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Commentary. How on earth was she going to explain - каким же образом (как ей удастся ) (on earth – разг

How on earth was she going to explain… - каким же образом (как ей удастся…) (on earth – разг. выражение, употребляемое для усиления)

a wing chair – кресло с подголовником

fat chance – никакой надежды, слабая надежда (e.g. fat chance to win – где уж вам выиграть)

to be pleased as Punch – очень доволен, рад-радешенек (Punch – Панч, Петрушка, действующее лицо кукольной комедии)

Rules and Regs – Rules and Regulations

to pack a wallop – иметь сильный удар

German measles – краснуха коревая (мед.)

Exercise 1. Practise the pronunciation of the following words:

1. squalid ['skwOlId] 12. diagnosis [LdaIRg'nRusIs]

2. crusade [kru:'seId] 13. trepidation [LtrepI'deIS(R)n]

3. stature ['stWtSR] 14. temperamental [Ltemp(R)rR'mentl]

4. undecipherable [LAnd'saIf(R)rRbl] 15. hibernating [LhaIbR:'neItIN]

5. disintegration [dIsLIntI'greIS(R)n] 16. meander [mI'WndR]

6. rebuke [rI'bju:k] 17. futile ['fju:taIl]

7. indefinable [LIndI'faInRb(R)l] 18. tedious ['tI:dGRs]

8. loiter ['lOItR] 19. equivocation [ILkwIvR'keIS(R)n]

9. wield ['wI:ld] 20. abject ['WbdGekt]

10. meticulous [mI'tIkjulRs] 21. arch ['Q:tS]

11. speculative ['spekjulRtIv] 22. gardenia [gQ:'dI:njR]

Exercise 2. Read the following extract:

Heading back toward town, Jane sat very straight in the cab of the big red truck, but inside she felt limp. It was as though she had formed a snowball and started it rolling – a snowball that grew and grew until it threatened to engulf everyone in its path.

What was she going to tell her family? How on earth was she going to explain her absence this evening? She certainly couldn’t walk in and admit that she had contracted to take over Ken’s dishwashing job, even for this one night. They’d think she had lost her mind.

In the glare of approaching headlights Ken caught a glimpse of her face. “You can still back out,” he suggested.

“You know I won’t. Let me out downtown,” Jane commanded. “I’m not going home!”

“But why? You’ve got half an hour. When are you going to eat?”

“I’ll pick up a sandwich at the Snack Shop. Don’t worry about me,” she said.

But first she went to the telephone booth at the back of the drugstore and called her mother. “I won’t be home for dinner,” she said bluntly.

“But darling, why? We’re having lamb chops and baked potatoes and peas, your favourite dinner!” Her mother’s voice sounded almost petulant.

Why was it, Jane wondered as she stood listening, that adults always set such store by food, as though there were nothing more important than this to a teen-age girl? “I can’t explain now, but there’s nothing wrong,” she promised. “I’ll see you later, Mommy. About nine-thirty or ten o’clock.”

“Jane –”

But Jane had already hung up, anticipating an argument. At least she had phoned. At least her family knew she was all right. After checking the remnant of her week’s allowance — thirty-five cents — in her wallet, she walked over to the Snack Shop, which was completely empty at this hour, and ordered a ham sandwich and a cup of hot chocolate. Then she tried to eat. But the bread tasted like rubber in her mouth. She couldn’t seem to swallow. She was too scared. To walk through the kitchen door of that restaurant and make the necessary explanation was almost more than she could face.

Why hadn’t she asked Ken to phone them, or something? Too late, she realized he might at least have stopped and introduced her — paved the way. But it was too late now. She hadn’t even a time left to phone him. Pulling her coat around her shoulders, Jane walked over to the soda fountain and paid the proprietor. Then, in spite of her misgivings, she marched down Main Street with a steady tread.

Before ducking into the alley which led to the rear of the restaurant, Jane glanced up and down the sidewalk. Not a soul she knew was in sight. Taking a long breath, she hurried down the dark passageway, avoiding cartons and boxes stacked helter-skelter in the courtyard, and tugged at the back door.

It opened on a crowded, steamy kitchen. Immediately in front of Jane a man in a soiled white apron and chefs cap stared for an instant, then said, “You’ve got the wrong entrance, miss.”

“I’m taking over Ken Sanderson’s job for the evening,” she told him. Then her voice began to tremble. “He couldn’t come.”

