Czy mógłby ktoś przetłumaczyć ten tekst w miarę szybko i dobrze ( NIE UŻYWAJ TRANSLATORA !!!!!!)
On his long railroad journey he found himself thinking
of his boy as he had never thought in all the ten years
past. During those years he had only wished to forget
him. He remembered the black days when he had been
furious with the child simply because it was alive and
the mother was dead. He had refused to see it, and
when he had gone to look at it at last it had been such
a weak miserable thing that everyone had been surę it
would die in a few days. But to the surprise of those
who took care of it the days passed and it lived and
then everyone believed it would be a deformed and
crippled creature.
He had not meant to be a bad father, but he had not
felt like a father at all. He hardly ever saw the boy
except when he was asleep, and all he knew of him
was that he was disabled and easily became hysterical.
"Perhaps I have been all wrong for ten years," he said
to himself. "Ten years is a long time. It may be too late
to do anything—quite too late."
When he arrived at the Manor, he went into the
library and sent for Mrs. Medlock.
"How is Master Colin, Medlock?" he asked.
"Weil, sir," Mrs. Medlock answered, "he's—he's
different."
"Worse?" he suggested.
"Weil, you see, sir," she tried to explain, "neither Dr.
Craven, nor the nurse, nor me can exactly understand
him."
"Why is that?"
"To tell the truth, sir, Master Colin might be better
and he might be changing for the worse. His appetite,
sir, is difficult to understand—and his ways—"
"Has he become morę—morę strange?" her master
asked.
"Thats it, sir. He's growing very strange—when you
compare him with what he used to be."
C,Where is Master Colin now?" Mr. Craven asked.
"In the garden, sir. He's always in the garden."
Inside the garden there were sounds. It seemed like
the laughter of children who were trying not to be
heard but who in a moment or so—as their excitement
increased—would come running.
Suddenly a boy burst through the door in the wali at
fuli speed and, without seeing the outsider, ran almost
into his arms.
Mr. Craven had extended his arms just in time to save
the boy from falling, and when he held him away to
look at him, he could not believe his eyes.
"Who—What? Who!"he stammered.
This was not what Colin had expected—this was
not what he had planned. He had never thought of
such a meeting. And yet to come running—winning a
race—perhaps it was even better.
"Father," he said, "Tm Colin. You cant believe it.
I hardly can mysełf. Tm Colin. It was the garden that
did it—and Mary and Dickon and the creatures—and
the Magie. No one knows. We kept it to tell you when
you came. Tm well, I can beat Mary in a race. Tm going
to be an athlete."
He said it all so like a healthy boy—his face was
lively, and he was speaking ąuickly because of his
excitement—that Mr. Cravehs soul shook with
unbelieving joy.
On his long railroad journey he found himself thinking
of his boy as he had never thought in all the ten years
past. During those years he had only wished to forget
him. He remembered the black days when he had been
furious with the child simply because it was alive and
the mother was dead. He had refused to see it, and
when he had gone to look at it at last it had been such
a weak miserable thing that everyone had been surę it
would die in a few days. But to the surprise of those
who took care of it the days passed and it lived and
then everyone believed it would be a deformed and
crippled creature.
He had not meant to be a bad father, but he had not
felt like a father at all. He hardly ever saw the boy
except when he was asleep, and all he knew of him
was that he was disabled and easily became hysterical.
"Perhaps I have been all wrong for ten years," he said
to himself. "Ten years is a long time. It may be too late
to do anything—quite too late."
When he arrived at the Manor, he went into the
library and sent for Mrs. Medlock.
"How is Master Colin, Medlock?" he asked.
"Weil, sir," Mrs. Medlock answered, "he's—he's
different."
"Worse?" he suggested.
"Weil, you see, sir," she tried to explain, "neither Dr.
Craven, nor the nurse, nor me can exactly understand
him."
"Why is that?"
"To tell the truth, sir, Master Colin might be better
and he might be changing for the worse. His appetite,
sir, is difficult to understand—and his ways—"
"Has he become morę—morę strange?" her master
asked.
