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Белый клык / White Fang

Белый клык / White Fang
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Книга содержит адаптированный и сокращенный текст классического романа Джека Лондона "Белый клык" (1906 г.). В произведении рассказывается история прирученного волка по кличке Белый Клык. Действие происходит во время золотой лихорадки на Аляске в конце XIX века.

Для удобства читателя оригинальный текст сопровождается комментариями, разными видами упражнений, а также кратким словарем.

Предназначается для продолжающих изучать английский язык (уровень 3 – Intermediate).

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Bill opened his mouth to speak, but changed his mind. Instead, he pointed towards the wall of darkness that pressed about them from every side. Nothing could be seen there but a pair of eyes gleaming like coals. Henry indicated with his head a second pair, and a third. A circle of the gleaming eyes was around their camp.
The unrest of the dogs was increasing. One of them came too close to the fire and yelped with pain and fright. The circle of eyes withdraw a bit, but it appeared again when the dogs became quiet.
“Henry, it’s a misfortune to be out of ammunition.”
Bill had finished his pipe and was helping his companion to spread the bed of fur and blanket.
“How many cartridges did you leave?” Henry asked.
“Three. And I wish it was three hundred!”
He shook his fist angrily at the gleaming eyes, and put his moccasins before the fire.
“And I wish it was not so cold” he went on. “It has been fifty below zero for two weeks now. And I wish I’d never started on this trip, Henry. I don’t like it. And I wish the trip was over, and you and I were sitting by the fire in Fort McGurry and playing cards.”
Henry grunted and crawled into bed. Then he was woken by his comrade’s voice.
“Say, Henry, that other one that came in and got a fish – why didn’t the dogs bite it? That’s what’s bothering me.”
“You’re bothering too much, Bill. Just shut up now, and go to sleep. You have a stomach ache, that’s what’s bothering you.”
The men slept, breathing heavily, side by side, under the one covering. The fire died down, and the gleaming eyes drew closer. The dogs kept together in fear. Once their noise became so loud that Bill woke up. He got out of bed carefully and threw more wood on the fire. The circle of eyes drew back. He glanced at the dogs, then rubbed his eyes and looked at them again. Then he crawled back into the blankets.
“Henry,” he said. “Oh, Henry.”
Henry groaned, “What’s wrong now?”
“Nothing, only there’s seven of them again. I just counted.”
Henry grunted again and fell asleep.
In the morning it was he who awoke first and woke up his companion. It was still dark, though it was already six o’clock; and Henry started preparing breakfast, while Bill rolled the blankets and made the sled ready.
“Say, Henry,” he asked suddenly, “how many dogs did you say we had?”
“Wrong,” Bill said triumphantly.
“Seven again?”
“No, five; one’s gone.”
“The hell!” Henry cried in anger, left the cooking and went to count the dogs.
“You’re right, Bill,” he concluded. “Fatty’s gone. They just swallowed him alive, damn them!”
“He always was a fool dog.”
“But not fool enough to commit suicide. I bet none of the
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