The cook looked her up and down suspiciously, and Jane wished she had been wearing her ancient camel’s-hair coat instead of this new one. “This ain’t a job for a girl,” he said with a frown.

“For one night I think I can manage.” Jane looked him in the eye and was relieved to find that her voice had stopped trembling and sounded almost firm.

The fellow shrugged. “Hang your things on a hook. There’s Sanderson’s apron. And I guess you can see the sink.”

Until that moment Jane hadn’t noticed it, but she saw it now – the drainboards stacked with heavy, cheap crockery, with the leavings of many greasy dinners unscraped. The prospect of handling the dishes almost turned her stomach. So this was what Ken faced, night after night - this unappetizing shambles. For this he had quit the football team, relinquished his position as one of the big men of the senior class. Lost his appeal for Belinda.

For this? No. For his car.

As Jane tackled the job he had done so often, the wearisome, squalid task of handling hundreds of dirty dishes, she decided that her mental picture of Ken in relationship with his car would have to be revised. She had considered it a love affair, but it was more than that, she realized. It was very nearly a crusade.

The more Jane thought about it, the more such single-minded devotion acquired stature. This was no boyish crush! It was an interest so all-absorbing that it had become more vital than anything else in Ken’s life. No wonder she wanted to help him. No wonder he needed her!

Somehow, in some way as yet undecipherable, they would have to convince Mr. Sanderson that this Cadillac was no toy – that it might be the instrument that would shape his son’s career. As her ears filled with the growing clatter of dishes, the relaying of orders, the swish-swish of the swinging door, Jane knew that, for the first time in her life, she really understood what has motivated another human being. She not only understood Ken; she believed in him. The shreds of jealousy that still lingered in her consciousness were no longer poisonous. Their disintegration was almost complete.

“Here, young lady! Get a move on, or you’ll be here all night.” The voice was rough, but the waiter grinned, because Jane had been standing for some minutes without touching a dish.

“Yes, sir,” she said and smiled back. Hot and tired and sweaty, she still did not mind the rebuke. She was happy — happy in the same un-definable way she had known last summer. The world, all but invisible through the steamy windows, looked challenging and good.

* * *

The December night seemed bitter cold after the heat of the restaurant kitchen. Jane shivered inside her coat and pulled the collar around her ears as she turned toward home. In front of the drugstore the Wrights’ new station wagon was parked, and Bob’s father was just crossing the sidewalk. “Hello, Jane,” he said. “You’re out late. Want a ride?”

“I’d love it,” she said.

“Climb in.”

The encounter reminded her of the time when Bob had picked her up and driven her home from school. She hadn’t seen Bob, lately, but she asked about him now with casual interest.

“Oh, he’s doing fine,” Mr. Wright said. “Got himself a girl,” he added with a chuckle. “We haven’t met her yet, but we’ve seen her picture. She looks pretty cute.”

Jane laughed. “Oh-oh! D’you think it’s serious?”

“With four years of school ahead, I certainly hope not.”

“Bob’s levelheaded,” Jane said comfortingly. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

“All fathers worry,” Mr. Wright said jokingly, and Jane’s thoughts flashed to Mr. Sanderson and then to the night of Eric’s accident, when Mr. Wright had championed the boys who owned and drove old cars. What was it he had said then? “What Brookfield needs is a place where these youngsters can get together and pool their experience.” She reminded him of it now, changing the subject abruptly. “Do you remember saying that?” she asked him. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot”

“Why? Don’t tell me you ‘re going in for this fad!”

“No,” Jane replied with a grin, “but I’m editor of the yearbook and I’d like to do a page on hot rods if I didn’t think I’d get ran out of town on a rail. Everybody’s so disapproving, but I think if we got the fathers and sons together — and found the kind of a place you were talking about... Well, I think public opinion might change.”

Mr. Wright pulled up in front of Jane’s house and switched off the ignition. “Do you know any such place?” he asked.

“I might,” Jane said slowly. “There’s a big old barn that belongs to a friend of mine over Carlinville way. He might be willing to rent it if the boys could raise a little money. It’s got plenty of room, and this man is sort of a car bug himself.”

Mr. Wright put his arm across the back of the seat and regarded Jane thoughtfully. “I’d be willing to try to interest a few fathers,” he told her. “With Ben Sanderson first on my list!”

