Variant 2.

a) An extract from the novel “Barren Ground” by Ellen Glasgow

… "I know you didn't want me at the funeral, Dorinda," he said, "but it was all I could do to show my respect for your father. He was one of the best men who ever lived."

Her breast quivered with pain, but she moved on without appearing to be aware of his presence.

"I was afraid you were angry because I came," he continued.

At this her pride was swallowed up in bitterness, and she stopped and looked back. "You had no right to come. You knew I did not want you there."

Without replying to her charge, he stared at her as if he were amazed by the change in her face. "This is the first time you've looked at me since you came home," he said. "You've treated me as if I were the dirt under your feet."

Her hand was on the slender bough of a pine, and stripping the needles from the branch, she flung them out on the wind with a passionate gesture. Over the chaos in her mind there darted the shadow of a regret. "If I had only killed him that night!"

"Even now you won't let your eyes rest on me," he complained. "If you'd given me a chance, I'd have done anything you wanted. But you never gave me a chance. You never listened."

Her gaze, which had been fixed on the horizon beyond him, swept back to his face. "Your following me won't make me listen."

"If you only knew what I've suffered."

She was looking at him now with merciless eyes. For this thing she had ruined her life! Then, before the thought had left her mind, she realized that in his presence, with her eyes on his face, she was farther away from him than she had been in New York. Yesterday he had had power over her senses; to-morrow he might have power again over her memory; but at this instant, while they stood there, so close together that she could almost feel his breath on her face, her senses and her memory alike were delivered from the old torment of love…(pages 220–221)

b) Text „ Який буває сніг”.

Який буває сніг.

Засперечалися снігові подорожники — маленькі, з горобців, північні пташки. Не можуть вирішити, який буває сніг. Літають, перепитують:

— Який буває сніг?

— Золотий! — відповів ранок, висвічуючи морозну тундру.

— Блакитний,— сказало денне чисте небо.

Синій, синій,— прошепотіли тіні старих модрин.

Хо-о-лодний! — крякнула качка, ховаючи дзьоб під крило і підгинаючи лапку.

Теплий,— пробурмотіла біла куріпка і зарилась у кучугуру подрімати.

Легкий, легкий, легкий! — прошумів вітер і закружляв, ніби пух кульбабки, густі сніжинки.

— Важкий! Дуже важкий! — зітхнули гілки кедрового стелюха, притиснуті до землі вагою снігових наметів.

Червоний-червоний! — сказала вечірня зоря, спалахнувши над вершинами сопок.

Срібний, звичайно! — посміхнувся ясний місяць, піднімаючись з-за гір до зірок.

Тайгу і тундру до самого океану пролетіли снігові подорожники і все питали, питали. Так і не взнали, який же сніг.

М. Гай.

Variant 3.

a) An extract from the novel “Barren Ground" by Ellen Glasgow

… Six months were gone now, and how hard she had worked! She thought of the mornings when she had risen before day, eaten a hurried breakfast by the crack of dawn, and milked the cows by the summer sunrise. From the moment the warm milk frothed into the pails until the creamy butter was patted into moulds and stamped with the name Old Farm beneath the device of a harp-shaped pine, there was not a minute detail of the work that was left to others. Even the scalding of the churns, the straining and skimming of the milk in the old-fashioned way without a separator,— all these simple tasks came under her watchful eyes. When the first supply of butter was sent off, she waited with nervous dread for the verdict. The price had seemed extravagant, for selling directly to her customer she had asked thirty cents a pound, while butter in Pedlar's store was never higher than ninepence in summer and a shilling in winter, measured in the old English terms which were still commonly used in Queen Elizabeth County.

"It seems a mighty high price," her mother had objected.

"I know, but Mrs. Faraday told me to ask more. She said the dairy would get a dollar a pound for the very best. Some people are always ready to pay a high price, and they value a thing more if they pay too much for it. I found out all I could about butter making in New York, and I'm sure nobody could have taken more trouble. It tasted like flowers."…(pages 222–223)

b) Text „Країна дитинства”.

Країна дитинства.

Є дитинства країна

у державі моїй.

Там — весна солов'їна,

чисте небо надій.

Там заквітчане літо

кличе юних у путь,

а усміхнені діти,

мов троянди, цвітуть.

Дні осінні привітні

малиново дзвенять.

А книжки заповітні

словом мудрості вчать.

Та й зима не лякає,

хоч морозяний день,

на санчатах гуляє,

на ялинку веде.

Є дитинства країна.

Це вона промовля:

— Є ще голод, руїни

на планеті Земля.

Ще не всі йдуть до школи,

коли ранок встає.

Гнів цей праведним болем

в груди Всесвіту б'є.

І дитинства країна,

що в державі моїй,

шле пісні солов'їні,

чисте небо надій

всім ровесникам світу,

щоб щасливо жили,

щоб під сонячним світлом

у прийдешнє ішли. В.Мордань.