Hauptmenü:
1. The verb and its forms. Find the best solution to complete the given phrases.
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2. Adjectives and adverbs. Supply either the adjective or adverb of the words in brackets.
The following text is from Agatha Christie's novel "The Mysterious Affair at Styles".
He had a candle in his hand, and the agitation of his face told me at once that something was
(serious / wrong).
"What's the matter?" I asked, sitting up in bed, and trying to collect my
thoughts (scattered).
"We are (afraid) my mother is (very ill).
She seems to be having some kind of fit.
(unfortunately) she has locked
herself in."
"I'll come at once."
I sprang out of bed; and, pulling on a dressing-gown, followed Lawrence along
the passage and the gallery to the wing (right) of the house.
John Cavendish joined us, and one or two of the servants were standing round in a state of
excitement (awe-stricken). Lawrence turned to his brother.
"What do you think we had better do?"
Never, I thought, had his
indecision of character been more (apparent).
John rattled the handle of Mrs.
Inglethorp's door
(violent), but with no effect. It was (obvious) locked or bolted
on the inside. The household (whole) was aroused by now. The most
(alarming) sounds were (audible) from the interior
of the room. (clear) something must be done.
"Try going through Mr. Inglethorp's room, sir," cried Dorcas. "Oh, the
mistress (poor)!"
(sudden) I realized that Alfred Inglethorp was not with us—that he
(alone) had given no sign of his presence. John opened the door of
his room. It was (pitch dark), but Lawrence was following with
the candle, and by its (feeble) light we saw that the bed had not
been slept in, and that there was no sign of the room having been occupied.
We went
(straight) to the
(connecting) door.
That, too, was locked or bolted on the inside. What was to be done?
"Oh, dear, sir," cried Dorcas, wringing her hands, "what ever shall we do?"
"We must try and break the door in, I suppose. It'll be a (tough)
job, though. Here, let one of the maids go down and wake Baily and tell him to go for
Dr. Wilkins at once. Now then, we'll have a try at the door.
Half a moment, though, isn't there a door into Miss Cynthia's rooms?"
"Yes, sir, but that's always bolted. It's never been undone."
"Well, we might just see."
He ran (rapid) down the corridor
to Cynthia's room. Mary Cavendish was there, shaking the girl—who must have been
an (unusual / sound) sleeper—and trying to wake her.
In a moment or two he was back.
"No (good).
That's bolted too. We must break in the door. I think this one is a shade less
(solid) than the one in the passage."
We strained and heaved together. The framework of the door was
(solid), and for a (long) time it resisted our
efforts, but at last we felt it give beneath our weight, and
(final), with a
(resounding)
crash, it was burst
(open).
We stumbled in together,
Lawrence still holding his candle. Mrs. Inglethorp was lying
on the bed,
her
(whole) form agitated by
(violent) convulsions, in one of
which she
must have overturned the
table beside her. As we entered, however, her
limbs relaxed, and she fell back
upon the pillows.
John strode across the room, and
lit the gas. Turning to Annie, one of the
housemaids, he sent her
downstairs
to the dining-room for brandy. Then
he went across to his
mother whilst I unbolted the door that gave on the
corridor.
I turned to Lawrence, to suggest that I had better leave
them now that there was
no further need of my services, but the words
were frozen on my lips. Never have
I seen such a ghastly look on any
man's face. He was
(white) as chalk, the candle he
held in his shaking hand was sputtering onto the
carpet, and his eyes, petrified with
terror, or some such kindred emotion, stared
(fixed)
over my head at a point on the
(further)
wall. It was as though he had
seen something that turned
him to stone. I
(instinctive) followed the direction
of his eyes,
but I could see nothing
(unusual). The
(still / feeble / flickering) ashes in the grate, and the row of
(prim)
ornaments on the mantelpiece, were
(sure / harmless / enough).
The violence of Mrs. Inglethorp's attack seemed to be passing. She was able to
speak in
(short) gasps.
"Better now-very
(sudden) -
(stupid)
of me-to lock myself in."