“You believe in Ken, don’t you?”

Mr. Wright nodded. “That lad has a flare for mechanics, no matter what his dad thinks. He was over the other night showing me a lot of literature he’s collected on the University of Colorado. That’s where he wants to go next year, you know.”

“I didn’t know,” Jane confessed. “To take what? Engineering?”

Mr. Wright nodded again, then laughed. “Of course he’s still an awful kid! What excited him most in the catalogue seemed to be the fact that there was a Cadillac motor to experiment with in engine lab.”

Jane chuckled, then became serious. “I hope, when his father gets home tomorrow, he won’t make him sell his Caddy.” She was asking for Mr. Wright’s help without putting it into words.

“I hope not too,” said Mr. Wright. Then he smiled and patted her gloved hand lightly. “I’ll do what I can.”

“Thank you,” Jane said softly, “and I’ll see about the barn, just in case.”

* * *

“ Where have you been?” asked Belinda, looking up from her Latin grammar, to which she had been giving only token attention for the past ten minutes. “And whose car was it outside? I never saw it before!”

“Oh, yes you have,” Jane said, ignoring her sister’s first question. ‘It belongs to Mr. Wright.”

“I don’t believe it.”

Jane shrugged. “You don’t have to.”

“But you’ve been parking for the longest time.”

“I’ll tell you something, if you promise to keep it a secret.”

“What?”

In a strange whisper Jane hissed, “Mr. Wright and I are having a romance.”

Belinda threw her Latin book at Jane and missed. It skittered across the rug and came to rest under the wing chair.

“Better a dead language than a dead sister,” commented Mr. Howard wryly. “Belinda, pick up that book.”

“Where have you been, Jane?” Her mother repeated the question with an air of slight concern.

“May I tell you privately?”

“I don’t see why the whole family shouldn’t know.”

Jane sighed. “Very well, then. I’ve been pinch-hitting for Ken at his dishwashing job.” She held out her reddened hands. “See?”

Belinda let out a loud whoop. “Now I’ve heard everything!”

“No,” Jane said, with a slight smile, “you haven’t. And I doubt if you ever will.”

* *

It was two o’clock in the morning and Jane was deep in a dreamless sleep when Ken came home, tiptoeing quietly into the house next door. She looked for him in the morning, loitering on the way to school in the hopes that he might catch up with her, but he didn’t appear. He failed to show up for assembly, and, she discovered from Jack Preston, did not arrive for second-period geometry. Cutting classes like this was serious, but Jane thought she knew where he was.

As the day dragged along, the suspense became unbearable. When he didn’t join the noon crowd in the cafeteria, Jane became too concerned to sit it out. Pleading a headache, she parked her books in her homeroom desk and walked the mile and a half to the Watsons’ barn.

Halfway up the lane she heard him whistling, and relief surged over her in a wave. Running the last few yards, she found him alone, wielding a paint-brush with meticulous care to hide the seams made by the replaced fender.

He didn’t seem in the least surprised to see her. “Hi!” he called, as he had a thousand times before. “Look! Good as new: Boy, is that Mr. Watson a right guy!”

Jane smiled.

“Peter, too,” Ken added hastily, “They know what they’re doing, both of them — and talk about equipment!” With his paintbrush he made a spreading gesture that included the whole barn.

Jane couldn’t see anything that looked spectacular, but the remark brought to mind her conversation with Mr. Wright. “Ken,” she said, “I’ve been thinking about something. I think you boys should have a hot rod club.”

“Ha! Fat chance!” Ken lowered his paintbrush. “Can you imagine my pop?”

“If your pop were one of the organizers,” Jane persisted, “if he and Mr. Wright and some of the other fathers got together and became contributing members, they might wake up to the fact that you aren’t road maniacs. Just think about it, Ken. Suppose you could interest the police department, and the Parent-Teachers, and have a shop where you could accomplish things together, instead,” she added impishly, “of making mistakes separately.”

Ken stopped working and began to listen. “A shop? Where?”

“Here, maybe.”

“Here?”

Jane nodded. “Mr. Watson loves cars. He might be a tremendous help. And I don’t imagine he’s so rich he wouldn’t consider renting his barn.”

“But could he put up with us? A lot of kids barging in and out, I mean.”

“He hasn’t any children of his own. He might enjoy it,” Jane suggested. “Peter’s only on loan, you know. He’s going to Oxford next fall.”

