Напишите пересказ пожалуйста Thе Great Shooting Day Mr. Victor Hazell was rich beyond words, and his...

богатство земля отцовство снобизм угроза Rolls Royce заправочная станция охотничьи вечеринки сезон охоты фазаны месть упорство ссора социальное неравенство за исключением маленького участка когда я был ребенком лишив его птиц перед открытием охотничьего сезона.
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Thе Great Shooting Day

Mr. Victor Hazell was rich beyond words, and his property stretched for miles along either side of the valley. All the land around us belonged to him, everything on either side of the road, everything except the small patch of ground on which the filling station stood. That patch belonged to my father. It was а little island in the middle of the vast ocean of Mr. Hazell's property.

Mr. Victor Hazell was а snob and he tried desperately to get on with what he believed were the right kind off folk. Не hunted with the hounds and gave shooting parties. And every weekend he drove his enormous silver Rolls-Royce past our filling station on his way to the factory.

"No," my father used to say, "I do not like Mr. Victor Hazell one little bit. I haven't forgotten the way he spoke to you last year when he came in for а fill up."

I haven't forgotten it either. Mr. Hazell had arrived in his expensive Rolls- Royce and had said to me, "Fil1 her up and look sharp about it." I was eight years old at the time, he didn't get out of the car, he just handed me the key to the cap of the gasoline tank and as he did so, he barked out, ''And keep your filthy - litt1e hands to yourself, you understand?" I didn't understand at all, so I said, "What do you mean, sir?"

There was а walking stick on the seat. Не picked it up and pointed it at те like а pistol. "If you spoil my car, I'll beat you up," he shouted.

Мy father was out of the workshop almost before Mr. Hazell had finished speaking. Не came up to the window of the car and placed his hands оп it. "I don't like you speaking to my son like that," he said. His voice was dangerously soft. "Yоu had nо reason to threaten him," my father went on. "Не had done nothing wrong. Next time yоu threaten someone why don't yоu pick оп а person your own size," my father said. "Like me, for instance."

Mr. Hazell did not look at him. Не sat quite still in the seat of his Rolls-Rоyсе, his tiny piggy eyes staring straight ahead.

"Now go away, please," my father said. "We do not wish to serve you." Не took the key from my hand and threw it through the window. The Rolls-Royce drove away fast in а cloud of dust. А silence fell between us. "I'll tell you something interesting" my father said at last. "The shooting season starts on Saturday. It always starts оп the first of October," hе said. ''And every year Mr. Hazell celebrates the day bу giving а big shooting party. It is а very famous event, Danny, that shooting party of Mr. Hazell's."

"Do lots of people соmе?" I asked.

"Hundreds," hе said. "Тhеy соmе from. miles around. Dukes and lords, barons and baronets, rich businessmen, and аll important folk in the country. Тhеy соmе with their guns and their dogs and their wives, and аll day long the noise of shooting is heard асross the valley. But they don't соmе because they like Mr. Hazell. Secretly they all despise him."

"Then why do they come, dad?"

"Because it's the best pheasant shoot in the South of England, that's why they соmе. But to Mr. Hazell it's the greatest day in the year because it makes him feel important. For one day in the year he becomes а big cheese in а little world and even the Duke of so-and-so tries to remember his first name when he says goodbye. So he is willing to раy almost anything to make it а success. Не spends а fortune оn those pheasants. Each summer he buys hundreds of young birds from the pheasant farm and puts them in the wood where the keepers feed them, and it's а deadly secret, Danny." Мy father looked carefully all аround him.

"I would like," he whispered, "to find а way of getting so many pheasants from Hazell's.

Wood that there would not bе any left for the big opening-day shoot оn October the first."

"Dad!" I cried. "No!"

"Ssshh," he said. "Listen. Just imagine, Danny," he went оn, "what а triumph, what а glorious victory that would bе! All the dukes and lords and famous men would arrive in their big cars and then out they would all go with their guns under their arms - and they would take up their positions in the famous

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задан 4 месяца назад

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pheasant wood - and not а single bird would they see. Not а single bird would they shoot. Not а single bird would they find. And Mr. Hazell would bе standing there with his mouth open and his face turning red with anger. Oh, what а dream, Danny! What а lovely dream!"

