Энн из Зеленых Крыш. Уровень 1 / Anne of Green Gables

A merchant in Hopeton last winter donated three hundred yards of this cloth to the asylum. Some people said it was because he didn't sell it, but I believe that it was out of the kindness of his heart. Oh, there are many cherry-trees here! This Island is the bloomiest place. I love it already, and I'm so glad to live here. Prince Edward Island is the prettiest place in the world! Those red roads are so funny! And what makes the roads red?”

"Well, I don't know,” said Matthew.

"I feel glad to be alive – it's such an interesting world! But do I talk too much? People always tell me I do.

If you don't like it I'll stop. I can stop, although it's difficult.”

Matthew, to his own surprise, was very glad. Like most quiet folks he liked talkative people. He enjoyed the society of this little girl. So he said as shyly as usual:

"You can talk as much as you like. I don't mind[7 - I don't mind. – Я не против.].”

"Oh, I'm so glad! It's such a relief to talk when one wants to. Mrs.

Spencer said your place was named Green Gables. I asked her all about it. And she said there were trees all around it. I was very glad. I love trees. Is there a brook anywhere near Green Gables? I forgot to ask Mrs. Spencer that.”

"Well now, yes, there's one right below the house.”

"Great. It's my dream to live near a brook. I never expected it, though. Dreams don't often come true, do they? But just now I feel pretty nearly perfectly happy. I can't feel exactly perfectly happy because – well, what color do you call this?”

She twitched one of her long glossy braids over her thin shoulder and held it up before Matthew's eyes.

"It's red, isn't it?” he said.

"Yes, it's red,” she said resignedly. "Now you see why I can't be perfectly happy. Nobody can who has red hair. I hate that red hair. I think to myself, 'Now my hair is black, black as the raven's wing.' But it's not true, it is just plain red and it breaks my heart. Mrs. Spencer says – oh, Mr. Cuthbert! Oh, Mr.

Cuthbert!! Oh, Mr. Cuthbert!!!”

They rounded a curve in the road and found themselves in the "Avenue.” The "Avenue” was a stretch of road four or five hundred yards long, completely arched over with huge apple-trees, planted years ago by an eccentric old farmer. Overhead was one long canopy of snowy fragrant bloom.

The child leaned back in the buggy, her thin hands clasped before her, her face lifted rapturously to the white splendor above.