“He is?” Ken’s attention seemed suddenly to be diverted. He looked at Jane speculatively. “You don’t say so.”

Jane frowned. “Pay attention,” she said sternly. “This is important.”

“Yeah,” Ken grinned. “It is.”

* * *

Jane got back to school in time for the yearbook staff meeting, which she suddenly remembered had been called for three-thirty that afternoon. She explained to Miss Knauer that a couple of aspirin tablets had cured her headache and she felt just fine. At the same time she offered up a personal prayer that she would be excused for the white lie.

Ken had suggested that she might ride out to the airport with him, but she had refused. “This is your show,” she told him. Then she added, “Talk to your dad about college. Tell him you want to major in engineering, and how much this car has meant to you in making up your mind. Then consult him about this idea for a hot rod club. Ask him. Don’t tell him. I think he’s been feeling left out.”

It was a shrewd diagnosis, one which Jane was well qualified to present; and it impressed Ken, she could tell. But nevertheless she left him with a certain trepidation. Ken seemed to be a lad who always managed to walk knee-deep into hot water.

At the staff meeting it was hard to keep her mind on the business at hand. As it drew near four-thirty she became increasingly jitter, and twice Gordon had to recall her to the subject under discussion. “I think those aspirin pills have made you groggy,” he murmured.

Jane shook her head and tried to concentrate, but at five o’clock, when the meeting finally broke up, she grabbed her coat and hurried out of the room with scarcely a good-bye. “I think Jane’s getting temperamental,” murmured Sue Harvey, but Gordon defended her. “She’s got a lot on her mind,” he said.

Franklin Street looked sleepy and sedate in its sober winter dress. Quite unaware that this was a time of crisis, it seemed to be hibernating. Not even an unseemly noise disturbed its calm.

Both the Howards’ house and the Sandersons’ shared this quiet. Obviously Ken and his father had not yet arrived home. Jane slowed her steps to a stroll and meandered up the front walk. If only they’d drive up right now! One glimpse of Mr. Sanderson’s face should tell her all she wanted to know.

The minutes dragged maddeningly. She hung up her coat, got a coke from the refrigerator, drank it, and wandered upstairs. With one eye on the window she combed her hair, applied fresh lipstick, and opened her history notebook, but it wasn’t this kind of history that interested her today.

Her mother came in and called, “Yoohoo!” and Jane called “Yoohoo” back, but she didn’t go downstairs. Belinda appeared with a boy Jane knew only vaguely. They stood by the front steps talking and giggling for full ten minutes, but still no Cadillac appeared.

A delivery truck pulled into the Wrights’ drive and backed out again. The Pritchards’ setter began to bark. Belinda called “Bye now!” to the boy who had brought her home and banged the front door as she came in. Jane began to bite her fingernails, a disgusting habit she had outgrown in third grade.

Why didn’t they come?

“Jane!”

Jumping as though she had been shot, Jane called back, “Yes, Mother.”

“Can you come here a minute? I need some help.”

Of course a minute was nothing, but when it lengthened into five Jane began to feel slightly frantic, and by the time she managed to get back to the front of the house, the Cadillac was parked in the drive and Ken and his father had disappeared indoors.

So it was Belinda, after all, who relayed the news. “Mr. Sanderson just got home,” she said.

“Oh?” Jane did her best to appear casual, but it was futile. “How did he look?”

“Look?” Linda glanced up from the sub-deb page of a new magazine. “As a matter of fact, he seemed pleased as Punch about something, which is unusual, considering the fact that he was riding in Ken’s car.”

The sigh of relief which Jane gave was no less heartfelt because it was silent. She collapsed into a chair just as a familiar whistle sounded in the side yard. Two short, one long. It was their old signal. Trying to avoid the appearance of haste, she went through the dining room to the kitchen, snatched up a sweater from a chair, and shut the back door softly behind her.

“Ken?”

He was by her side in a flash. “Jane, it worked!” Grabbing her hands, he squeezed them so hard that they hurt. “It worked just fine. I said everything you told me. I practiced all the way out to the airport so I wouldn’t make any mistakes. Know where he is now? Going over the figures on my spare-parts business! He acts interested, really interested. And he’s promised to talk to Mr. Wright about the hot rod club.”

“Oh, Ken,” Jane breathed softly, “I’m so glad.”