A shadow fell on the bed and,
looking up, I saw Mary Cavendish standing near the door with her arm
around Cynthia. She seemed to be supporting the girl, who looked
(utter /
dazed) and
(unlike)
herself. Her face was
(heavy / flushed), and she yawned
(repeated).
"
(poor) Cynthia is
(quite / frightened)," said
Mrs. Cavendish in
a
(low / clear) voice. She herself, I noticed,
was dressed
in her
(white)
land smock. Then
it must be
(late)
than I thought. I saw that
a
(faint)
streak of daylight was showing
through
the curtains of the windows, and that the clock on the
mantelpiece pointed to close upon five o'clock.
A
(strangled)
cry from the bed startled me. A
(fresh)
access of pain seized the
(unfortunate / old)
lady. The convulsions were of a violence
(terrible) to behold. Everything
was confusion. We thronged round her,
(powerless) to help or
alleviate. A
(final) convulsion lifted her from the bed,
until she appeared
to rest upon her head and her heels, with her body
arched in an
(extraordinary) manner. In
(vain) Mary and John tried to administer
more
brandy. The moments flew. Again the body arched itself in that
(peculiar) fashion.
At that moment, Dr. Bauerstein
pushed his way
(authoritative) into the room.
For one instant he stopped
(dead), staring
at
the figure on the bed, and, at the
(same)
instant, Mrs. Inglethorp cried
out in a strangled voice, her eyes fixed
on the doctor:
"Alfred—Alfred——" Then she fell
back
With a stride, the doctor
reached the bed, and seizing her arms worked them
(energetic),
applying what I knew to be
(artificial)
respiration. He issued a
(few / short / sharp) orders to the servants.
An
(imperious) wave of his hand drove us all
to the door. We watched
him,
(fascinated),
though I think we all knew in our hearts that it
was
(late), and that nothing could be done now. I
could see by
the expression on his face that he himself had
(little) hope.
(finally)
he abandoned his task, shaking his head
(grave). At that moment, we heard footsteps outside, and Dr. Wilkins,
Mrs. Inglethorp's
own doctor, a
(portly /
fussy / little) man, came bustling in.
In a
(few) words Dr. Bauerstein explained how he had happened to
be passing
the lodge gates as the car came out, and had run up to the house as
(fast) as he could, whilst the car went on to
fetch Dr. Wilkins. With a
(faint) gesture of
the hand, he indicated the figure on the bed.
"Ve—ry
(sad). Ve—ry
(sad)," murmured
Dr. Wilkins. "
(poor / dear) lady.
Always did
(far / too /much ) —
(far / too / much) — against my advice. I
warned
her. Her heart was
(far) from
(strong).
'Take it
(easy),' I said to her, 'Take—it—
(easy)'.
But
no—her zeal for
(good) works was
(too / great). Nature rebelled.
Na—ture—re—belled."
Dr. Bauerstein, I noticed, was
watching the
(local) doctor
(narrow). He
(still) kept his
eyes fixed on him as he spoke.
"The convulsions were of a
(peculiar) violence, Dr. Wilkins. I am
(sorry)
you were not here in time to witness
them. They were
(quite) —
(tetanic)
in character."
"Ah!" said Dr. Wilkins
(wise).
"I should like to speak to you
in
(private)," said Dr. Bauerstein.
He turned
to John.
"You do not object?"
"
(certain)
not."
We all trooped out into the
corridor, leaving the two doctors
(alone),
and I heard the key turned in the lock behind us.
We went
(slow) down the stairs. I was
I have a
(certain) talent for deduction, and Dr.
Bauerstein's
manner had started a flock of
(wild) surmises in my mind.
Mary Cavendish laid her hand upon my arm.
"What is it? Why did Dr.
Bauerstein seem so—
(peculiar)?" I looked at her.
"Do you know what I think?"
"What?"
"Listen!" I looked round, the
others were out of earshot. I lowered my voice to a whisper.
"I believe
she has been poisoned! I'm
(certain) Dr.
Bauerstein suspects it."
"What?" She shrank
against the wall, the pupils of her eyes dilating
(wild). Then, with a
(sudden) cry that startled me, she cried out:
"No, no—not that—not that!" And breaking from me, fled up the stairs.
