Краткий пересказ текста.
"My aunt will come down in a few minutes, Mr Nuttel," said a girl of fifteen, showing him into the sitting-room. Mr Nuttel was a young painter who had recently had a nervous breakdown. The doctors had told him that he should go away for a holiday. They warned him, however, against crowded resorts and recommended a complete rest in a quiet country-place. So here he was, in a little village, with letters of introduction from his sister to some of the people she knew.
"Some of the people there are quite nice," his sister had said to him. "I advise you to call on Mrs Sappleton as soon as you arrive. I owe the wonderful holiday I had to her."
"Do you know many of the people round here?" asked the girl when they were sitting comfortably on the sofa.
"No, I’m afraid I don’t," answered Mr Nuttel. "I’ve never been here before. My sister stayed here four years ago, you know, and she gave me letters of introduction to some of the people here."
"Then you know nothing about my aunt, do you?" asked the girl.
"Only her name and address," said the visitor.
"Her great tragedy happened just three years ago," said the child.
"Her tragedy?" asked Mr Nuttel.
"You may wonder why we keep that window wide open on an October afternoon," went on the girl, pointing to a large French window.
"It’s quite warm for this time of year," said Mr Nuttel. "But has that window anything to do with the tragedy?"
"Exactly three years ago my aunt’s husband and her two young brothers walked out through that window. They went shooting and never came back. When they were crossing the river their boat probably turned over and they were all drowned. Their bodies were never found. That was the most horrible part of the tragedy." Here the girl stopped. There were tears in her eyes and she drew a handkerchief out of her pocket. "Three years have passed, but my poor aunt still thinks that they will come back some day, they and the little brown dog that was drowned with them, and walk in through that window just as they always did. That is why the window is kept open every evening till it’s quite dark. Poor dear aunt, she can’t understand that they’ve left forever. She’s growing worse day by day, so let me give you some advice. Don’t be surprised at anything she says or does: she will start telling you all over again how they went out — her husband, with his coat over his arm, and her youngest brother, singing ’Bertie, why don’t you come?’ as she once told me. You know, sometimes, on quiet evenings like this, I almost get a feeling that they will all walk in through that window, and the whole family will be gathered in here again." The young girl finished her sad story. There was a long pause, and Mr Nuttel was glad when Mrs Sappleton at last entered the room.
"I’m sorry I’m late," she said, "but I hope my niece has entertained you well."
"Yes, she’s been very amusing," said Mr Nuttel.
"D’you mind the open window?" asked Mrs Sappleton. "My husband and brothers will soon be home from shooting and they always come into the house this way." And she went on speaking gaily about shooting. After what Mr Nuttel had just heard, he looked worried.
"The doctors told me," he said, trying to change the subject, "to have a rest here and to avoid anything that would make me feel nervous."
"Did they?" said Mrs Sappleton in a voice which showed that she was not at all interested in what Mr Nuttel was saying. She never took her eyes off the open window and suddenly cried out:
"Here they are at last! Just in time for tea.
How tired they look."
Mr Nuttel looked at the girl and saw that she was looking out through the open window with horror in her eyes. Mr Nuttel turned round slowly in his seat, looked in the same direction and saw three figures walking across the garden towards the window. They all carried guns and one of them had a coat over his shoulder. A tired brown dog was following them. Noiselessly they approached the house, and then a young voice began to sing. "Bertie, why don’t you come?"
Mr Nuttel seized his hat and ran out of the house like mad.
"Here we are, my dear," said Mrs Sappleton’s husband, coming in through the window. "We’ve enjoyed ourselves very much. I wonder what made that gentleman run out so quickly when we came up? Who is he?"
"A very strange young man, called Nuttel. He could only talk about his illness. He didn’t say a single interesting thing. I don’t understand why he ran out that way without saying good-bye," said his wife.
"I think it was the dog," said the niece calmly. "He told me that he was afraid of dogs. Once when he was attacked by a pack of dogs somewhere in India, he was so frightened that he started running like mad, and finding himself in a cemetery, climbed down into a newly-dug grave, where he had to spend the night. Since then he has always been afraid of dogs."
She was very good at inventing stories and did it artistically.

