A funny incident from life.

Question: find participial turnover 1. At the threshold, on a chest, a grandmother sits bent over (not) moving (not) breathing. 2. Grandfather and grandmother listened to their mother silently (without) interrupting. 3. Mother (not) indignantly talked about my tricks. 4. (Without) answering, my mother looked into my face so that I was completely confused. 5. Suddenly the grandfather walked out into the middle of the room, knelt down and (un) resisting poked forward, touching the floor with his hand.

find the participial phrase 1. At the threshold, on a chest, the grandmother sits bent over (not) moving (not) breathing. 2. Grandfather and grandmother listened to their mother silently (without) interrupting. 3. Mother (not) indignantly talked about my tricks. 4. (Without) answering, my mother looked into my face so that I was completely confused. 5. Suddenly the grandfather walked out into the middle of the room, knelt down and (un) resisting poked forward, touching the floor with his hand.

Answers:

1. Without moving 2. Without interrupting 3. Indignant 4. Without answering 5. Unable to resist commas: At the threshold, on the chest, the grandmother sits bent over, not moving, not breathing. 2. Grandfather and grandmother listened to mother in silence, without interrupting.3. My mother, indignant, talked about my tricks. 4. Without answering, my mother looked into my face so that I was completely confused. 5. Suddenly the grandfather walked out into the middle of the room, knelt down and, unable to resist, pushed forward, touching the floor with his hand.

