СООБЩЕНИЕ НЕ ПРИНАДЛЕЖИТ ТО в возрасте14 апреля 1865, был трагический день в истории Соединенных Штатов. Для вечером того же дня, прези вмятина Авраам Линкольн отправился в театре Форда в Вашингтоне, чтобы смотреть игру, которая была популярна в то время - и never1 вернулся. День начался для президента с обычным раунда служебных обязанностей. Город Вашингтон был все еще в хорошем настроении. Погода была хорошая, небо было облако менее,свежий весенний ветер дул о флагов поднятых из многих частных и правительственных зданий. Война только закончилась за несколько дней до, и вся страна продолжала праздновать. Театр партия в течение того вечера было запланировано миссис Линкольн. Президент обычно любил идти в театр и пошел очень часто - но в этот вечер у него не было ни малейшего желания идти. Он чувствовал себя очень усталым весь день и выглядел расстроенным. В конце концов он решил пойти, однако, поскольку он был объявлен в газетах о том, что Президент будет присутствовать в театре Форда. Президент и его партия прибыла в театре, когда игра уже началась. Когда он появился в окне, зрители приветствовали его бурными аплодисментами и производительность была прервана на мгновение. Тогда игра продолжалась, и президент понравилось. Он не знал, что его жизнь была в опасности... Около десяти часов актер по имени Джон Бут пришел в театр и пошел прямо к коробке Линкольна. Он бесшумно открыл дверь, и приближается к идент Pres так, что его пистолет был в нескольких минутах ходьбы от его головы, спокойно прицелился и выстрелил. Президент упал вперед в своем кресле. Бут сразу же вскочил из коробки на сцену. Он тяжело приземлился и что-то крикнул. Он уже собирался подняться на ноги, когда он вскрикнул от боли и должен был лежать неподвижно на мгновение. Потом он с трудом встал и медленно подошел к задней части сцены. Его нога была сломана, но он был в состоянии выйти на улицу, где ждал лошадь для него. Зрители видели, как он все это делать, но они думали, что все это было частью игры, как вдруг они услышали женский голос кричать: "Президент был убит. " Это было миссис Линкольн. Сразу молодой врач из зала поспешил окне президента. После того как он осмотрел Линкольна, он сказал, что президент имел всего несколько часов, чтобы жить. Линкольн был снят со своего стула и понес в дом напротив театра, где он оставался до своей смерти на следующее утро. Когда он умер, один из людей в комнате в то время, сказал: " Теперь он принадлежит веков. " Эти слова с тех пор стали знаменитыми.
Билет THE OPEN WINDOW (after H. Munro) “My aunt will come down ina few minutes, Mr Nuttel,” said a girl of fifteen, showing him into the sitting-room. Mr Nuttel wasa youngpainter who had recently had a nervous breakdown. The doctors had told him that he should go away for a holiday. Theywarnedhim, however, againstcrowded resorts and recommended acomplete 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. "1 advise you to call on Mrs Sappleton as so on as you arrive. } owe the wonderful holidayI had to her.” "Do you know many of the people round here?” as ked 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 вп October afternoon,” went on the girl, pointing to a Large French window. “It’s quite warm for this time of year,” said Mr Nut- tfc!. “But has that window anything to do with the tra gedy?’ “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 cros sing 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 for ever. She’s crowing 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, 1 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 Nut- tel 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 Nut tel 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 w’as 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 interes ting 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 artis tically.
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