Variant 3.

An extract from the book after W.S.Maugham “The Moon and Sixpence”

… Mrs. Stroeve watched the game with inscrutable face. She was silent, but she had always been silent. I looked at her mouth for an expression that could give me a clue to what she felt; I watched her eyes for some tell-tale flash, some hint of dismay or bitterness; I scanned her brow for any passing line that might indicate a settling emotion. Her face was a mask that told nothing. Her hands lay on her lap motionless, one in the other loosely clasped. I knew from what I had heard that she was a woman of violent passions; and that injurious blow that she had given Dirk, the man who had loved her so devotedly, betrayed a sudden temper and a horrid cruelty. She had abandoned the safe shelter of her husband's protection and the comfortable ease of a well-provided establishment for what she could not but see was an extreme hazard. It showed an eagerness for adventure, a readiness for the hand-to-mouth, which the care she took of her home and her love of good housewifery made not a little remarkable. She must be a woman of complicated character, and there was something dramatic in the contrast of that with her demure appearance… (pages 61–62).

Variant 4.

An extract from the book after W.S.Maugham “The Moon and Sixpence”

… But though I was no less convinced than Stroeve that the connexion between Strickland and Blanche would end disastrously, I did not expect the issue to take the tragic form it did. The summer came, breathless and sultry, and even at night there was no coolness to rest one's jaded nerves. The sun-baked streets seemed to give back the heat that had beat down on them during the day, and the passers-by dragged their feet along them wearily. I had not seen Strickland for weeks. Occupied with other things, I had ceased to think of him and his affairs. Dirk, with his vain lamentations, had begun to

bore me, and I avoided his society. It was a sordid business, and I was not inclined to trouble myself with it further.

One morning I was working. I sat in my pyjamas. My thoughts wandered, and I thought of the sunny beaches of Brittany and the freshness of the sea… (pages 62–63).

Task 2.

Find in the following texts:

1. the lexemic Stylistic devices and Expressive means;

2. the Syntactic Stylistic devices and Expressive means.

Variant 1.

1. An extract from the novel “Barren Ground” by Ellen Glasgow

… So at last he was dead. He was dead and stie couia never know whether or not he remembered. She could never know how much or how little she had meant in his life. And more tragic than the mystery that surrounded him at the end, was the fact that neither the mystery nor his end made any difference. The passion that had ruined her life thirty years ago was nothing, was less than nothing, to her to-day. She was not glad that he was dead. She was not sorry that he had died alone.

Turning back the end of the sheet, she looked down on his face. Despair had passed out of it. The scarred and burned look of his features had faded into serenity. Death had wiped out the marks of the years, and had restored, for an instant, the bright illusion of youth. He wore, as he lay there with closed eyes, an expression that was noble and generous, as if he had been arrested in some magnanimous gesture. This was what death could do to one. He had wasted his life, he had destroyed her youth; yet in a few hours death had thrown over him an aspect of magnanimity.

She was standing there when John Abner came in from milking and joined her. "Poor devil," he said. "I suppose it's the best thing that could have happened."

"Yes, it's the best thing."

"Is there anybody we'd better get a message to?"

"No one I can remember. He had lost all his friends."

"Has the doctor been here?"

"Not yet, but Fluvanna telephoned for him."

"Then we might as well have the funeral to-morrow. There is no reason to postpone it. He's been dying for months."

Yes, he had been dying for months; yet, she realized now, his death had come to her with a shock. Though the moment had been approaching so long, she felt that it had taken her by surprise, that she had not had sufficient time to prepare.

"Of course, it isn't as if we could be expected to feel it, "John Abner said, reasonably enough, and she repeated vacantly:

"No, of course it isn't."… (pages 353–354)

2. Text „ Як розпускається мак”

Як розпускається мак.

Ось так розпускається мак.

Рано-вранці серед сивого, різьбляного листя на волохатому стеблі гойдається великий зелений бутон. Теж увесь волохатий, у краплинках роси.

І раптом ти бачиш, що бутон лопнув. Цю ж мить. Зелені стулки розсуваються, проглянула між ними рожева смужка.

Вона робиться все ширше, ширше...

Клац!

Зелені стулки впали на землю.

І все це відбувається на твоїх очах!

І вже не зелений бутон гойдається на стеблині, а ніби грудочка рожевого цигаркового паперу.

Зім'ята грудочка.

Та ось грудочка починає оживати, пухнути, розправляти складки. Розгладжуються пелюстки, вигинаються... Червоніють. Наливаються жаром.

І ось вже вогняна чаша розкрилась на стеблині. Всередині неї лежить чорний вуглик.

Сяє вогняна чаша. Боязко її торкнути — опале пальці!

А якось ввечері, знову на твоїх очах — клац! — відвалиться один пелюсток, ще один, ще...

Лежать на землі. Темніють. Остигають.

Ось так гасне мак. Не відцвітає, не в'яне, не хилиться. Просто гасне.

Е. Шим