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One Saturday, early in the morning, I went to Petrovna’s garden to catch bullfinches; I caught for a long time, but the red-breasted, important birds did not go into the trap; teasing with their beauty, they walked amusingly along the silver-plated crust, flew up onto the branches of the bush, warmly dressed in frost, and swayed on them like living flowers, showering bluish sparks of snow. It was so beautiful that the failure of the hunt did not cause annoyance; I was not a very passionate hunter, I always liked the process more than the result; I loved watching how the little birds lived and thinking about them. It’s good to sit alone on the edge of a snowy field, listening to birds chirping in the crystal silence of a frosty day, and somewhere far away the bell of a passing troika, the sad lark of the Russian winter, sings as it flies away... Chilled in the snow, feeling that my ears were frostbitten, I collected the traps and cages, climbed over the fence into my grandfather’s garden and went home - the gate to the street was open, a huge man was leading three horses harnessed to a large covered sleigh from the yard, the horses were smoking thickly ferry, the man was whistling cheerfully - my heart trembled.-Who did you bring? He turned around, looked at me from under his arm, jumped onto the irradiator and said:- Butt! Well, that didn't concern me; if pop, then probably to the guests. - Eh, chickens! - the man shouted and whistled, touching the horses with the reins, filling the silence with merriment; the horses rushed together into the field, I looked after them, closed the gate, but when I entered the empty kitchen, there was a sound in the room next to me. powerful voice mother, her clear words: - What now - you need to kill me? Without undressing, leaving the cages, I jumped out into the hallway and ran into my grandfather; he grabbed me by the shoulder, looked into my face with wild eyes and, swallowing something with difficulty, said hoarsely: - Mother has arrived, go! Wait... - He rocked me so that I could barely stand on my feet, and pushed me towards the door to the room: - Go, go... I stumbled into the door, upholstered in felt and oilcloth, for a long time I could not find the bracket, fumbling with my hands trembling from the cold and excitement, finally I quietly opened the door and stood on the threshold, blinded. “Here he is,” said the mother. - Lord, what a huge one! What, you don’t recognize? The way you dress him, well... Yes, his ears are white! Mommy, give me some goose fat quickly... She stood in the middle of the room, bending over me, throwing off my clothes, spinning me around like a ball; her big body was wrapped in a warm and soft red dress, wide, like a peasant's chapan, it was fastened with large black buttons from the shoulder and - diagonally - to the hem. I have never seen such a dress. Her face seemed smaller to me than it was before, smaller and whiter, and her eyes grew, became deeper and her hair was more golden. Undressing me, she threw the clothes to the threshold, her crimson lips curled in disgust, and a commanding voice continued to sound: - Why are you keeping silent? Glad? Ugh, what a dirty shirt... Then she rubbed goose fat into my ears; it hurt, but she gave off a refreshing, delicious smell, and it lessened the pain. I pressed myself close to her, looking into her eyes, numb with excitement, and through her words I heard my grandmother’s quiet, cheerless voice: “He’s self-willed, he’s completely gotten away with it, he’s not even afraid of his grandfather... Eh, Varya, Varya...” - Well, don’t whine, mom, it’ll be okay! In comparison with my mother, everything around me was small, pitiful and old, I also felt old, like my grandfather. Squeezing me with her strong knees, smoothing my hair with a heavy warm hand, she said: - You need to cut your hair. And it's time for school. Do you want to study?- I've already learned. - We need a little more. No, how strong you are, huh? And she laughed with a thick, warming laugh, playing with me. The grandfather entered, gray, bristling, with reddened eyes; She pushed me away with a wave of her hand, asking loudly: - Well, what then, dad? Leave? He stopped at the window, scratching the ice on the glass with his fingernail, was silent for a long time, everything around me tensed up, became creepy, and, as always in moments of such tension, eyes and ears grew all over my body, my chest expanded strangely, making me want to scream. “Lexei, get out,” the grandfather said dully. - For what? - Mother asked, drawing me to her again. - You won’t go anywhere, I forbid... The mother stood up, floated across the room like a glowing cloud, and stopped behind the grandfather’s back. - Dad, listen... He turned to her, squealing:- Shut up! “Well, I don’t allow you to shout at me,” the mother said quietly. Grandmother rose from the sofa, shaking her finger:- Varvara! And the grandfather sat down on a chair and muttered: - Wait, who am I? A? Like this? And suddenly he roared in a voice that was not his own: - You disgraced me, Varka!.. “Go away,” my grandmother ordered me; I went into the kitchen, depressed, climbed onto the stove and listened for a long time as behind the bulkhead they all talked at once, interrupting each other, and then remained silent, as if suddenly falling asleep. It was about a child born by a mother and given by her to someone, but it was impossible to understand why the grandfather was angry: was it because the mother gave birth without asking him, or because she did not bring him the child? Then he entered the kitchen, disheveled, purple and tired, followed by his grandmother, wiping tears from her cheeks with the hem of her jacket; He sat down on the bench, leaning his hands on it, bending over, trembling and biting his gray lips, she knelt down in front of him, quietly but hotly saying: - Father, forgive her for Christ’s sake, forgive her! And it’s not some kind of sleigh that breaks. Does this not happen among gentlemen and merchants? Look what a woman she is! Well, forgive me, because no one is righteous... The grandfather leaned back against the wall, looked into her face and grumbled, smiling crookedly, sobbing: - Well, yes, of