55752188

26.07.2022 01:00 •  Английский язык

Нужен пересказ текста
a victim to one hundred and seven fatal maladies
from "three men in a boat" by jerome k. jerome
i remember going to the british museum one day to read up the treatment for some slight ailment. i got down the book and read all i came to read; and then, in an unthinking moment, i idly turned the leaves and began to study diseases, generally. i forgot which was the first, and before i had glanced half down the list of "premonitory symptoms", i was sure that i had got it.
i sat for a while frozen with horror; and then in despair г again turned over the pages. i came to typhoid fever — read the symptoms — discovered that i had typhoid fever— began to get interested in my case, and so started alphabetically.
cholera i had, with severe complications; and diphtheria i seemed to have been bom with. i looked through the twenty-six letters, and the only disease i had not got was housemaid's knee.
i sat and thought what an interesting case i must be from a medical point of view. students would have no need to "walk the hospitals" if they had me. i was a hospital in myself. all they need do would be to walk round me, and, after that, take their diploma.
then i wondered how long i had to live. i tried to examine myself. i felt my pulse. i could not at first feel any pulse at all. then, all of a sudden, it seemed to start off. i pulled out my watch and timed it. i made it a hundred and forty-seven to the minute. i tried to feel my heart. i could not feel my heart. it had stopped beating. i patted myself all over my front, from what i call my waist up to my head but i could not feel or hear anything. i tried to look at my tongue. i stuck it out as.far as ever it would go, and i shut one eye and tried to examine it with the other. i could only see the tip, but i felt more certain than before that i had scarlet fever.
i had walked into the reading-room a happy, healthy man. i crawled out a miserable wreck.
i went to my medical man. he is an old chum of mine, and feels my pulse, and looks at my tongue, and talks about the weather, all for nothing, when i fancy i'm ill. so i went straight up and saw him, and he said:
"well, what's the matter with you? "
i said:
"i will not take up your time, dear boy, with telling you what is the matter with me. life is short and you might pass away before i had finished. but 1 will tell you what is not the matter with me. everything else, however, i have got."
and i told him how i came to discover it all,
then he opened me and looked down me, and took hold of my wrist, and then he hit me over the chest when i wasn't expecting it — a cowardly thing to do, i call it after that, he sat down and wrote out a prescription, and folded it up and gave it me, and i put it in my pocket and went out.
i did not open it, i took it to the nearest chemist's, and handed it in. the man read it, and then handed it back. he said he didn't keep it.
i said:
"you are a chemist? "
he said:
"1 am a chemist. if i was a co-operative stores and family hotel combined, 1 might be able to oblige you."
i read the prescription. it ran:
"1 lb. beefsteak, with
1 pt. bitter beer
every six hours.
1 ten-mile walk every morning.
1 bed at 11 sharp every night.
and don't stuff up your head with things you don't understand."
i followed the directions with the happy result that my life was preserved and is still going on.