In mutual accord, they started to walk back across the spongy grass toward the old walnut tree. Ken was so keyed up with excitement that he kept right on talking. “You know, he even asked me to let him drive her, and he didn’t seem to care that people stared at us, because of course without a paint job she does look sort of funny. The engine purred like a tabby cat. Was I ever proud!”

* * *

Jane roughed in the lettered heading: “Brookfield’s New Hot Rod Club,” then took up a group of snapshots, numbered on the back by the art editor, and began writing captions for them.

“Ken Sanderson Elected President of ‘Road Runners.’ ”

“Watsons’ Barn Becomes Club Headquarters.”

“Fathers Join Sons in Setting Up Rules and Regs.”

She sat back and stared at the littered table in the yearbook office, where she was working all alone. It was pleasant here in the early dusk, pleasant and quiet and warm. She felt shut away from the world, adrift in a sea of timelessness. Outside, the town was busy with Christmas shoppers. Varicolored lights twinkled on the wires which crisscrossed Main Street, but here, in the comfortable disorder to which she had grown so accustomed, there was no hint of the holiday season. In a way she wished the year’s end could be postponed, because it meant that the end of her job was also in sight.

She had loved it, Jane admitted to herself, really loved it. The work had sometimes been tedious, sometimes stimulating, but she had loved it all. And she knew, with a deep, modest pride of creation, that she had been successful. Together with the members of her staff, who had become friends in the process, she had managed to build a book that would be a credit to the junior class.

Gordon put his head in at the door. “Still at it?”

Jane nodded, smiling.

“Come on, knock off. I’ll buy you a hot chocolate at the Snack Shop.”

“All right.” Jane gathered up her papers a little regretfully.

“You’ll miss it, won’t you?” Gordon asked, watching her.

“Yes,” Jane admitted without equivocation.

“So will I.”

They looked at one another in complete understanding – two young people who had been partners in a business both had found satisfying. Then, as though it were almost improper to be able to read one another’s thoughts, they looked away.

At the Snack Shop the remnants of the high-school crowd still sprawled at the tables. Jane and Gordon joined Trudy, who was sitting with Eric and Jack at the counter.

“Hello, you busy bees,” Trudy greeted them.

Eric leaned across Jack and asked, “Are you going to use my picture on the hot rod page? I want to impress my old man.”

Gordon glanced at Jane and retorted, “It’s a staff secret. We’re not telling, are we?” Jane shook her head.

The usual teasing went on, casual, friendly, unimportant; but Jane realized as she sat there waiting for her chocolate to cool that both she and Gordon had become completely a part of the nonsense. They no longer hovered on the outskirts of the group, and she wondered why and how this had come about.

The yearbook had a great deal to do with it. Of this she was sure. They both had acquired self-confidence and self-respect. It was lovely to feel that she belonged again, and that Ken and she were no longer enemies. It was lovely to walk into the Snack Shop without feeling abject or unattractive or jealous of Belinda, who right now was sitting at a table in the corner completely surrounded by boys.

They were mostly sophomore boys, Jane noticed, although a couple of juniors could be spotted in the group. At a sudden shout of laughter, Gordon glanced their way. “That sister of yours,” he said to Jane, “certainly packs a wallop. Listen to that.”

“Linda can be very funny,” Jane said, and meant it. She was beginning to realize that Belinda and Sue had a lot in common. Each was always the center of a group.

A few minutes later Ken strolled in and came over to the counter. “Nobody’s sending telegrams today,” he said. “Too busy Christmas shopping, I guess.” He stood behind Jane’s stool for a few minutes, until she had finished her chocolate. “Come on,” he said then. “I’ll drive you home.”

Jane glanced at Gordon, who said, with a grin, “It’s pretty cold out. If you can get a ride...”

“Thanks anyway, for the chocolate.”

“Don’t mention it. My pleasure.” He made a deep bow.

The Cadillac stood by the curb, gleaming with new black paint, which made it look more than ever like a hearse. Ken opened the door for Jane ceremoniously, then came around and got behind the wheel.

“I wrote captions for the hot rod page today,” Jane told him as they rolled down Main Street beneath the arches of light. “It looks good.”

“It does, hey? That’s slick.” Ken drove in silence for a few minutes, then said, “By rights you should be club president. It was all your idea.”

Jane laughed. “Nonsense. It was Mr. Wright’s, really.”

