The interpretation of fiction
1.1 Lead in:
a) You are going to read a story about the display of philanthropic ideas (the ideas of charity). Look at the title of the story and say what can be meant by the words “another case”. b) The following words\phrases appear in the story. Match them and their definitions: 1.flimsy
a)Well-behaved and easy to control
2.a marvelous change
b)made of a thin or light substance
d)a change that makes sb\sth very different
5. to discern
e)tricking all the rest
f)to see, notice or understand sth.
C) In what context do you think the words above can be used.
1.2. Read the story and check your understanding
Another Case of Ingratitude
by John Reed
Walking late down Fifth Avenue, I saw him ahead of me, on the dim stretch of sidewalk between two arc-lights. It was biting cold. Head sunk between hunched-up shoulders, hands in his pockets, he shuffled along, never lifting his feet from the ground. Even as I watched him, he turned, as if in a daze, and leaned against the wall of a building, where he made an angle out of the wind. At first I thought it was shelter he sought, but as I drew nearer I discerned the unnatural stiffness of his legs, the way his cheek pressed against the cold stone, and the glimmer of light that played on his sunken, closed eyes. The man was asleep! Asleep—the bitter wind searching his flimsy clothes and the holes in his shapeless shoes; upright against the hard wall, with his legs rigid as an epileptic's. There was something bestial in such gluttony of sleep. I shook him by the shoulder. He slowly opened an eye, cringing as though he were often disturbed by rougher hands than mine, and gazed at me with hardly a trace of intelligence. "What's the matter—sick?" I asked.
Faintly and dully he mumbles something, and at the same time stepped out as if to move away. I asked him what he said, bending close to hear. "No sleep for two nights," came the thick voice. "Nothing to eat for three days." He stood there obediently under the touch of my hand, swaying a little, staring vacantly at me with eyes that hung listlessly between opening and shutting. "Well, come on," I said, "we'll go get something to eat and I'll fix you up with a bed." Docilely he followed me, stumbling along like a man in a dream, falling forward and then balancing himself with a step. From time to time his thick lips gave utterance to husky, irrelevant words and phrases. "Got to sleep waking around," he said again and again. "They keep moving me on." I took his arm and guided him into the white door of an all-night lunchroom. I sat him at a table, where he dropped into a dead sleep. I set before him roast beef, and mashed potatoes, and two ham sandwiches, and a cup of coffee, and bread and butter, and a big piece of pie. And then I woke him up. He looked up at me with a dawning meaning in his expression. The look of humble gratitude, love, devotion, was almost canine in its intensity. It sent a thrill of Christian brotherhood all through my veins. I sat back and watched him eat. At first he went at it awkwardly, as if he had lost the habit. Mechanically he employed little tricks of table manners--perhaps his mother had taught them to him. He fumblingly changed knife and fork from right hand to left, and then put down his knife and took a dainty piece of bread in his left hand; removed the spoon from his coffee cup before he drank, and spread butter thinly and painstakingly on his bread. His motions were so somnambulistic istic that that I had a strange feeling of looking on a previous incarnation of the man. As the dinner progressed, a marvelous change took place. The warmth and nourishment, heating and feeding his thin blood, flooded the nerve centers of that starving body; a quick flush mounted to his cheeks, every part of him started widely awake, his eyes glowed. The little...
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