I
followed her, afraid that she was going to faint. I found her leaning
against the banisters,
(dead / pale).
She
waved me away
(impatient).
"No, no—leave me. I'd rather be
(alone). Let me
(just) be
(quiet) for a minute or two. Go
down to the
others."
I obeyed her
(reluctant). John and Lawrence were in the
dining-room. I joined them.
We were all
(silent),
but I suppose I voiced the thoughts of us all when I at last
broke it by
saying:
"Where is Mr. Inglethorp?"
John shook his head.
"He's not in the house."
Our eyes met. Where was
Alfred Inglethorp? His absence was
(strange)
and
(inexplicable). I remembered Mrs.
Inglethorp's dying words.
What lay beneath them? What more could she
have told us, if she had
had time?
At last we heard the doctors
descending the stairs. Dr. Wilkins was looking
(important) and
(excited),
and
trying to conceal an
(inward) exultation
under a manner of
(decorous) calm. Dr.
Bauerstein remained in the
background, his
(grave / bearded) face
(unchanged).
Dr.
Wilkins was the
spokesman for the two. He addressed himself to John:
"Mr. Cavendish, I should like
your consent to a post-mortem."
"Is that
(necessary)?" asked John
(grave). A spasm of pain crossed his face.
"
(absolute)," said Dr. Bauerstein.
"You mean by that——?"
"That neither Dr. Wilkins nor
myself could give a death
John bent his head.
"In that case, I have no
alternative but to agree."
"Thank you," said Dr. Wilkins
(brisk). "We propose that it
should take
place to-morrow night—or rather to-night." And he glanced at the
daylight. "Under the circumstances,
I am afraid an inquest can
(hard)
be avoided—these formalities are
(necessary), but
I beg that you won't
distress yourselves."
There was a pause, and then Dr.
Bauerstein drew two keys from his pocket, and
handed them to John.
"These are the keys of the two
rooms. I have locked them and, in my opinion,
they would be better kept
(locked)
for the present."
The doctors then departed.
I had been turning over an idea
in my head, and I
felt that the moment had now come to broach it. Yet I
was a
(little / chary) of doing so. John, I
knew, had a horror of any kind of publicity,
and was an
(easy going) optimist,
who preferred
never to
meet
trouble half-way. It might be
(difficult)
to
convince
him of the soundness of my
plan. Lawrence, on the other
hand, being
(less / conventional), and having
more
imagination, I felt I
might count upon as an ally. There was no
doubt that
the moment had come for me to take the lead.
"John," I said, "I am going to
ask you something."
"
(good)?"
"You remember my speaking of my
friend Poirot? The Belgian who is
here? He has been a
(most / famous)
detective."
"Yes."
"I want you to let me call him
in—to investigate this matter."
"What—now? Before the
post-mortem?"
"Yes, time is an advantage if—if—there
has been
(foul) play."
"Rubbish!" cried Lawrence
(angry). "In my opinion
the
(whole) thing is a mare's
nest of
Bauerstein's!
Wilkins hadn't an idea of such a thing, until Bauerstein
put it into his head.
But, like all specialists, Bauerstein's
got a bee
in his bonnet. Poisons are his
hobby, so of course he sees them
everywhere."
I confess that I was
(surprised) by Lawrence's
attitude. He was
(so / seldom / vehement)
about anything.
John hesitated.
"I can't feel as you do,
Lawrence," he said at last, "I'm inclined to give Hastings
a
(free) hand, though I
should prefer to wait a
bit.
We don't want any
(unnecessary) scandal."
"No, no," I cried
(eager), "you need have no fear
of that.
Poirot is discretion itself."
"
(very
/ good), then, have it your own way. I leave
it in your hands. Though,
if it is as we suspect,
it seems a
(clear /
enough) case. God forgive me if I am wronging him!"
I looked at my watch. It was six
o'clock. I determined to lose no time.
Five minutes' delay, however, I
allowed myself. I spent it in ransacking the
library until I discovered
a
(medical) book which
gave a description of strychnine poisoning.
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