Пересказ: Мистер Виктор Хазелл был богат за словами, и его собственность простиралась на мили вдоль обеих сторон долины. Вся земля вокруг нас принадлежала ему, все на обеих сторонах дороги, все, кроме небольшого участка земли, на котором находилась заправочная станция. Этот участок принадлежал моему отцу. Это был маленький островок посреди огромного океана собственности мистера Хазелла.

Мистер Виктор Хазелл был снобом и отчаянно пытался подружиться с теми, кого он считал правильными людьми. Он охотился с гончими и устраивал охотничьи вечеринки. И каждые выходные он ездил на своей огромной серебристой Роллс-Ройс мимо нашей заправочной станции по дороге к фабрике.

"Нет," говорил мой отец, "я совсем не люблю мистера Виктора Хазелла. Я не забыл, как он говорил с тобой в прошлом году, когда заехал заправиться".

Я тоже не забыл. Мистер Хазелл приехал на своей дорогой Роллс-Ройс и сказал мне: "Заправь ее и поспеши". Мне было восемь лет, и он даже не выходил из машины, просто передал мне ключ к крышке бензобака и, сделав это, рявкнул: "Держи свои грязные-мелкие руки подальше, понял?"

Я совсем не понимал, поэтому спросил: "Что вы имеете в виду, сэр?"

На сиденье лежал трость. Он поднял ее и указал на меня, как на пистолет. "Если ты испортишь мою машину, я тебя избью," закричал он.

Мой отец вышел из мастерской почти до того, как мистер Хазелл закончил говорить. Он подошел к окну машины и положил руки на нее. "Мне не нравится, что ты так говоришь с моим сыном," сказал он. Его голос был опасно мягким. "У тебя не было причины угрожать ему," продолжил мой отец. "Он ничего не сделал. Когда ты угрожаешь кому-то в следующий раз, почему бы тебе не выбрать человека своего размера," сказал мой отец. "Как я, например."

Мистер Хазелл не посмотрел на него. Он сидел совершенно неподвижно на сиденье своей Роллс-Ройс, его карие свиньиные глаза смотрели прямо вперед.

"Теперь уходи, пожалуйста," сказал мой отец. Он взял ключ из моей руки и бросил его через окно. Роллс-Ройс уехал быстро в облаке пыли. Между нами установилась тишина. "Я скажу тебе что-то интересное," сказал мой отец наконец. "Охотничий сезон начинается в субботу. Он всегда начинается первого октября," сказал он. "И каждый год мистер Хазелл отмечает этот день, устраивая большую охотничью вечеринку. Это очень известное событие, Дэнни, эта охотничья вечеринка мистера Хазелла."

"Много людей приходит?" спросил я.

"Сотни," сказал он. "Они приезжают издалека. Герцоги и лорды, бароны и баронессы, богатые бизнесмены и все важные люди в стране. Они приезжают со своими ружьями, собаками и женами, и весь день слышен звук выстрелов через долину. Но они не приезжают, потому что им нравится мистер Хазелл. Тайно все они его презирают."

"Тогда почему они приезжают, папа?"

"Потому что это самая лучшая фазанья охота на юге Англии, вот почему они приезжают. Но для мистера Хазелла это самый важный день в году, потому что он чувствует себя важным. В течение одного дня в году он становится великой шишкой в маленьком мире, и даже герцог такой-то старается вспомнить его имя, когда прощается. Поэтому он готов заплатить почти что угодно, чтобы сделать это успешным. Он тратит состояние на этих фазанов. Каждое лето он покупает сотни молодых птиц с птицефермы и выпускает их в лес, где их кормят смотрители, и это смертельная тайна, Дэнни." Мой отец огляделся вокруг.

"Я бы хотел," прошептал он, "найти способ получить так много фазанов из леса Хазелла, что на большом открытии первого октября не останется ни одной для охоты."

"Папа!" закричал я. "Нет!"