course! But what about it? You won’t forgive anyone, you will forgive everyone, well, yes, oh you... He leaned towards her, grabbed her by the shoulders and began to shake her, whispering quickly: - And the Lord, don’t be afraid, doesn’t forgive anything, huh? He caught me at the grave and punishes me, last days ours, but - there is no peace, no joy and - not to be! And - mark my words! - We’ll still die beggars, beggars! Grandmother took his hands, sat down next to him and laughed quietly, lightly. - What a disaster! What were you afraid of - beggars! Well, and - beggars. You know, stay at home, and I’ll go around the world - don’t be afraid, they’ll give me something, we’ll be well-fed! You - drop everything! He suddenly grinned, turned his neck like a goat, and, grabbing his grandmother by the neck, pressed himself against her, small, crumpled, sobbing: - Eh, duh-hurray, you blessed fool, the last person for me! You don’t feel sorry for anything, you fool, you don’t understand anything! You would remember: either you and I didn’t work, or I didn’t sin for their sake - well, at least now, at least a little... Then I, unable to bear it any longer, burst into tears, jumped off the stove and rushed to them, sobbing with joy that they spoke so unprecedentedly well, with grief for them both because their mother came and because they equally accepted me in their cry, they both hug me, squeeze me, sprinkling tears, and my grandfather whispers in my ears and eyes: - Oh, you little devil, you’re here too! Now your mother has arrived, now you will be with her, grandfather, the old devil, the evil one - away now, huh? Grandmother, potatchica, spoiled girl - away? Oh you... He spread his arms, pushing us aside, and stood up, saying loudly, angrily: - Everyone moves away, everyone strives to the side - everything goes apart... Well, call her, or something! More likely... Grandma walked out of the kitchen, and he, bowing his head, said into the corner: - All-merciful Lord, well, you see, here! And he hit himself hard and loudly in the chest with his fist; I didn’t like it, I didn’t like the way he spoke to God at all, always seeming to show off to him. Her mother came, her red clothes made the kitchen brighter, she was sitting on a bench at the table, her grandfather and grandmother were on her sides, the wide sleeves of her dress lay on their shoulders, she was quietly and seriously telling something, and they listened to her silently, without interrupting. Now they were both small, and it seemed that she was their mother. Tired from excitement, I fell fast asleep on the bed. In the evening, the old people, dressed festively, went to the all-night vigil, the grandmother cheerfully winked at the grandfather, in the uniform of a shop foreman, in a raccoon coat and loose trousers, winked and said to his mother: - Look what the father is like - a clean little goat! The mother laughed cheerfully. When I stayed with her in her room, she sat down on the sofa, tucked her legs under her, and said, clapping her hand next to her: - Come to me! Well, how you live is bad, huh? How did I live? - Don't know. - Grandfather beats? - Now - not very much. - Yes? You tell me what you want, okay? I didn’t want to talk about my grandfather, I started talking about how a very nice man lived in this room, but no one loved him, and my grandfather refused to give him the apartment. It was clear that the mother did not like this story; she said:- Well, what else? I told about the three boys, about how the colonel drove me out of the yard - she hugged me tightly.- What rubbish... And she fell silent, squinting, looking at the floor, shaking her head. I asked: - Why was grandfather angry with you? - I feel guilty before him. - And you should have brought him a child... She rolled away, frowning, biting her lips, and laughed, squeezing me. - Oh, you monster! You - shut up about it, do you hear? Shut up and don’t even think! She said something quietly, sternly and incomprehensibly for a long time, then she got up and began to walk, tapping her fingers on her chin, moving her thick eyebrows. A tallow candle was burning on the table, floating and reflected in the emptiness of the mirror, dirty shadows were crawling across the floor, a lamp was glowing in the corner in front of the icon, the icy window was silvered by moonlight. The mother looked around, as if looking for something on the bare walls, on the ceiling. - When do you go to bed? - A little later. “However, you slept during the day,” she remembered and sighed. I asked: - Do you want to leave? - Where to? - she responded in surprise and, raising my head, looked into my face for a long time, so long that tears came to my eyes.- What are you doing? - My neck hurts. It hurt my heart, I immediately felt that she would not live in this house, she would leave. “You’ll be like your father,” she said, kicking the rugs aside with her feet. — Did your grandmother tell you about him?- Yes. “She loved Maxim very much, very much!” And he too...- I know. The mother looked at the candle, winced and extinguished it, saying:- That's better! Yes, it’s fresher and cleaner, the dark, dirty shadows stopped fiddling around, light blue spots lay on the floor, golden sparks lit up on the glass of the window.-Where did you live? As if remembering something long forgotten, she named several cities and kept circling around the room silently, like a hawk. -Where did you get this dress? - I sewed it myself. I do everything myself. It was nice that she didn’t look like anyone else, but it was sad that she didn’t say much, and if you didn’t ask her, she was completely silent. Then she sat down on the sofa with me again, and we sat in silence, huddled close to each other, until the old people arrived, saturated with the smell of wax and incense, solemnly quiet and affectionate. They dined festively, decorously, and spoke little and carefully at the table, as if afraid to awaken someone’s sensitive sleep. Soon my mother began to energetically teach me “civic” literacy: she bought books, and according to one of them - “ Native word“- I mastered the wisdom of reading the civil press in a few days, but my mother immediately suggested that I memorize poetry, and from this our mutual grief began. The poems said:

