Year: 2013

Common Core Short Stories: The Slander

Word Count: 1503 Anton Pavlovich Chekho SERGE KAPITONICH AHINEEV, the writing master, was marrying his daughter to the teacher of history and geography. The wedding festivities were going off most successfully. In the drawing room there was singing, playing, and dancing. Waiters hired from the club were flitting distractedly about the rooms, dressed in black swallowtails and dirty white ties. There was a continual hubub and din of conversation. Sitting side by side on the sofa, the teacher of mathematics, the French teacher, and the junior assessor of taxes were talking hurriedly and interrupting one another as they described to the guests cases of persons being buried alive, and gave their opinions on spiritualism. None of them believed in spiritualism, but all admitted that there were many things in this world which would always be beyond the mind of man. In the next room the literature master was explaining to the visitors the cases in which a sentry has the right to fire on passers-by. The subjects, as you perceive, were alarming, but very agreeable. Persons whose social position precluded them from entering were looking in at the windows from the yard. Just at midnight the master of the house went into the kitchen to see whether everything was ready for supper. The kitchen from floor to ceiling was filled with fumes composed of goose, duck, and many other...

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Common Core L7.2 Commas Worksheet

Attachment for assignment.  Text for assignment Name: Date: Period: L7.2: I can use correct punctuation in my writing COMMAS Part I: Match the sentence in the left column to the comma rule it follows from the right column. Each rule will only be used once. 1. Mrs. Blowers, our teacher, is the coolest. 2. She was an optimistic, intelligent student. 3. Hey, he threw my paper out the window! 4. “Andrew will go far in life,” the teacher said. 5. He has A’s in math, English, and science. 6. I wanted to go, but I had homework. Part II:...

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Common Core Short Stories: The Lottery Ticket by Anton Pavlovich Chekhov

The Lottery Ticket by Anton Pavlovich Chekhov (1860-1904) Word Count: 1978 IVAN DMITRITCH, a middle-class man who lived with his family on an income of twelve hundred a year and was very well satisfied with his lot, sat down on the sofa after supper and began reading the newspaper. “I forgot to look at the newspaper today,” his wife said to him as she cleared the table. “Look and see whether the list of drawings is there.” “Yes, it is,” said Ivan Dmitritch; “but hasn’t your ticket lapsed?” “No; I took the interest on Tuesday.” “What is the number?” “Series 9,499, number 26.” “All right . . . we will look . . . 9,499 and 26.” Ivan Dmitritch had no faith in lottery luck, and would not, as a rule, have consented to look at the lists of winning numbers, but now, as he had nothing else to do and as the newspaper was before his eyes, he passed his finger downwards along the column of numbers. And immediately, as though in mockery of his scepticism, no further than the second line from the top, his eye was caught by the figure 9,499! Unable to believe his eyes, he hurriedly dropped the paper on his knees without looking to see the number of the ticket, and, just as though some one had given him a douche of cold water,...

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A Day in the Country by Anton Pavlovich Chekhov

A Day in the Country by Anton Pavlovich Chekhov (1860-1904) Word Count: 2385 Between eight and nine o’clock in the morning. A dark leaden-coloured mass is creeping over the sky towards the sun. Red zigzags of lightning gleam here and there across it. There is a sound of far-away rumbling. A warm wind frolics over the grass, bends the trees, and stirs up the dust. In a minute there will be a spurt of May rain and a real storm will begin. Fyokla, a little beggar-girl of six, is running through the village, looking for Terenty the cobbler. The white-haired, barefoot child is pale. Her eyes are wide-open, her lips are trembling. “Uncle, where is Terenty?” she asks every one she meets. No one answers. They are all preoccupied with the approaching storm and take refuge in their huts. At last she meets Silanty Silitch, the sacristan, Terenty’s bosom friend. He is coming along, staggering from the wind. “Uncle, where is Terenty?” “At the kitchen-gardens,” answers Silanty. The beggar-girl runs behind the huts to the kitchen-gardens and there finds Terenty; the tall old man with a thin, pock-marked face, very long legs, and bare feet, dressed in a woman’s tattered jacket, is standing near the vegetable plots, looking with drowsy, drunken eyes at the dark storm-cloud. On his long crane-like legs he sways in the wind like a starling-cote....

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