Paraphrasing Kaki’s and Dylan Thomas’ Short Stories: The Duke of CSCW’s Unique Personality and Intense Religious Beliefs

Paraphrase the following extracts taken from the short stories by Kaki and Dylan Thomas we read last week. 1 )Although he was scarcely yet out of his teens, the Duke of CSCW was already marked out as a personality widely differing from others of his caste and period. Not in externals; therein he conformed correctly to type. His hair was faintly reminiscent of Habitant, and at the other end of him his shoes exhaled the right SOUPÇON of harness-room; his socks compelled one's attention without losing one's respect; and his attitude in repose had just that suggestion of Whistler's other, so becoming in the really young.

It was within that the trouble lay, if trouble it could be accounted, which marked him apart from his fellows. The Duke was religious. Not in any of the ordinary senses of the word; he took small heed of High Church or Evangelical standpoints, he stood outside of all the movements and missions and cults and crusades of the day, uncaring and uninterested. Yet in a mystical- practical way of his own, which had served him unscathed and unshaken through the fickle years of boyhood, he was Intensely and Intensively religious. HIS Emily were naturally, though unobtrusively, distressed about It. L am so afraid It may affect his bridge," said his mother. ( taken from "The Ministers of Grace" by Kaki) ? The Duke of CSCW had a marked personality that The verb "defer" Is Intransitive him from others of his caste and period. He was the right to his type not only for himself but also for the externals. He was so alike of Habitant and his shoes showed a bit of the harness-room; one's attention was wrong verb pattern to his socks without any restriction; and he had such an attitude, as the youth had, like the one in the Whistler's mother.

The trouble was himself, and that was the reason why he was apart from his fellows. The Duke was so religious that he paved special attention distortion to the High Church or Evangelical standpoints, standing outside of all the movements, missions, cults and crusades with indifference and disinterest. Moreover, he was religious In an intensely and Intensively? No paraphrasing here. Ay of his own. HIS family were very whereabouts It, but In a careful sense, that his mother said: "I am very anxious because it may affect his relations. )Len the middle of the night I woke from a dream full of whips and lariats as long as serpents, and runaway coaches and mountain passes, and wide, windy gallops over cactus fields, and I heard the old man in the next room crying, "Gee-up! " and "Whoa! " and trotting his tongue on the roof of his mouth. It was the first time I had stayed in grandpa's house. The floorboards had squeaked like mice as I climbed into bed, and the mice between the walls had creaked Like wood as though another violators was walking on them.

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It was a mild summer night, but curtains had flapped and branches eaten against the window. I had pulled the sheets over my head, and soon was roaring and riding in a book. "Whoa there, my beauties! " cried grandpa. His voice sounded very young and loud, and his tongue had powerful hooves, and he made his bedroom Into a great meadow. I thought I would see If he was Ill, or had set his bedclothes on fire, for my mother had said that he lit his pipe under the blankets, 1 OFF through the darkness to his bedroom door, brushing against the furniture and upsetting a candlestick with a thump.

When I saw there was light in the room I felt righted, and as I opened the door I heard grandpa shout, "Gee-up! " as loudly as a bull with a megaphone. He was sitting straight up in bed and rocking from side to side as though the bed were on a rough road and the knotted edges of the counterpane were his reins; his invisible horses stood in a shadow beyond the bedside candle. Over a white flannel nightshirt he was wearing a red waistcoat with walnut-sized brass buttons. The overfilled bowl of his pipe smoldered along his whiskers like a little, burning hayrick on a stick.

At the sight of me, his hands dropped room the reins and lay blue and quiet, the bed stopped still on a level road, he muffled his tongue into silence, and the horses drew softly up. "Is there anything the matter, grandpa? " I asked, though the clothes were not on fire. His face in the candlelight looked like a ragged quilt pinned upright on the black air and patched all over with goat-beards. (Taken from "A Visit to Grandpa 's" by Dylan Thomas) Late at night I woke from a strange dream full of strange things related to horses, serpents, coaches and mountains, and then listened to the old man shouting, "Go faster! And "Stop! " and making a kind of a sound with his tongue. As it was the first time I had stayed in grandpa's house, I noticed every single sound like the squeak of the floorboards when I climbed into bed or the mice inside the walls, they creaked as if there was somebody else there. Although the summer night was mild, the curtains had flapped and the windows were beaten by the branches. I covered my head with the sheets and shortly I was roaring and riding in a book. Poor paraphrasing "Stop, my beauties! ", shouted grandpa.

His voice was like a young man's voice while his ensue made the sound of the hooves, and his bedroom was like a great meadow. I thought I would see if he was k as my mother told me he had the habit to smoke his pipe under the blankets and may be bedclothes set on fire, so I should run to his help if I smelt smoke in the night. I walked silently towards his bedroom, touching the furniture and threw a candlestick with a bump. There was light in his bedroom and I fleet frightened but when I opened the door I could hear grandpa shouting, "Go faster! " in such a loud voice as he could.

He was sitting in bed rocking from side to did as the bed were a road full of wells and he was holding the imaginary reins while his invisible horses rose behind the bedside candle. Besides his pajamas, he was wearing a red waistcoat with brass buttons. His overfilled pipe was burning along his beard. When he saw me, his hands laid blue and quiet, dropping the reins, the bed stopped its movement, he stopped the noise with his tongue and the horses arrived softly. "Is everything k, grandpa? ", I asked, despite there was no fire on the bedroom. Under the candlelight, his face looked like an old cover all patched with goat beards.

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