Big road, straight road,
You take a lot of space from God...
An ax and a shovel couldn't handle you,
You are soft on the hoof and rich in dust.

I read “simple” instead of “spacious”, “chopped” instead of “leveled”, “hooves” instead of “hoof”. “Well, think about it,” the mother inspired, “what’s simple?” Monster! Pro-sto-ra, you understand? I understood and still read the “simple” one, surprising myself. She said, angry, that I was stupid and stubborn; it was bitter to hear, I very conscientiously tried to remember the damned verses and mentally read them without mistakes, but when reading aloud, I inevitably misinterpreted them. I hated these elusive lines and, out of spite, began to deliberately distort them, absurdly selecting monotonous words in a row; I really liked it when enchanted poems were deprived of all meaning. But this fun was not in vain: one day, after a successful lesson, when my mother asked if I had finally learned the poems, I, against my will, muttered:

Road, bicorn, cottage cheese, inexpensive,
Hooves, butts, trough...

I came to my senses late: my mother, resting her hands on the table, stood up and asked separately:- What is it? “I don’t know,” I said, stunned.- No, still? - This is true. - What is it? - Funny. - Go to the corner. - For what? She repeated quietly but menacingly:- In the corner! - In which? Without answering, she looked into my face in such a way that I was completely confused, not understanding what she wanted? In the corner under the images there was a round table, on it was a vase with fragrant dry herbs and flowers, in the other front corner there was a chest covered with a carpet, the back corner was occupied by a bed, but there was no fourth corner, the door frame stood right up to the wall. “I don’t know what you want,” I said, despairing of understanding her. She sat down, paused, rubbing her forehead and cheeks, then asked: — Did your grandfather put you in a corner?- When? - Actually, someday! - she shouted, hitting the table twice with her palm.- No. I do not remember. - Do you know that it is a punishment to stand in the corner? - No. Why - punishment? She sighed. - F-fu! Come here. I approached and asked her: - Why are you yelling at me? - Why are you deliberately misinterpreting poetry? As best I could, I explained to her that when I closed my eyes, I remember the poems as they were printed, but if I read them, other words would come up. -Are you not pretending? I answered no, but immediately thought: “maybe I’m pretending?” And suddenly, slowly, I read the poems absolutely correctly; it surprised and destroyed me. Feeling that my face suddenly seemed to be swollen, and my ears were bloodshot, heavy and there was an unpleasant noise in my head, I stood in front of my mother, burning in shame, and through my tears I saw how sadly her face darkened, her lips compressed, her eyebrows knitted together. - How is this possible? - she asked in a strange voice. - So, he was pretending? - Don't know. I did not want... “It’s difficult with you,” she said, lowering her head. - Go! She began to demand that I memorize more and more poems, and my memory perceived these even lines worse and worse, and the invincible desire to alter, distort the poems, and choose other words for them grew more and more and more angry; I managed this easily - unnecessary words appeared in swarms and quickly confused the obligatory, bookish ones. It often happened that a whole line became invisible to me, and no matter how honestly I tried to catch it, it was not given to the sight of memory. The plaintive poem, it seems, by Prince Vyazemsky brought me a lot of grief:

