作业帮help for the helper 缩写文章 缩写为一百二十词.采为答案之后补分
来源：学生作业帮 编辑：作业帮 分类：英语作业 时间：2024/05/16 09:15:21
help for the helper 缩写文章 缩写为一百二十词.采为答案之后补分
At age eighteen,I left my home in Brooklyn,New York,and went off to study history at Leeds University in Yorkshire,England.It was an exciting but stressful time in my life,for while trying to adjust to the novelty of unfamiliar surroundings,I was still learning to cope with the all-too-familiar pain of my father’s recent death --an event with which I had not yet come to terms.
While at the market one day,trying to decide which bunch of flowers would best brighten up my comfortable but colorless student digs,I spied an elderly gentleman having difficulty holding onto his walking stick and his bag of apples.I rushed over and relieved him of the apples,giving him time to regain his balance.
“Thanks,luv,”he said in that distinctive Yorkshire lilt I never tire of hearing.“I’m quite all right now,not to worry,”he said,smiling at me not only with his mouth but with a pair of dancing bright blue eyes.
”May I walk with you?”I inquired.“Just to make sure those apples don’t become sauce prematurely.”
He laughed and said,“Now,you are a long way from home,lass.From the States,are you?”
“Only from one of them.New York.I’ll tell you all about it as we walk.”
So began my friendship with Mr.Burns,a man whose smile and warmth would very soon come to mean a great deal to me.
As we walked,Mr.Burns (whom I always addressed as such and never by his first name) leaned heavily on his stick,a stout,gnarled affair that resembled my notion of a biblical staff .When we arrived at his house,I helped him set his parcels on the table and insisted on lending a hand with the preparations for his“tea?”that is,his meal.I interpreted his weak protest as gratitude for the assistance.
After making his tea,I asked if it would be all right if I came back and visited with him again.I thought I’d look in on him from time to time,to see if he needed anything.With a wink and a smile he replied,“I’ve never been one to turn down an offer from a good-hearted lass.”
I came back the next day,at about the same time,so I could help out once more with his evening meal.The great walking stick was a silent reminder of his infirmity,and,though he never asked for help,he didn’t protest when it was given.That very evening we had our first“heart to heart.”Mr.Burns asked about my studies,my plans,and,mostly,about my family.I told him that my father had recently died,but I didn’t offer much else about the relationship I’d had with him.In response,he gestured toward the two framed photographs on the end table next to his chair.They were pictures of two different women,one notably older than the other.But the resemblance between the two was striking.
“Ah.A fine stick,that.I use it when I walk the moors.We must do that together soon.”So we did.And Mr.Burns,the man I’d set out to help,helped me.He’d made a gift of his time,bestowing attention and kindness to a young girl who needed both guess that’ll be the very next day after our first meeting.”
At age eighteen,I left my home in Brooklyn,New York,and went off to study history at Leeds University in Yorkshire,England.It was an exciting but stressful time in my life,for while trying to adjust to the novelty of unfamiliar surroundings,I was still learning to cope with the all-too-familiar pain of my father’s recent death --an event with which I had not yet come to terms.
While at the market one day,trying to decide which bunch of flowers would best brighten up my comfortable but colorless student digs,I spied an elderly gentleman having difficulty holding onto his walking stick and his bag of apples.I rushed over and relieved him of the apples,giving him time to regain his balance.
“Thanks,luv,”he said in that distinctive Yorkshire lilt I never tire of hearing.“I’m quite all right now,not to worry,”he said,smiling at me not only with his mouth but with a pair of dancing bright blue eyes.
”May I walk with you?”I inquired.“Just to make sure those apples don’t become sauce prematurely.”
He laughed and said,“Now,you are a long way from home,lass.From the States,are you?”
“Only from one of them.New York.I’ll tell you all about it as we walk.”
So began my friendship with Mr.Burns,a man whose smile and warmth would very soon come to mean a great deal to me.
As we walked,Mr.Burns (whom I always addressed as such and never by his first name) leaned heavily on his stick,a stout,gnarled affair that resembled my notion of a biblical staff .When we arrived at his house,I helped him set his parcels on the table and insisted on lending a hand with the preparations for his“tea?”that is,his meal.I interpreted his weak protest as gratitude for the assistance.
After making his tea,I asked if it would be all right if I came back and visited with him again.I thought I’d look in on him from time to time,to see if he needed anything.With a wink and a smile he replied,“I’ve never been one to turn down an offer from a good-hearted lass.”
I came back the next day,at about the same time,so I could help out once more with his evening meal.The great walking stick was a silent reminder of his infirmity,and,though he never asked for help,he didn’t protest when it was given.That very evening we had our first“heart to heart.”Mr.Burns asked about my studies,my plans,and,mostly,about my family.I told him that my father had recently died,but I didn’t offer much else about the relationship I’d had with him.In response,he gestured toward the two framed photographs on the end table next to his chair.They were pictures of two different women,one notably older than the other.But the resemblance between the two was striking.
“Ah.A fine stick,that.I use it when I walk the moors.We must do that together soon.”So we did.And Mr.Burns,the man I’d set out to help,helped me.He’d made a gift of his time,bestowing attention and kindness to a young girl who needed both guess that’ll be the very next day after our first meeting.”
我正在写,你告诉我,如果我把对话去掉会不会不符合要求
At age eighteen, I left my home in Brooklyn, New York, and went off to study history at Leeds University in Yorkshire, England. I didn't live easily there, for I had to struggle to get rid of the sadness for my father's death as well as getting familiar with the new surroundings. One day, I went to the market, willing to buy some flowers to decorate my dormitory. By accident, I saw an old man lurched with a bag of apples, so I went to help him. Later, I started a conversation and built a friendship with Mr. Burns, the optimistic old man. The next day, during our walking, he encouraged me in his way, which was truly unforgettable.
第一句没改动,写的不是很好,你就将就点吧
At age eighteen, I left my home in Brooklyn, New York, and went off to study history at Leeds University in Yorkshire, England. I didn't live easily there, for I had to struggle to get rid of the sadness for my father's death as well as getting familiar with the new surroundings. One day, I went to the market, willing to buy some flowers to decorate my dormitory. By accident, I saw an old man lurched with a bag of apples, so I went to help him. Later, I started a conversation and built a friendship with Mr. Burns, the optimistic old man. The next day, during our walking, he encouraged me in his way, which was truly unforgettable.
第一句没改动,写的不是很好,你就将就点吧