Don't stay in that place, where they don't care how you are
Translate these sentences:
(1) Hello, how are you? __________________________________?
(2) I'm fine, thank you. __________________________________.
(3) Where (what country) are you from? __________________________________?
Becky must have re-read these sentences about five times a piece. In an apathetic wash such as she was, the words were certainly retained; Becky knew the answers, but had no desire to write them in her workbook. She'd been staring at the end of her pencil tapping on the paper, staring at the finish of the table just above the edge of the pages, staring at nothing. Sputnik's distant whining in the otherwise silent apartment -- no doubt the soundtrack to chasing imaginary rabbits in her sleep -- sparked Becky from this blank sort of reverie frequently, but ultimately only temporarily.
Becky glances at the calendar hanging on the far wall. It was nine days, now. Yes, she'd heard from him, and that in itself was a blessing, but... tactile as she was, she would not, COULD not be completely convinced of his safety, his well-being until she could see him and hug him, hear the careful inflection and articulation of his english words as undisturbed by long-distance telephone static and text messages.
Really, this book, these exercises were only an aggravation of the current situation as it stood and probably were not doing very well by her state of mind. Becky chides herself quietly and shakes her head, moving with sudden vigor to close her lesson book, only to finally take her pencil from the paper and notice the characters she'd been absentmindedly scrawling in the margin -- the three she'd made a point of learning first, before the ones necessary to her coursework and homework and even her own name;
.
She hoped he'd be home soon.
(1) Hello, how are you? __________________________________?
(2) I'm fine, thank you. __________________________________.
(3) Where (what country) are you from? __________________________________?
Becky must have re-read these sentences about five times a piece. In an apathetic wash such as she was, the words were certainly retained; Becky knew the answers, but had no desire to write them in her workbook. She'd been staring at the end of her pencil tapping on the paper, staring at the finish of the table just above the edge of the pages, staring at nothing. Sputnik's distant whining in the otherwise silent apartment -- no doubt the soundtrack to chasing imaginary rabbits in her sleep -- sparked Becky from this blank sort of reverie frequently, but ultimately only temporarily.
Becky glances at the calendar hanging on the far wall. It was nine days, now. Yes, she'd heard from him, and that in itself was a blessing, but... tactile as she was, she would not, COULD not be completely convinced of his safety, his well-being until she could see him and hug him, hear the careful inflection and articulation of his english words as undisturbed by long-distance telephone static and text messages.
Really, this book, these exercises were only an aggravation of the current situation as it stood and probably were not doing very well by her state of mind. Becky chides herself quietly and shakes her head, moving with sudden vigor to close her lesson book, only to finally take her pencil from the paper and notice the characters she'd been absentmindedly scrawling in the margin -- the three she'd made a point of learning first, before the ones necessary to her coursework and homework and even her own name;
.
She hoped he'd be home soon.