Сори кратко не могу
My aunt will come down in a few minutes, Mr Nuttel," said a girl of fifteen, showing him into the sitting-room. Mr Nuttel was a young painter who had recently had a nervous breakdown. The doctors had told him that he should go away for a holiday. They warned him, however, against crowded resorts and recommended a complete rest in a quiet country-place. So here he was, in a little village, with letters of introduction from his sister to some of the people she knew.
"Some of the people there are quite nice," his sister had said to him. "I advise you to call on Mrs Sappleton as soon as you arrive. I owe the wonderful holiday I had to her."
"Do you know many of the people round here?" asked the girl when they were sitting comfortably on the sofa.
"No, I’m afraid I don’t," answered Mr Nuttel. "I’ve never been here before. My sister stayed here four years ago, you know, and she gave me letters of introduction to some of the people here."
"Then you know nothing about my aunt, do you?" asked the girl.
"Only her name and address," said the visitor.
"Her great tragedy happened just three years ago," said the child.
"Her tragedy?" asked Mr Nuttel.
"You may wonder why we keep that window wide open on an October afternoon," went on the girl, pointing to a large French window.
"It’s quite warm for this time of year," said Mr Nuttel. "But has that window anything to do with the tragedy?"
"Exactly three years ago my aunt’s husband and her two young brothers walked out through that window. They went shooting and never came back. When they were crossing the river their boat probably turned over and they were all drowned. Their bodies were never found. That was the most horrible part of the tragedy." Here the girl stopped. There were tears in her eyes and she drew a handkerchief out of her pocket. "Three years have passed, but my poor aunt still thinks that they will come back some day, they and the little brown dog that was drowned with them, and walk in through that window just as they always did. That is why the window is kept open every evening till it’s quite dark. Poor dear aunt, she can’t understand that they’ve left forever. She’s growing worse day by day, so let me give you some advice. Don’t be surprised at anything she says or does: she will start telling you all over again how they went out — her husband, with his coat over his arm, and her youngest brother, singing ’Bertie, why don’t you come?’ as she once told me. You know, sometimes, on quiet evenings like this, I almost get a feeling that they will all walk in through that window, and the whole family will be gathered in here again." The young girl finished her sad story. There was a long pause, and Mr Nuttel was glad when Mrs Sappleton at last entered the room.
"I’m sorry I’m late," she said, "but I hope my niece has entertained you well."
"Yes, she’s been very amusing," said Mr Nuttel.
"D’you mind the open window?" asked Mrs Sappleton. "My husband and brothers will soon be home from shooting and they always come into the house this way." And she went on speaking gaily about shooting. After what Mr Nuttel had just heard, he looked worried.
"The doctors told me," he said, trying to change the subject, "to have a rest here and to avoid anything that would make me feel nervous."
"Did they?" said Mrs Sappleton in a voice which showed that she was not at all interested in what Mr Nuttel was saying. She never took her eyes off the open window and suddenly cried out:
"Here they are at last! Just in time for tea.
How tired they look."
Mr Nuttel looked at the girl and saw that she was looking out through the open window with horror in her eyes. Mr Nuttel turned round slowly in his seat, looked in the same direction and saw three figures walking across the garden towards the window. They all carried guns and one of them had a coat over his shoulder. A tired brown dog was following them. Noiselessly they approached the house, and then a young voice began to sing. "Bertie, why don’t you come?"
Mr Nuttel seized his hat and ran out of the house like mad.
"Here we are, my dear," said Mrs Sappleton’s husband, coming in through the window. "We’ve enjoyed ourselves very much. I wonder what made that gentleman run out so quickly when we came up? Who is he?"
"A very strange young man, called Nuttel. He could only talk about his illness. He didn’t say a single interesting thing. I don’t understand why he ran out that way without saying good-bye," said his wife.
"I think it was the dog," said the niece calmly. "He told me that he was afraid of dogs. Once when he was attacked by a pack of dogs somewhere in India, he was so frightened that he started running like mad, and finding himself in a cemetery, climbed down into a newly-dug grave, where he had to spend the night. Since then he has always been afraid of dogs."
She was very good at inventing stories and did it artistically.

!
Нужен краткий пересказ текста.
A story with a sad end.
Three men came to New York for a holiday. They came to a very large hotel and took a room there. Their room was on the forty-fifth floor. In the evening friends went to the theatre and came back to the hotel very late. “I’m very sorry,” said the clerk of the hotel, “but the lifts do not work tonight. If you don’t want to walk up to your room, we shall make beds for you in the hall.” “No, no,” said one of the friends, “no, thank you. We don’t want to sleep in the hall. We shall walk up to our room.” Then he turned to his friends and said: “It’s not easy to walk up to the forty-fifth floor, but we shall make it easier. On the way to the room I shall tell you some jokes; then you, Andy, will sing us some songs; then you, Peter, will tell us some interesting stories.” So they began walking up to their room. Tom told them many jokes; Andy sang some songs. At last they came to the thirty-sixth floor. They were tired and decided to have a rest. “Well,” said Tom, “now it’s your turn, Peter. After all the jokes, I would like to hear a sad story. Tell us a long and interesting story with a sad end.” “The story which I’m going to tell you,” said Peter, “is sad enough. We left the key to our room in the hall.