"Thats it, sir. He's growing very strange—when you
compare him with what he used to be."
C,Where is Master Colin now?" Mr. Craven asked.
"In the garden, sir. He's always in the garden."
Inside the garden there were sounds. It seemed like
the laughter of children who were trying not to be
heard but who in a moment or so—as their excitement
increased—would come running.
Suddenly a boy burst through the door in the wali at
fuli speed and, without seeing the outsider, ran almost
into his arms.
Mr. Craven had extended his arms just in time to save
the boy from falling, and when he held him away to
look at him, he could not believe his eyes.
"Who—What? Who!"he stammered.
This was not what Colin had expected—this was
not what he had planned. He had never thought of
such a meeting. And yet to come running—winning a
race—perhaps it was even better.
"Father," he said, "Tm Colin. You cant believe it.
I hardly can mysełf. Tm Colin. It was the garden that
did it—and Mary and Dickon and the creatures—and
the Magie. No one knows. We kept it to tell you when
you came. Tm well, I can beat Mary in a race. Tm going
to be an athlete."
He said it all so like a healthy boy—his face was
lively, and he was speaking ąuickly because of his
excitement—that Mr. Cravehs soul shook with
unbelieving joy.
More Questions From This User See All
Nie uważał się za złego ojca, ale wcale nie czuł się ojcem. Rzadko kiedy widywał chłopca, tylko wtedy kiedy spał, a wszystko co o nim wiedział, to to, że był niepełnosprawny i łatwo wpadał w histerię. "Może przez ostatnie 10 lat, nie miałem racji" - powiedział sam do siebie. 10 lat to długo. Może być za późno, żeby cokolwiek zrobić - zdecydowanie za późno".
Kiedy dotarł do Manor, wszedł do biblioteki i posłał po panią Medlock.
"Jak tam Master Colin, Medlock?" zapytał.
"Cóż, proszę pana" - odpowiedziała pani Medlock, "on jest - on jest inny".
"Gorszy?" - zasugerował.
"Cóż, widzi pan ...", próbowała wyjaśnić, "ani doktor Craven, ani pielęgniarka, ani ja, właściwie nie możemy go zrozumieć".
"Jak to?"
"Szczerze, Master Colin może się poprawić, ale może i się pogorszyć. Jego apetyt, proszę pana, jest inny - i jego zwyczaje".
"Czy on stanie się jeszcze bardziej ..., bardziej dziwny?" - zapytał.
"Tak, proszę pana. Bardzo dziwnie się rozwija - jeśli porównać go z tym, jaki był".
"Gdzie jest teraz Master Colin?", zapytał pan Craven.
"W ogrodzie, proszę pana. On zawsze jest w ogrodzie".
W ogrodzie było głośno. To było jak śmiech dzieci, które nie chciały być słyszane, ale w momencie - kiedy ich podekscytowanie wzrastało - było go słychać.
Nagle, chłopiec wybiegł przez drzwi, tak szybko, jak mógł, nie widząc go nawet, wbiegł prawie w jego ramiona.
Pan Craven otworzył ramiona w samą porę, aby uchronić chłopca od upadku, a kiedy odsunął go, żeby móc na niego spojrzeć, nie mógł uwierzyć.
"Kto?-Co?-Jak?", wybełkotał.
Nie tego oczekiwała Colin - nie to planował. Nigdy nie myślał o takim spotkaniu. To było nawet lepsze od wygrania wyścigu.
"Tato", powiedział, "Jestem Colin. Nie możesz w to uwierzyć. Ja też ledwo mogę w to uwierzyć. Jestem Colin. To ten ogród to zrobił - i Mary i Dickon i stwory - i Magie. Nikt nie wie. Zatrzymaliśmy to, żeby powiedzieć Ci jak przyjdziesz. Ja, cóż, mogę pobić Mary w wyścigu. Będę atletą".
Wszystko to powiedział, jak zdrowy chłopiec - jego twarz była pełna życia i mówił szybko, bo był podekscytowany - tak, że dusza pana Cravena zatrzęsła się z radości.