویر مرتبط قرار بدید .

    *** توجه***
    در صورت تمایل به همکاری
    اگر توانایی مدیریت یکی از بخشهای سایت را دارید با ما
    تماس بگیرید .


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  7. #4
    مدير کل
    تاریخ عضویت
    Dec 2011
    نوشته ها
    1,087
    تشکر ها
    2,758
    تشکر شده 1,791 بار در 695 پست
    میزان امتیاز
    1374
    A Surprise from Australia

    The school ends and Erica quickly puts her books in the bag and runs out of the class.

    Today is a special day. Erica is very excited. She runs home and thinks about her uncle. She spoke with him on the phone a week ago. He returns from Australia, and he brings a special surprise with him!

    Erica is very happy. She thinks about the surprise that he brings.

    "Maybe he brings a surfboard? That is fun! I can learn how to surf!"

    "Maybe he brings Australian nuts? Oh, I can eat nuts all day!"

    "Or maybe he brings a kangaroo? That is not good. I don't have a place in my room for a kangaroo…"

    Erica finally arrives home. Her parents are there, and her uncle is there! She is very happy to see him. They hug and she jumps up and down.

    "Uncle, uncle," she calls, "what special surprise do you have for me from Australia?"

    "Well," her uncle smiles and answers, "I have for you an Australian aunt!"


    سعی کنید در همه پست ها یک تصویر مرتبط قرار بدید .

    *** توجه***
    در صورت تمایل به همکاری
    اگر توانایی مدیریت یکی از بخشهای سایت را دارید با ما
    تماس بگیرید .


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  9. #5
    کاربر تازه وارد
    تاریخ عضویت
    Jan 2012
    نوشته ها
    3
    تشکر ها
    0
    تشکر شده 9 بار در 3 پست
    میزان امتیاز
    249
    دمت گرم یکی از بهترین بخشای سایت میتونه همین بخش باشه

  10. 2 کاربر مقابل از Big_Bird عزیز به خاطر این پست مفید تشکر کرده اند .


  11. #6
    کاربر تازه وارد
    تاریخ عضویت
    Jan 2012
    محل سکونت
    کرج
    سن
    24
    نوشته ها
    12
    تشکر ها
    461
    تشکر شده 33 بار در 17 پست
    میزان امتیاز
    262
    علی اقا میشه منبع رو هم بذارید؟
    اگه اشتباه نکنم اینا داستان های کتاب steps to understanding برای یادگیری زبان باشه.
    .

  12. #7
    مدير کل
    تاریخ عضویت
    Dec 2011
    نوشته ها
    1,087
    تشکر ها
    2,758
    تشکر شده 1,791 بار در 695 پست
    میزان امتیاز
    1374
    نه از اون کتاب نیست .
    اونها را خوندم .
    اینها را از اینترنت پیدا کردم .

    سعی کنید در همه پست ها یک تصویر مرتبط قرار بدید .

    *** توجه***
    در صورت تمایل به همکاری
    اگر توانایی مدیریت یکی از بخشهای سایت را دارید با ما
    تماس بگیرید .


  13. 2 کاربر مقابل از Admin عزیز به خاطر این پست مفید تشکر کرده اند .


  14. #8
    کاربر تازه وارد
    تاریخ عضویت
    Jun 2012
    نوشته ها
    4
    تشکر ها
    0
    تشکر شده 3 بار در 2 پست
    میزان امتیاز
    237
    با سلام.مرسی دوست عزیز از داستانهایی که قرار دادید.کاش آخر هر داستان معنی چند تا از کلماتشو بیارید.لطفا باز هم داستان انگلیسی قرار بدید.با تشکر

  15. #9
    کاربر تازه وارد
    تاریخ عضویت
    Jun 2018
    نوشته ها
    1
    تشکر ها
    0
    تشکر شده 0 بار در 0 پست
    میزان امتیاز
    13
    برای تقویت ریدینگ می تونید متن زیبای زیر رو بخونید:


    Ask not how far I have come
    I have come
    Come to this wonderland
    Give me your hand and land
    In this wonderland
    I should have never listened to my old flame Sanaz. She is the one who put the idea of getting a nose job in to my head, in the first place. I have had this ginormous nose that sticks out like the middle finger, screaming “Fuck You!” Not that I care much about how I look, as I have earned the right to look however I want on account of racking up a few billions of dollars trading in contraband goods. Just like James Brown used to sing,” I have paid the cost to be the boss.” So, I thought my nose could stand out like the tower of Milad; it was all hunky dory as long as it could sniff out moolah. With all this chicanery and fraud running amok in Tehran, I should have checked the doctor’s credential though. I’m from district 19, born and bred, a tad closer to the border of district 17, Ghaleh Morghi to be exact. I almost know every nook and cranny of this deranged city. If you are from Tehran, you don’t have to be born rich to have money, with a little bit of luck,and a little bit of a sharp mind, you could easily make a quick buck. You don’t have to be Sharif-university educated to make it. In fact, I barely finished high school myself. As a matter of fact, I bought my diploma for 2 million tomans. Who would give a rat’s ass about how you got your degree. When you are sitting pretty, you can be a banker or bank robber, robbing a nation blind and running to Canada, no one can indict you. When you got money, you are untouchable. It is bizarre how even the car you drive can rub off a certain amount of knighthood on you, driving people to call you “Sir.” That’s what happened to me when I sold my 5th batch of bootleg cigarettes in Tehran and bought the first Turbocharged Toyota Celica, 4gt, that cruised the streets of Glaeh Morghi in 1999. The emperor’s new ride was red. I had caught sight of another Celica 4gt, on Jordan street, but the owner must have been one of the rich bitches tied to his mommy’s apron string and his daddy’s silver spoon. They don’t call me the king of cigars, for nothing

    the king of Cigars

    Ask not how far I have come
    I have come
    Come to this wonderland
    Give me your hand and land
    In this wonderland
    I should have never listened to my old flame Sanaz. She is the one who put the idea of getting a nose job in to my head, in the first place. I have had this ginormous nose that sticks out like the middle finger, screaming “Fuck You!” Not that I care much about how I look, as I have earned the right to look however I want on account of racking up a few billions of dollars trading in contraband goods. Just like James Brown used to sing,” I have paid the cost to be the boss.” So, I thought my nose could stand out like the tower of Milad; it was all hunky dory as long as it could sniff out moolah. With all this chicanery and fraud running amok in Tehran, I should have checked the doctor’s credential though. I’m from district 19, born and bred, a tad closer to the border of district 17, Ghaleh Morghi to be exact. I almost know every nook and cranny of this deranged city. If you are from Tehran, you don’t have to be born rich to have money, with a little bit of luck,and a little bit of a sharp mind, you could easily make a quick buck. You don’t have to be Sharif-university educated to make it. In fact, I barely finished high school myself. As a matter of fact, I bought my diploma for 2 million tomans. Who would give a rat’s ass about how you got your degree. When you are sitting pretty, you can be a banker or bank robber, robbing a nation blind and running to Canada, no one can indict you. When you got money, you are untouchable. It is bizarre how even the car you drive can rub off a certain amount of knighthood on you, driving people to call you “Sir.” That’s what happened to me when I sold my 5th batch of bootleg cigarettes in Tehran and bought the first Turbocharged Toyota Celica, 4gt, that cruised the streets of Glaeh Morghi in 1999. The emperor’s new ride was red. I had caught sight of another Celica 4gt, on Jordan street, but the owner must have been one of the rich bitches tied to his mommy’s apron string and his daddy’s silver spoon. They don’t call me the king of cigars, for nothing

 

 

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