Трое мужчин приехали в Нью-Йорк. Они пришли к очень большой отель и сняли там номер. Их номер был на сорок пятом этаже. Вечером друзья пошли в театр и вернулись в отель очень поздно. “Мне очень жаль”, сказал служащий гостиницы,“, но лифты не работают сегодня. Если Вы не хотите идти в свою комнату, мы должны сделать кровати для вас в зале”. “Нет, нет”, сказал один из друзей, “нет, Спасибо. Мы не хотим спать в зале. Мы должны дойти до нашего номера”. Затем он повернулся к друзьям и сказал: “Это не легко дойти до сорок пятого этажа, но мы должны сделать его легче. По дороге в комнату я расскажу вам несколько анекдотов; потом ты, Энди, будешь петь нам песни, потом вы, Петр, расскажет нам несколько интересных историй. ” Поэтому они начали ходить в свои номера. Том сказал им, что много шуток; Энди спел несколько песен. Наконец они пришли на тридцать шестой этаж. Они устали и решили отдохнуть. “Ну, сказал Том, теперь твоя очередь, Питер. После всех шуток, мне бы хотелось услышать грустную историю. Расскажите длинная и интересная история с печальным концом”. “История, которую я собираюсь рассказать вам, сказал Петр, достаточно грустная. Мы оставили ключ от нашей комнаты в зале.

3 men came to New York and took a room in a hotel on the forty-fifth floor. One day they came back to the hotel very late and lift didn’t  work. They walked up to their room. On their way they sang songs and told jokes and stories. On the thirty-sixth floor Peter told a very sad story.It said they had left the key in the hall.

кратко на английском пересказать Бредбери "И грянул шторм"

A time machine can send a person to the past. Today, hunting for dinosaurs. But everything is very complicated. Kill that dinosaur, who, without them, must perish in a minute. For the safari a path is laid, which soars in the air, does not touch any tree, flower, blade of grass. You can not leave the trail under any circumstances. The conductor explains that by crushing a mouse, breaking the entire life chain for a million years, the history of mankind will change. Eckels, who paid for a trip to the past, was frightened of dinosaurs and, going into the time machine, got off the trail. Returning to the ground, the travelers found that Eckels had trampled the butterfly. Life in the state has changed (the president came to power, which yesterday lost the elections.) And the thunder struck.
Another option: Eckels, an amateur hunter, for a lot of money goes on a safari in the Mesozoic era, along with a few more hunters. However, hunting for dinosaurs is harsh: you can kill only the animal that must be killed without it (for example, killed by a broken tree), and when you return, you must destroy all traces of your stay (including pulling out bullets from the body of the animal), So as not to make changes in the future. People are on an anti-gravity path so as not to accidentally hurt even a blade of grass, as this can bring unpredictable shocks to the story. Head of Safari Travis warns:
Crush the mouse with your foot - this will be tantamount to an earthquake that distorts the appearance of the whole Earth, will radically change our destinies. The death of a cave man is the death of a billion of his descendants, strangled in the womb. Maybe Rome will not appear on its seven hills. Europe will forever remain a deaf forest, only in Asia will flourish a lush life. Step on the mouse and you will crush the pyramids. Step on the mouse - and you leave on Eternity a dent the size of a Grand Canyon. There will be no Queen Elizabeth, Washington will not cross Delaware. The United States does not appear at all. So be careful. Stay the trails. Never go out with her!
During the hunt, Eckels, having seen the tyrannosaurus, falls into a panic and descends from the path. After returning at the time, hunters suddenly discover that their world has changed: another spelling of the language, the dictator is in power instead of the liberal president. The cause of this catastrophe immediately turns out: Eckels, having got off the trail, accidentally crushed a butterfly. Travis raises his gun. The fuse is clicked. The last phrase repeats the title of the story: ". and thunder struck."

Сделайте краткий (максимально краткий) пересказ текста! Last year, I travelled to Mali to witness first hand the ancient Tuareg way of life in the Sahara Desert in north and west Africa I was immediately struck by the bright indigo veis worn by, I assumed, the women of this tribe. Imagine my surprise when one of these figures on a camel introduced himself as Yousseff a-Hamada and explained that it’s the Tuareg men, not the women, who wear this protection against the harsh sand. While drinking the first of many cups of mint tea together, the Tuareg drink tea 6 or 7 times a day, Yousseff explained that in the past, these "Blue Men of the Sahara’ protected the camel trading caravans crossing the Sahara Desert, but now they mostly work as livestock herders. sat fascinated as Yousseff showed me the ancient script of the Tuareg’s language which can be written from right left, left to right or top to bottom. Later, while listening to the men singing traditional poems and the women playing a violin-like instrument, it seemed like an idyllic way of life. Unfortunately, as water holes are drying up and animals are dying because of recent droughts, many Tuareg are now migrating to cities. "We are seeing the beginning of the end of the Tuareg way of life," Yousseff told me, sadly.

