ГДЗ

1)friends?/you/how often/hang out/do/with/ 2)goes/mother/once/shopping/a week/my/ 3)breakfast/get/l/after/dressed/usually/ 4)help/home/sister/at/my/doesn't/

1)Do you cycle to school or..........? 2)They never.........to pop music. 3)I always......breakfast before school. 4)What time do you......to sleep? 5)We.......TV every day.

You have received a letter from your great aunt, Aunt Margaret, who writes: Did you like the gift that Uncle John and I sent you for your birthday? Your mother told me that you were planning a family meal out at a nice restaurant - did you all enjoy yourselves? Did you go out and celebrate with your friends as well? Now for some good news. Our granddaughter Sally has just got into medical school. Write a letter to Aunt Margaret. нужно написать письмо 100-140 слов.

I believe that on the first night I went to Gatsby’s house I was one of the few guests who had actually been invited. People were not invited – they just went there. Sometimes they came and went without meeting Gatsby at all. When I arrived, the garden was already full of music and laughter. I tried to look for Gatsby, but nobody knew where he was. Finally I found a familiar face – Jordan Baker, a friend of Daisy’s. She was talking to a group of guests who I didn’t know. ‘Have you been to Gatsby’s parties before?’ Jordan asked the girl beside her. ‘The last one was the one I met you at,’ answered the girl, in a confident voice. ‘When I was here last, I tore my dress on a chair,’ said another girl, ‘and he took my name and address – and I got a package from Croirier’s with a new evening dress in it. It cost two hundred and sixty-five dollars!’ ‘There’s something funny about a guy that’ll do a thing like that,’ said the other girl. ‘He doesn’t want any trouble with ANYbody.’ ‘Who doesn’t?’ I asked. ‘Gatsby. Somebody told me ...’ Everyone leaned forward to listen. ‘Somebody told me they thought he killed a man once.’ ‘Well I heard he was a German spy during the war.’ One of the men nodded. ‘I heard that from a man who grew up with him in Germany,’ he said. We all turned and looked around for Gatsby. But he wasn’t there. After supper Jordan and I went to look for Gatsby inside the house. In the library a fat, middle-aged man, with enormous glasses, was sitting at a huge table, staring at the shelves of books. He was a little drunk. ‘What do you think?’ he asked us, excited. ‘About what?’ He waved his hand at the book-shelves. ‘About that. They’re real.’ ‘The books?’ He nodded. ‘I thought they were just for show. But they have pages and everything.’ WE went back into the garden. The moon was high in tne sky. A famous opera singer sang in italian some actors played a funny scene and then a jazz band started playing. People were dancing now. Champagne was being served in huge glasses and the air was full of conversation and laughter. We sat at a table with a man of about my age and a little girl who giggledevery timesmeone spoke. The man looked at me and smiled. I know your face, he said, politely. Werent yor in the Third Division dyring the war? Why,yes. I was in the Ninth Battalion. I was in the Seventh Infantry. I knew id seen you somewhere before. We talked for a moment about some wet,grey little villages in France. Having a nice time now?’ Jordan asked me. ‘Much better.’ I turned again to my new acquaintance. ‘This is an unusual party for me. I haven’t even seen the host. He sent over his chauffeur with an invitation – and I only live next door!’ For a moment he looked at me as if he didn’t understand. ‘I’m Gatsby,’ he said suddenly. ‘I thought you knew. I’m afraid I’m not a very good host.’ He smiled again. It was a smile that you might come across maybe four or fi ve times in your The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald life – a smile that understood you as you wanted to be understood. It made me trust him immediately. Gatsby left us to answer a phone call from Chicago. I told Jordan that I had expected Gatsby to be different – older, fatter, red-faced. ‘Who is he? Do you know?’ I asked Jordan. ‘He’s just a man named Gatsby ...’ she answered coolly. ‘Where is he from, I mean? And what does he do?’ I asked her again. ‘Well, he told me once he was an Oxford man. I don’t believe it, though.’ There was something very mysterious about Gatsby’s story – how had someone so young appeared from nowhere and bought such a grand house in West Egg? I suddenly noticed Gatsby again – he was standing alone on the steps, smiling at the lively scene below him. Looking at his tidy hair and his smooth, tanned skin it was diffi cult to see anything suspicious about him. A band started playing and people started singing. Girls rested their heads on their partners’ shoulders. But no one rested their head on Gatsby’s shoulder.