Both evening and early
Many elders, and widows, and orphans
For Christ's sake he calls for help,

And the third line

They walk under the windows with a bag

I carefully let it pass. My mother, indignant, told my grandfather about my exploits; he said ominously:

- He's pampering! He has a memory: he knows prayers better than I do. He’s lying, his memory is made of stone, if anything is carved on it, it’s so strong! You - whip him! My grandmother also accused me: - He remembers fairy tales, he remembers songs, but aren’t songs the same as poems? All this was true, I felt guilty, but as soon as I began to learn the poems, other words appeared from somewhere of their own accord, crawling like cockroaches and also forming lines.

Like ours, at the gate
Many elders and orphans
They walk, whine, ask for bread,
They dial it - they wear it to Petrovna,
They sell her for cows
And they drink vodka in the ravine.

At night, lying on the bed with my grandmother, I tiredly repeated to her everything that I remembered from books, and everything that I composed myself; sometimes she laughed, but more often she scolded me: - Because, you know, you can! And there is no need to laugh at the poor, God bless them! Christ was a beggar and all the saints too... I muttered:

I don't like beggars
And grandfather too,
How can we be here?
Forgive me, God!
Grandfather is always looking for
Why beat me...

- What are you saying, dry your tongue! - Grandmother was angry. - How will grandfather hear these words of yours?- Let it go! “It’s in vain that you’re being mischievous and making your mother angry!” She’s not doing well without you,” grandmother coaxed thoughtfully and affectionately. - Why is she not feeling well? - Be silent! You don't understand... - I know, this is her grandfather...- Shut up, I say! My life was bad, I felt a feeling close to despair, but for some reason I wanted to hide it, I was afraid, I was mischievous. My mother’s lessons became more and more abundant and more incomprehensible; I easily mastered arithmetic, but I hated writing and did not understand grammar at all. But the main thing that depressed me was that I saw and felt how difficult it was for my mother to live in my grandfather’s house; She frowned more and more, looked at everyone with someone else's eyes, she sat silently for a long time at the window into the garden and somehow all of her colors faded. The first days after her arrival she was smart, fresh, but now there were dark spots under her eyes, she walked around all day unkempt, in a wrinkled dress, without buttoning her jacket, this spoiled her and offended me: she should always be beautiful, strict, clean dressed - the best! During lessons, she looked through me with deep eyes - at the wall, out the window, asked me in a tired voice, forgot the answers and became increasingly angry, screaming - this is also offensive: a mother should be fair more than anyone, as in fairy tales. Sometimes I asked her: -Are you uncomfortable with us? She responded angrily: - Do your job. I also saw that my grandfather was preparing something that frightened my grandmother and mother. He often locked himself in his mother’s room and whined and squealed there, like the unpleasant wooden pipe of the lopsided shepherd Nikanor. During one of these conversations, the mother shouted to the whole house: - This won’t happen, no! And the door slammed, and the grandfather howled. It was in the evening; grandmother, sitting in the kitchen at the table, sewed a shirt for grandfather and whispered something to herself. When the door slammed, she said, listening: - She went to the guests, oh my God! Suddenly the grandfather jumped into the kitchen, ran up to the grandmother, hit her on the head and hissed, swinging his bruised hand. - Don’t talk about anything you don’t need, witch! “You old fool,” the grandmother said calmly, straightening her broken head. - I’ll be silent, of course! I will always tell her everything that I find out about your plans... He rushed at her and began to quickly beat his fists on the grandmother’s large head; without defending herself, without pushing him away, she said: - Well, hit, hit, you fool! Well, here you go! I, from the floor, began to throw pillows, blankets, boots from the stove at them, but the enraged grandfather did not notice this, but the grandmother fell to the floor, he hit her head with his feet, finally tripped and fell, knocking over a bucket of water. He jumped up, spitting and snorting, looked around wildly and ran to his attic; Grandmother stood up, groaning, sat down on the bench, and began sorting out her tangled hair. I jumped off the floor, she said to me angrily: - Pick up the pillows and put everything on the stove! I also thought of throwing pillows! Is this your business? And that old demon went wild - he was a fool! Suddenly she gasped, winced and, bowing her head, called to me: - Look, why does it hurt here? I took apart her heavy hair - it turned out that a hairpin had gone deep under her skin, I pulled it out, found another one, my fingers went numb. - I better mother I'll call you, I'm afraid! She waved her hand: - What you? I'll call you! Thank God she didn’t hear or see, but you didn’t! Get lost! And she began to rummage through her thick, black mane with the flexible fingers of the lacemaker. Gathering my courage, I helped her pull out two more thick, curved studs from under her skin.- Does it hurt you? “It’s okay, tomorrow I’ll heat the bathhouse, wash myself, it will pass.” And she began to ask me affectionately: “And you, dear soul, don’t tell your mother that he beat me, do you hear?” They are already angry at each other. Will not say?- No. - Well, remember! Come on, let's clean everything up here. Isn't my face beaten up? Well, okay, so everything is covered... She started wiping the floor, and I said from the bottom of my heart: - You are absolutely a saint, they torture and torture you, but nothing happens to you! - Why are you talking nonsense? Holy... Found where! She grumbled for a long time, walking around on all fours, and I, sitting on the steps, thought out how to take revenge on my grandfather for her? The first time he beat my grandmother in front of my eyes was so disgusting and scary. Before me, in the darkness, his red face glowed, his red hair fluttered: resentment was burning in my heart, and it was annoying that I could not think of worthy revenge. But two days later, having entered his attic for some reason, I saw that he, sitting on the floor in front of an open stack, was sorting out papers in it, and on a chair lay his favorite calendar - twelve sheets of thick gray paper, divided into squares. the number of days in the month, and in each square there are figures of all the saints of the day. Grandfather treasured these calendars very much, allowing me to watch them only in those in rare cases, when for some reason he was especially pleased with me, and I always looked at these closely assembled gray small and cute figures with some special feeling. I knew the lives of