Last year, I travelled to Mali to witness first hand the ancient Tuareg way of life in the Sahara Desert in north and west Africa I was immediately struck by the bright indigo veis worn by, I assumed, the women of this tribe. sat fascinated as Yousseff showed me the ancient script of the Tuareg’s language which can be written from right left, left to right or top to bottom. Unfortunately, as water holes are drying up and animals are dying because of recent droughts, many Tuareg are now migrating to cities. "We are seeing the beginning of the end of the Tuareg way of life," Yousseff told me, sadly.

Краткий пересказ текста the hungry yellow lion

Ранней весной в субботу, начался дождь так сильно, что я думал, что упадет небо. Дождь шел весь день и всю ночь. Там было много воды на дорогах.
Я думал, это было великолепно, я прыгал вверх и вниз, я надеюсь, это дождь навсегда, я крикнул маме. Я надеюсь, что я не должен идти в школу в понедельник и писать тест по математике. Мама пришла в ярость. Что за глупости ты говоришь. Дождь может привести к катастрофе, сказала она.
Мама включила радио, чтобы послушать прогноз погоды на 10 часов наши местные синоптики говорили о погоде и сообщать, что барометр изменился. Их прогноз не мог сделать маму спокойной. Они обещали штормовой дождь, но я я был счастлив.
После завтрака в воскресенье я надел плащ и сапоги и отправился на речку. Ветер и дождь рвали одежду и дул больно мне в лицо. Я никогда не видел ничего столь замечательного. Вместо того, по нашей тихой узкой реке был слышен рев желтого льва он убегал вниз по долине. Я думал, что это почти вторая половина дня, был туман, и вы вряд ли сможете разглядеть из-за дождя.
На обратном пути от реки. Я увидел папу и нашу собаку, он вел коров до дома. Давай, папа кричал мне, смотри, если ты можешь помочь молодым.
я подбежал к отцу. Подошел к моей домашней корове Изабель и ее молодому теленку. Изабель посмотрела на меня, она мычала печально. Я почувствовал надо помогать отцу. Мы будем иметь катастрофу. Там не будет завтра теста по математике из-за катастрофы.
после чаяпития шел дождь сильнее, чем когда либо. Ветер дул вокруг дома, и в результате стихийного бедствия мы могли слышать как текут реки. Дон выл так громко, в кухне дверь, что мы могли пустить его внутрь. Я пошел спать рано и спрятался под одеяло. Я молился Богу, чтоб он сделал реальный дождь.
утром я проснулся и посмотрел в окно. Дождь все еще шел. И там была желтая вода внизу долины. Ура ферма изменились в другой мир. Я понял-нет школы сегодня! Я запрыгнул в свою одежду и дождь встоловую. Мама! Папа! Я кричал. Посмотри -везде вода! Затем я остановился. В столовой было полно животных и птиц, некоторые из свиней у костра. Там было много цыплят на диване, Мама вошла в комнату с индейками. Есть еще некоторые оставленные в корзине снаружи она позвонила мне. Она посмотрела, как будто она была не выспавшейся. Получить их в для меня не так ли? Говорила мама.

Краткий пересказ текста (на английском).
This week, Spotlight on Russia talks to Anna, about her life in Moscow.
Anna, can you tell me a little about your family?
Well, my family is quite small. I haven’t got any brothers or sisters. My grandmother lives with us, so all together there are four people in my family.
Do you live in a house or an apartment?
We live in a big apartment near the city centre. I love it here.
Do your parents work?
Yes, they both work. They are teachers. I am lucky because my grandmother looks after me when they are at work. I often help her around the house and we go shopping together in the afternoons.
What is it like being a child in Russia?
We have a lot of fun, like most children, but winter makes our life a bit different. It gets very cold so we can’t play outside. When it snows I go skiing and ice-skating. Little children also build snowmen and have snowball fights.
Do you spend much time outside?
When the weather in warm, we spend plenty of time outside. At the weekends I love going on bike rides with my friends. I also enjoy trips to the countryside with my parents.
So, how do you like life in Moscow? Is your life the same as Anna’s or different? Write in and tell us about yourself.
ЗАРАНЕЕ БОЛЬШОЕ

This week, Spotlight on Russia talks to Anna, about her life in Moscow.
Anna, can you tell me a little about your family?
Well, my family is quite small.
Do you live in a house or an apartment?
We live in a big apartment near the city centre
Do your parents work?
Yes, they both work. They are teachers.
What is it like being a child in Russia?
We have a lot of fun, like most children, but winter makes our life a bit different.
Do you spend much time outside?
When the weather in warm, we spend plenty of time outside