Describe, please, your favourite room and compare it with your friend's favourite room.

My mother (to make) pies often. перевести и поставить правильную форму настоящего времени

book

2)I (to see) him yesterday

3)We (to play) football last Sunday

4)He (to give) me his bike

5)The (to be) at home yesterday

6)My mother (to make) a taste cake

7)The teacher (to begin) to read a stary

from the blog. what words and expressions were used to describe the following? Таблица: Shopping | Food | Town | Sights and places of interest |Feelings

ТЕКСТ:
THE DARLING
She now had her own opinions, and at supper discussed with Sasha's parents, saying how difficult the studies had become for the children at the school. But after all, she felt a classical education was better than a commercial course, because when you graduated from school then the road was open to you for any career at all. If you chose to, you could become a doctor, or, if you wanted to, you could become an engineer.
Sasha started at the school.
His mother left on a visit to her sister in Kharkov and never came back. As his father was away every day inspecting cattle and was sometimes gone for up to three whole days at a time, it seemed to Olenka that Sasha was completely abandoned, was treated as if he were quite superfluous, and must be dying of hunger. So she transferred him into her part of the house and fixed up a little room for him there.
Every morning Olenka would come into his room and find him sound asleep with his hand tucked under his cheek, so quiet that he seemed not to be breathing "What a shame to have to wake him," she thought.
"Sashenka," she said sorrowfully, "get up, darling. It's time to go to school."
He got up, dressed, said his prayers, then sat down to breakfast. He drank three glasses of tea, ate two large cracknels and
half a buttered roll. The sleep was not yet out of him, so he was a little cross.
"You don't know your fables1 as you should, Sashenka," said Olenka, looking at him as though he were departing on a long journey. "What a lot of trouble you are. You must try hard and learn, dear, and mind your teachers." "Oh, leave me alone, please," said Sasha.
Then he went down the street to the school, a little fellow wearing a large cap and carrying a satchel on his back.
Olenka followed him noiselessly.
"Sashenka," she called.

He looked round and she shoved a date or a caramel into his hand. When he reached the street of the school, he turned around, ashamed of being followed by a tall, stout woman and said, "You had better go home, aunt. I can go the rest of the way myself".
She stopped and stared at him until he had disappeared through the school entrance. Oh, how she loved him! Not one of her other ties had been so deep. Never before had she given herself so completely and so cheerfully as now. Her maternal instincts were all aroused. For this boy, who was not hers, for the dimples in his cheeks and for his big cap, she would have given her life and given it with tears of joy. Why? Ah, indeed, why? When she had seen Sasha off to school, she returned home quietly, content, peaceful and overflowing with love. Her face, which had grown younger in the last six months, smiled and beamed. People who met her were pleased as they looked at her.
"How are you, Olga Semyonovna, darling? How are you getting on, darling?"
"The school courses are very difficult nowadays," she told people at the market. "It's no joke. Yesterday the first class had a fable to learn by heart, a Latin translation, and a problem. How is a little fellow to do all that?"
And she spoke of the teacher and the lessons and the text¬books, repeating exactly what Sasha said about them. At three o'clock they had dinner. In the evening they did his homework together, both crying at how difficult it was. When she put him to bed, she stayed a long time making the sign of the cross over him, muttering a prayer. And when she lay in bed, she dreamed of the far-away, misty future when Sasha would finish his studies and become a doctor or an engineer, have a large house of his own, with horses and a carriage, marry and have children. She would fall asleep still thinking of the same things, and
tears would roll down her cheeks from her closed eyes. And the black cat would lie at her side
purring: "Mrr, mrr, mrr."

• Is watching a film more interesting than reading a book?
• What films made you laugh a lot?
• What films made you cry?
• What films sent you to sleep?
• What films made you feel good?
• What films made you buy the soundtrack?
• Is there a big difference watching a film

on video at home and in the cinema?
• Do you like science fiction films? Why (Why not)?

• Have you ever watched a horror film alone?
• Do you know the popular American expressions for 'film' and 'cinema'?
• Who is your favourite actor and favourite actress? Why?
• What is the best film you have ever seen? Who was in it? Who was it directed by?
• When were you last in the cinema? Was the film thrilling, exciting, scary, humorous, funny, gripping? Did you enjoy it?
• Have you ever watched the same film more than twice? Why?
• What do you think the success of a film depends on?
• What is your favourite genre (action films, romances, comedies, thrillers, westerns, adventure films, horror films, cartoons, science fiction films, animated films, etc.)?

and indeed three or four of the twenty staff-members did sometimes use it after respectable hours.

That morning Martin had isolated a new strain of staphylococcus bacteria from the carbuncle of a patient in the Lower Manhattan hospital, a carbuncle which was healing with unusual rapidity. He had placed a bit of the pus in broth and incubated it. In eight hours a good growth of bacteria had appeared. Before going wearily home he had returned the flask to the incubator.

He was not particularly interested in it, and now, in his laboratory, he removed his military blouse, looked down to the lights on the blue-black river, smoked a little, thought that he was a dog not to be gentler to Leora, and damned Bert Tozer and Pickerbaugh and Tubbs and anybody else who was handy to his memory before he absent-mindedly wavered to the incubator, and found that the flask, in which there should have been a perceptible cloudy growth, had no longer any signs of bacteria — of staphylococci.

"Now what the hell!" he cried. "Why, the broth's as clear as when I seeded it! Now what the — Think of this fool accident coming up just when I was going to start something new!"

He hastened from the incubator, in a closet off the corridor, to his laboratory and, holding the flask under a strong light, made certain that he had seen aright. He fretfully prepared a scope. He discovered nothing but shadows of what had been bacteria: thin outlines, the form still there but the cell substance gone; minute skeletons on an infinitesimal battlefield.

He raised his head from the microscope, rubbed his tired eyes, reflectively rubbed his neck — his blouse was off, his collar on the floor, his shirt open at the throat. He considered:

"Something funny there. This culture was growing all right, and now it's committed suicide. Never heard of bugs doing that before. I've hit something! What caused it? Some chemical change? Something organic?"

...A detective, hunting the murderer of bacteria... he rushed upstairs to the library, consulted the American and English authorities and, laboriously, the French and German. He found nothing.

He worried lest there might, somehow, have been no living staphylococci in the pus which he had used for seeding the broth — none there to die. At a hectic run, not stopping for lights, bumping corners and sliding on the too perfect tile floor, he skidded down the stairs and galloped through the corridors to his room. He found the remains of the original pus, made a smear on a glass slide, and stained it with gentian-violet, nervously dribbling out one drop of the gorgeous dye. He sprang to the microscope. As he bent over the brass tube and focused the objective, into the gray-lavender circular field of vision rose to existence the grape-like clusters of staphylococcus germs, purple dots against the blank plane.

"Staph in it all right!" he shouted.

Then he forgot Leora, war, night, weariness, success, everything as he charged into preparations for an experiment, his first great experiment. He paced furiously, rather dizzy. He shook himself into calmness and settled down at a table, among rings and spirals of cigarette smoke, to list on small sheets of paper all the possible causes of suicide in the bacteria — all the questions he had to answer and the experiments which should answer them. [...]

By this time it was six o'clock of a fine wide August morning, and as he ceased his swift work, as taunted nerves slackened, he looked out of his lofty window and was conscious of the world below: bright roofs, jubilant towers, and a high- decked Sound steamer swaggering up the glossy river.

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