“Stop being modest. I don’t say things very well, but I want you to know I appreciate... everything. And I want to tell you I’m sorry I called you a – a stinker, that time. I guess I was pretty sore.”

“I guess I was too, Ken. And you were right. I didn’t really need the money.”

Ken looked suddenly alert. “Say, you don’t still have it lying around, do you? I’ve got a deal...”

* * *

Dressing for the Christmas dance at the Country Club, Jane thought how fortunately everything had turned out.

She had invited Peter, because she had a strong sense of obligation to him. He had helped her over some pretty high hurdles, and besides, she liked him. But in her heart she wished she could have asked Ken.

Peter had accepted at once, with pleasure, and then just yesterday had come down with German measles, of all things. He had phoned, sounding both miserable and apologetic, and late this afternoon two gardenias had arrived, with a card saying: “Sorry I can’t be with you, but have a jolly good time.”

Ken, who knew he was playing second fiddle, didn’t make an issue of it. “Sure, I’d like to go,” he told Jane. “It’ll seem sort of good to get back with the old gang.” She could see the light in his bedroom now and knew, to her satisfaction, that he also was dressing. For once he might be on time.

Belinda, in the next room, must be dousing herself with toilet water. Its penetrating odor made Jane call, “Hey, who’s the lucky man?”

Pulling a nylon slip over her head, Linda came to Jane’s door. “You’ll never guess,” she said, “but I’ll be a good sport and tell you. Gordon Park.”

“Gordon?” Jane turned from the mirror, disturbed. “But I thought you took a dim view of Gordon.”

Linda shrugged. “That was last fall. Besides,” she added wickedly, “any port in a storm. I didn’t have a date tonight and there’s a movie I want to see.”

Jane frowned and shook her lipstick at her younger sister. “Don’t underestimate Gordon!” she warned. “He’s a very swell guy.”

Turning serious for an instant, Belinda replied, “I don’t underestimate him. You see, he really likes me. I’ve known ever since that night in the Snack Shop, when all your crowd was giving me a big play, but he just now got up enough courage to ask me for a date.”

She went on back to her room and Jane put the finishing touches on her face and hurried downstairs to rescue Peter’s flowers from the refrigerator. Ken came in the front door just as she was pinning them on her coat. “Hey, where did you get those?” he asked. “Maybe I should’ve…” Then he flushed beet red.

“They’re from Peter,” Jane told him candidly. “You don’t mind if I wear them, do you?”

“No, of course not. Why should I?” Ken muttered, but he looked embarrassed and hurried her out to the car without any further conversation. “Why didn’t you tell me you liked to get flowers?” he asked, after they had driven a couple of blocks.

“Oh, Ken, it doesn’t matter, really.”

“It does matter, to me.”

“Don’t let’s argue. I want to have a wonderful evening.” Jane snuggled back against the upholstery and tried to look winning, but Ken still frowned.

“You’re pretty fond of Peter Shakespeare, aren’t you?” he said, after an interval, and Jane smiled to herself, recognizing the remark as the same one Peter had made about Ken.

“ Fond isn’t the word,” she told him gently. “I like him, yes.”

Pulling into the Country Club parking lot, Ken switched off the ignition and gave a happy sigh. “I can’t say I blame you,” he admitted, “but I kind of wish things were different. I wish we could go back to the way things were last summer, before you gave me the gate.”

“I gave you the gate?” Jane was incredulous.

“Well, that night coming home from Trudy’s you made it pretty obvious...” He turned and faced Jane anxiously, his arm along the back of the seat. “We couldn’t go back, could we? I mean it would be simply swell…”

Jane shook her head very slowly, but she reached out and covered Ken’s hand with hers. “No, we couldn’t go back,” she told him, “but we could go ahead. If you’d like it that way, I would too.”

Exercise 3. Find the following words and word combinations in the text you have read. Write out and learn the pronunciation. Give the Russian equivalents:

1. to back out

2. the remnant of smth

3. to be in sight

4. to look smb in the eye

5. to be level-headed

6. to have a flare for smth

7. to see about smth

8. to have a romance

9. to catch up with smb

10. to plead smth (a headache)

11. to put up with smb/smth

12. to keep one’s mind on smth

13. to outgrow a habit

14. to give a sigh of relief

15. to be a credit to smb

16. to come down with some disease

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