some of them - Kirik and Julitta, Barbara the Great Martyr, Panteleimon and many more; I especially liked the sad life of Alexei the man of God and the beautiful poems about him: my grandmother often and touchingly read them to me. You used to look at hundreds of these people and quietly console yourself with the fact that there were always martyrs. But now I decided to cut up these saints, and when my grandfather went to the window, reading the blue paper with eagles, I grabbed several sheets, quickly ran downstairs, stole the scissors from my grandmother’s table and, climbing onto the floor, began to cut off the saints’ heads. He beheaded one row, and - I felt sorry for the saints; then I began to cut along the lines dividing the squares, but before I had time to chop up the second row, my grandfather appeared, stood up and asked: - Who allowed you to take the holy calendar? Seeing squares of paper scattered on the boards, he began to grab them, brought them to his face, threw them, grabbed them again, his jaw curled, his beard jumped, and he was breathing so hard that the pieces of paper flew to the floor. - What did you do? - he finally shouted and pulled me towards him by the leg; I turned over in the air, my grandmother picked me up in her arms, and my grandfather punched her and me and screamed:- I'll kill you! My mother appeared, I found myself in the corner, near the stove, and she, blocking me, said, catching and pushing away my grandfather’s hands, which were flying in front of her face: - What kind of disgrace? Come to your senses!.. Grandfather collapsed on the bench under the window, howling: - Killed! Everything, everything is against me, ah... - Shame on you? - The mother’s voice sounded dull. - Why are you still pretending? Grandfather screamed, kicked the bench, his beard stuck funny to the ceiling, and his eyes were tightly closed; It also seemed to me that he was ashamed of his mother, that he was really pretending, that’s why he closed his eyes. “I’ll glue these pieces onto your calico, it will be even better, stronger,” said the mother, looking at the scraps and sheets. - You see - everything is crumpled, caked, crumbling... She spoke to him as she spoke to me when, during lessons, I did not understand something, and suddenly grandfather stood up, busily straightened his shirt and vest, cleared his throat and said: - Stick it up today! I'll bring you the rest of the sheets now... He went to the door, but at the threshold he turned around, pointing at me with a crooked finger: - And he must be whipped! “It should,” my mother agreed, leaning towards me. - Why did you do this? - I did it on purpose. Let him not hit his grandmother, otherwise I’ll cut off his beard... Grandmother, who was taking off her torn jacket, said reproachfully, shaking her head: — He remained silent, as promised! And spat on the floor: - So that your tongue swells, don’t move it, don’t turn it! Mother looked at her, walked around the kitchen, and came up to me again. - When did he beat her? - And you, Varvara, would be ashamed to ask about this, is it your business? - Grandma said angrily. Her mother hugged her. - Eh, mother, my dear... - Here you are, mother! Step aside... They looked at each other and fell silent, separated: the grandfather was stomping in the hallway. In the very first days after her arrival, the mother became friends with a cheerful guest, a military wife, and almost every evening she went to the front half of the house, where people from Betleng also visited - beautiful ladies, officers. Grandfather didn’t like this; more than once, sitting in the kitchen at dinner, he shook his spoon and grumbled: - Damned ones, gathered again! Now they won't let me sleep until the morning. Soon he asked the guests to clean the apartment, and when they left, he brought two cartloads of different furniture from somewhere, placed them in the front rooms and locked them with a large padlock: “We don’t need guests, I’ll receive the guests myself!” And so, on holidays, guests began to appear: grandmother’s sister Matryona Ivanovna, a big-nosed, loud washerwoman, came in a silk striped dress and a golden head, with her sons: Vasily, a draftsman, long-haired, kind and cheerful, all dressed in gray; motley Victor, with a horse's head, a narrow face, sprinkled with freckles - even in the hallway, taking off his galoshes, he sang squeaky, like Parsley: This surprised and frightened me very much. Uncle Yakov came with a guitar, bringing with him a crooked and bald watchmaker, in a long black frock coat, quiet, looking like a monk. He always sat in the corner, tilted his head to the side and smiled, strangely supporting it with a finger stuck into his shaved cleft chin. He was dark, his single eye looked at everyone especially intently; This man spoke little and often repeated the same words: - Don’t bother, anyway, sir... When I saw him for the first time, I suddenly remembered how once, long ago, when I was still living on Novaya Street, drums were beating loudly and alarmingly outside the gates, along the street, from the prison to the square, a tall black cart was riding, surrounded by soldiers and people, and on it - on a bench - sat a small man in a round cloth hat, in chains; a black board with a large inscription in white words was hung on his chest - the man hung his head, as if reading the inscription, and swayed all over, jingling his chains. And when the mother said to the watchmaker: “Here is my son,” I fearfully backed away from him, hiding my hands. “Don’t bother,” he said, fearfully moving his entire mouth to his right ear, grabbed me by the belt, pulled me towards him, quickly and easily turned me around and let me go, approving: - Nothing, strong boy... I climbed into the corner, into a leather chair so large that you could lie in it - my grandfather always boasted, calling it the chair of Prince Gruzinsky - I climbed in and watched how boringly the big ones were having fun, how strangely and suspiciously the face of the watchmaker changed. It was oily, liquid, melted and floated; if he smiled, his thick lips moved onto his right cheek and his small nose also moved like a dumpling on a plate. The large protruding ears moved strangely, now rising along with the eyebrow of his seeing eye, now moving onto his cheekbones - it seemed that if he wanted, he could cover his nose with them, like with his palms. Sometimes, sighing, he would stick out his dark, round tongue, like a pestle, and, deftly making a perfect circle with it, stroke his thick, oily lips. All this was not funny, but only surprised, forcing him to keep an eye on him. They drank tea with rum - it had the smell of burnt onion feathers; they drank grandmother’s liqueurs, yellow as gold, dark as tar, and green; They ate hearty Varenets, rich honey cakes with poppy seeds, sweated, puffed and praised their grandmother. Having eaten, red and swollen, they sat decorously on chairs and lazily persuaded Uncle Yakov to play. He bent over the guitar and strummed, unpleasantly, annoyingly singing along:

Eh, we lived as best we could,
There was a sensation throughout the whole city, -
Ba-aryne from Kazan
Everything was explained in detail...

I thought it was a very sad song, and my grandmother said: - You, Yasha, would have played something else, the right song, huh? Do you remember, Motrya, what songs they used to sing? Straightening her rustling dress, the washerwoman said impressively: - Nowadays, mother, there is a different fashion... The uncle looked at the grandmother with narrowed eyes, as if she was sitting very far away, and continued to persistently sow sad sounds and intrusive words. The grandfather was talking mysteriously with the master, showing him something on his fingers, and he, raising an eyebrow, looked towards his mother, nodded his head, and his liquid face shimmered subtly. Mother always sat between the Sergeevs, talking quietly and seriously with Vasily; he sighed, saying: - Yes, we need to think about this... And Victor smiled satiatedly, shuffled his feet and suddenly sang in a squeaky voice: - Andrey-papa, Andrey-papa... Everyone fell silent in surprise and looked at him, and the washerwoman explained importantly: - He took this from kiyatra, they sing there... There were two or three such evenings, memorable for their oppressive boredom, then the watchmaker appeared in the afternoon, on Sunday, immediately after late mass. I was sitting in my mother’s room, helping her unlace a tattered bead embroidery, the door suddenly and quickly opened a crack, my grandmother stuck a frightened face into the room and immediately disappeared, whispering loudly: - Varya - he’s come! The mother did not move, did not flinch, but the door opened again, the grandfather stood on the threshold and said solemnly: - Get dressed, Varvara, go! Without getting up, without looking at him, the mother asked:- Where? - Bless you! Do not argue. He is a calm man, a master at his job, and a good father to Lexei... The grandfather spoke with unusual importance and kept stroking his sides with his palms, and his elbows trembled, bending behind his back, as if his arms wanted to stretch forward, and he was fighting against them. The mother calmly interrupted: - I'm telling you that this won't happen... Grandfather stepped towards her, stretched out his arms as if blind, bending over, bristling, and wheezed: - Go! Otherwise I’ll drive! For the braids... - Will you lead? - asked the mother, getting up; her face turned white, her eyes narrowed terribly, she quickly began to tear off her jacket and skirt and, left in only a shirt, went up to her grandfather: “Lead the way!” He bared his teeth, shaking his fist at her: - Varvara, get dressed! His mother pushed him away with her hand and grabbed the door bracket:- Well, let's go! “I’ll curse you,” said the grandfather in a whisper.- Not afraid. Well? She opened the door, but her grandfather grabbed her by the hem of her shirt, fell to his knees and whispered: - Varvara, devil, you will die! Don't be a shame... And quietly, pitifully whined: - Ma-at, ma-at... The grandmother had already blocked her mother’s path, waving her arms at her as if at a chicken, she drove her into the door and grumbled through her teeth: - Varka, you fool, what are you doing? Let's go, shameless girl! Having pushed her into the room, she locked the door with a hook and leaned towards her grandfather, lifting him with one hand and threatening him with the other: - Ooh, stupid old demon! She sat him down on the sofa, he flopped down like a rag doll, opened his mouth and shook his head; grandmother shouted to mother:- Get dressed, you! Picking up the dress from the floor, the mother said: “I won’t go to him,” do you hear? Grandma pushed me off the sofa: - Bring a ladle of water, quickly! She spoke quietly, almost in a whisper, calmly and authoritatively. I ran out into the hallway; heavy footsteps were stomping rhythmically in the front half of the house, and her voice boomed in my mother’s room:- I'll leave tomorrow! I entered the kitchen and sat down by the window, as if in a dream. The grandfather moaned and sobbed, the grandmother grumbled, then the door slammed, it became quiet and creepy. Remembering why I was sent, I scooped up water with a copper ladle, went out into the hallway - a watchmaker appeared from the front half, bending his head, stroking his fur hat with his hand and quacking. Grandmother, pressing her hands to her stomach, bowed to his back and said quietly: - You know yourself - you won’t be nice by force... He stumbled over the threshold of the porch and jumped out into the yard, and the grandmother crossed herself and trembled all over, either silently crying or laughing. - What you? - I asked, running up. She snatched the ladle from me, poured it on my feet and shouted: - Where did you go for water? Lock the door! And she went to her mother’s room, and I went back to the kitchen, listening to them, next to me, groaning, moaning and grumbling, as if moving unbearable weights from place to place. The day was bright; through two windows, through icy glass, slanting rays looked winter sun; on the table, cleared for dinner, pewter dishes gleamed dully, a decanter with red kvass and another with dark green grandfather’s vodka infused with the initial letter and St. John’s wort. Through the thawed windows one could see the dazzling sparkling snow on the roofs, and the silver caps on the fence posts and birdhouse sparkled. My birds played on the window frames, in cages pierced by the sun: cheerful tame siskins chirped, bullfinches creaked, and the goldfinch sang. But this cheerful, silver and ringing day did not please, it was unnecessary, and everything was unnecessary. I wanted to release the birds, I began to remove the cages - my grandmother ran in, slapping her hands on her sides, and rushed to the stove, swearing. - Oh, damned ones, blow you up with a mountain! Oh, you old fool, Akulina... She pulled the pie out of the oven, tapped the crust with her finger and spat angrily. - Well, it's dried up! So I warmed them up! Oh, demons, may you all be torn apart! Why are you staring, little owl? I would have killed all of you like skinny pots! And she began to cry, pouting, turning the pie from side to side, tapping her fingers on the dry crusts, large tears plopping down heavily on them. Grandfather and mother entered the kitchen; she threw the pie on the table so that the plates jumped. - Look what happened because of you, neither the bottom nor the tire! Her mother, cheerful and calm, hugged her, persuading her not to be upset; grandfather, crumpled and tired, sat down at the table and, tying a napkin around his neck, grumbled, squinting his numb eyes from the sun. - Forget it, nothing! We also ate good pies. The Lord is stingy, he pays for years in minutes... He does not recognize interest. Sit down, Varya... okay! He was as if mad, all the time during dinner he talked about God, about the wicked Ahab, about the hard lot of being a father - his grandmother angrily stopped him: - And you - know what to eat! The mother joked, sparkling with clear eyes. - What, were you scared just now? - she asked, pushing me. No, I wasn’t very scared then, but now I felt awkward and incomprehensible. They ate, as always on holidays, for a tiringly long time, a lot, and it seemed that these were not the same people who half an hour ago were shouting at each other, ready to fight, seething in tears and sobs. Somehow I couldn’t believe that they were doing all this seriously and that it was difficult for them to cry. And the tears, and their cries, and all the mutual torment, flaring up often and fading quickly, became familiar to me, excited me less and less, touched my heart less and less. Long later I realized that Russian people, due to their poverty and meagerness of life, generally love to amuse themselves with grief, play with it like children, and are rarely ashamed of being unhappy. In endless everyday life and grief - holiday and fire - fun; on an empty face and a scratch is a decoration...