"Тсс," сказал он. "Слушай. Просто представь себе, Дэнни," продолжил он, "какой триумф, какая славная победа это была бы! Все герцоги и лорды и известные люди приехали бы на своих больших машинах, и потом все они вышли бы с ружьями под мышками - и они заняли бы свои позиции в знаменитом фазаньем лесу - и не увидели бы ни одной птицы. Ни одной птицы бы они не убили. Ни одной птицы бы они не нашли. И мистер Хазелл стоял бы там с открытым ртом и краснеющим от гнева лицом. О, какая мечта, Дэнни! Что за прекрасный сон!"

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ответил 4 месяца назад
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"The Great Shooting Day" tells the story of Mr. Victor Hazell, a wealthy and arrogant man whose vast property surrounds a small filling station owned by the narrator's father. Mr. Hazell is depicted as a snob who yearns for acceptance among the elite. He hosts hunting and shooting parties, and every weekend he drives his luxurious silver Rolls-Royce past the filling station, where he once treated the narrator, an eight-year-old child, with disdain and aggression.

The narrator recalls an incident where Mr. Hazell rudely ordered him to fill up his car with gasoline, warning him to keep his "filthy little hands" away from the car. This disrespectful behavior prompted the narrator's father to confront Mr. Hazell, telling him off for threatening a child and advising him to pick on someone his own size. Mr. Hazell, intimidated, drove away in silence.

The story then shifts to the anticipation of Mr. Hazell's annual shooting party, a grand event held on the first of October, marking the start of the shooting season. This event attracts a multitude of high-profile guests, including dukes, lords, and wealthy businessmen, despite their shared disdain for Mr. Hazell. They attend because it is known as the best pheasant shoot in the South of England.

The narrator's father reveals that Mr. Hazell goes to great lengths to ensure the success of the event, spending a fortune on young pheasants that are carefully raised and fed in the woods. He then shares a secretive and mischievous desire with his son—to find a way to deplete Hazell’s woods of pheasants before the big shoot, thereby ruining the event and humiliating Mr. Hazell.

The father's plan is driven by the idea of achieving a small victory over Mr. Hazell, illustrating a desire for justice and perhaps a bit of revenge against the snobby and unpleasant man who disrespected his family.

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ответил 4 месяца назад
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Hazell's Wood. But where are the pheasants? There aren't any. Not one single bird to be found. They would search and search, but there wouldn't be a pheasant in sight. And Mr. Hazell would be standing there, sweating with fury and embarrassment, while all the important people whispered behind his back. Oh, it would be a sight to see, Danny, a sight to see indeed!"

My father's eyes were shining with excitement as he spoke, and I couldn't help but feel a thrill at the idea of such a daring plan. But deep down, I knew it was wrong to steal from Mr. Hazell, no matter how mean he had been to us in the past.

As the days passed, my father's plan grew more and more elaborate. He would sneak into Hazell's Wood at night and catch as many pheasants as he could, then release them in a remote area far from the valley. It was a risky plan, but my father was determined to pull it off.

Finally, the night before the big shooting day arrived. My father kissed me goodnight and slipped out into the darkness, armed with a net and a lantern. I waited anxiously for his return, my heart pounding with fear and excitement.

When he finally came back in the early hours of the morning, he was grinning from ear to ear. "I did it, Danny," he whispered. "I caught over a hundred pheasants. Hazell's Wood will be empty tomorrow, mark my words."

The next day, as the shooting party gathered in Hazell's Wood, my father and I watched from afar. The important people arrived in their fancy cars, their guns at the ready. But as they entered the wood, there was no sound of pheasants, no birds to be seen.

Mr. Hazell's face turned red with anger as he realized what had happened. The shooting party was a disaster, with not a single pheasant to be found. And as the important people whispered and laughed behind his back, Mr. Hazell knew he had been outsmarted.

As we walked back to our filling station, my father put his arm around my shoulders. "Well done, Danny," he said. "Today, we showed Mr. Hazell that even the little guy can have his day of triumph."

And as we watched the sunset over the valley, I knew that I would never forget the great shooting day, the day when my father's daring plan had turned the tables on the snobbish Mr. Victor Hazell.

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ответил 4 месяца назад

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