This work has entered the public domain. The work was written by an author who died more than seventy years ago, and was published during his lifetime or posthumously, but more than seventy years have also passed since publication. It may be freely used by anyone without anyone's consent or permission and without payment of royalties.

please help me urgently: indicate the gerunds, perfect and imperfect.

Without answering, my mother looked at my face. Grandfather and grandmother listened to mother in silence, without interrupting. At the threshold, on a chest, a grandmother sits, bent over, not moving, not breathing. My mother, indignant, talked about my tricks. The old woman, without stopping reading, looked sternly at Syomka. Misha kept smiling with a kind, calming smile, as if trying to say something and not finding the determination in himself.

1. Which parts of the sentence are called isolated? 1) Members of a sentence that are not related in meaning to others

members of the proposal.

2) Members of the sentence, distinguished by meaning and intonation.

3) Members of the sentence that play a secondary role in relation to other members of the sentence.

4) The main members of the proposal.

2. Which parts of the sentence can be isolated?

1) Only definitions and circumstances.

2) Only definitions, applications and circumstances.

3) Definitions, applications, circumstances and additions.

4) Subject and predicate.

3. Which sentence does not contain separate members? (There are no punctuation marks.)

1) We summer residents were starting a performance here.

2) His skinny and dry face expressed humility and submission.

3) Despite the heat, some of the sailors who came ashore went to the mountains.

4) The sun illuminated the tops of the linden trees, which had already turned yellow under the fresh breath of autumn.

4. Which sentence does not have separate members? (There are no punctuation marks.)

1) All the spectators, especially the children, were delighted with the performance.

2) Some lame and hunchbacked man named Yegor lived with us.

3) The air became soft and despite the twelve-degree frost, it seemed warm to me.

4) Until the night he lay motionless and without opening his eyes.

5. Which sentence contains a separate definition? (There are no punctuation marks.)

1) The evening dawn, a distant unknown beauty, shines like a diamond from the sky.

2) The bubbling stream ran towards the stream.

3) Smoky light clouds rushed high in the bright sky.

4) The sun languished beyond the line without rising.

6. Which sentence contains a separate definition? (There are no punctuation marks.)

1) The petrel soars with a cry like black lightning.

2) Frightened by the cry of an owl, the boys ran headlong.

3) The local press was proud of him as their regional celebrity.

4) A grandmother sits bent over on a chest at the threshold.

7. What sentence does it contain? standalone application? (There are no punctuation marks.)

1) The old woman, despite her advanced age, sees and hears perfectly.

2) The lazy person sits, sleeps, and works.

3) Dressed in light clothing White dress she herself seemed whiter and lighter.

4) Famous icebreaker“Sedov” is named after Georgy Yakovlevich Sedov, a brave traveler.

8. Which proposal includes a stand-alone application? (There are no punctuation marks.)

1) He had a hot, passionate nature and cruelly suppressed outbursts of anger or excessive delight.

2) Determined and pale, she walked around, talked loudly and gave orders.

3) Pale and exhausted from several sleepless nights the captain seemed to be rooted to the bridge.

4) He threw the rifle behind his back and, without turning around, walked towards the exit.

9. Indicate the way to express the definition in a sentence: Fountains like sugar loaves splashed on the water.

10. Indicate the way to express the definition in a sentence: The farewell sounds of a waltz could be heard from the loudspeaker installed above the captain's bridge.

1) Separate non-widespread definition

2) Separate definition expressed as an adjective

3) A separate definition expressed by an adjective with dependent words

4) A separate definition expressed by a participial phrase

A. Which sentence contains a separate definition? (No punctuation marks are placed) 1. Petrel with a cry

like black lightning flies.

2. Frightened by the cry of an owl, the boys ran headlong.

3. The local press was proud of him as their regional celebrity.

4. A grandmother sits bent over on a chest at the threshold.

A1. Find a sentence with an error in the placement of the dash.

1. It’s a good thing to be able to be surprised.

2. people are like rivers.

3. Pushkin is the most grandiose phenomenon associated with the history of the Lyceum.

4. Afraid of work - no happiness in sight.

A2.Which sentence is nominative?

1. the street is deserted.

2. You can’t turn back yesterday.

3. Feeling sad, autumn cried like a little rain.

4. wonderful night!

any participle - morphological analysis

1. Near the program, on the chest, a grandmother is sitting, bent over, not moving, not breathing. 2. Grandfather and grandmother listened to mother in silence, without interrupting. 3. Mother, indignant, talked about my tricks. 4. Without answering, Mother looked into my face so that I was completely confused. 5. Suddenly the grandfather went out into the middle of the room, knelt down and, unable to resist, poked forward, touching his hand to the floor.