reading test

THE ROSE

John Blanchard stood up from the bench, in his army uniform, and studied the crowd of people walking through the Grand Central Station. He looked for the girl whose heart he knew, but whose face he didn't, the girl with the rose. His in­terest in her had begun thirteen months before in a Florida library. Taking a book off the shelf he found himself intrigued, not with the words of the book, but with the notes pencilled in the margin. The soft handwriting reflected a thoughtful soul and open mind. In the front of the book, he discovered the previous owner's name, Miss Hollis Maynell. He did his best to find her address. She lived in New York City. He wrote her a letter introducing himself and inviting her to correspond. The next day he was taken to World War II. During the next year and one month the two grew to know each other through the mail. Each letter was a seed falling on a fertile heart. A romance was budding. Blanchard asked her for a photograph, but she refused. She felt that if he really cared, it wouldn't matter what she looked like. When the day finally came for him to return from Europe, they appointed their first meeting — 7:00 p.m. at the Grand Central Station in New York. “You'll recognize me,” she wrote, “by the red rose I'll be wearing on my coat.” So at 7:00 he was in the station looking for a girl whose heart he loved, but whose face he'd never seen.

Mr. Blanchard tells us what happened:

A young woman was coming toward me, her figure long and slim. Her blonde hair lay back in curls from her delicate ears; her eyes were blue as flowers. Her lips and chin had a gentle firmness, and in her pale green suit she was like springtime come alive. I started toward her, completely forgetting to notice that she was not wearing a rose. As I moved, a small smile curved her lips. “Going my way, sailor?” she murmured. Almost uncontrollably I made one step closer to her, and then I saw Hollis Maynell. She was standing behind the girl. A more than plump woman in her late forties had grey hair under a worn hat. She was wearing the low-heeled shoes. The girl in the green suit was walking quickly away. I felt as though I was split in two, so great was my desire to follow her. And there she stood. Her pale, plump face was gentle and sensible, her grey eyes were warm and kind. I did not hesitate. My fingers gripped the small worn blue leather copy of the book that was to identify me to her. This would not be love, but it would be something pre­cious, something perhaps even better than love, a friendship for which I had been and must ever be grateful. I squared my shoulders and saluted and held out the book to the woman, even though while I spoke I felt bitterness of my disappointment. “I'm Lieutenant John Blanchard, and you must be Miss Maynell. I am so glad you could meet me. May I take you to dinner?” The woman smiled. “I don't know what this is about, son,” she answered, “but the young lady in the green suit who just went by begged me to wear this rose on my coat. And she said if you were to ask me out to dinner, I should go and tell you that she is waiting for you in the big restaurant across the street. She said it was some kind of test!” It's not diffi­cult to understand and admire Miss Maynell's wisdom. The true nature of a heart is seen in its response to the unattractive.

Confirm or deny the statements

1.The story starts at the period when John Blanchard spent much time at the library

THE ROSE

John Blanchard stood up from the bench, in his army uniform, and studied the crowd of people walking through the Grand Central Station. He looked for the girl whose heart he knew, but whose face he didn't, the girl with the rose. His in­terest in her had begun thirteen months before in a Florida library. Taking a book off the shelf he found himself intrigued, not with the words of the book, but with the notes pencilled in the margin. The soft handwriting reflected a thoughtful soul and open mind. In the front of the book, he discovered the previous owner's name, Miss Hollis Maynell. He did his best to find her address. She lived in New York City. He wrote her a letter introducing himself and inviting her to correspond. The next day he was taken to World War II. During the next year and one month the two grew to know each other through the mail. Each letter was a seed falling on a fertile heart. A romance was budding. Blanchard asked her for a photograph, but she refused. She felt that if he really cared, it wouldn't matter what she looked like. When the day finally came for him to return from Europe, they appointed their first meeting — 7:00 p.m. at the Grand Central Station in New York. “You'll recognize me,” she wrote, “by the red rose I'll be wearing on my coat.” So at 7:00 he was in the station looking for a girl whose heart he loved, but whose face he'd never seen.

Mr. Blanchard tells us what happened:

A young woman was coming toward me, her figure long and slim. Her blonde hair lay back in curls from her delicate ears; her eyes were blue as flowers. Her lips and chin had a gentle firmness, and in her pale green suit she was like springtime come alive. I started toward her, completely forgetting to notice that she was not wearing a rose. As I moved, a small smile curved her lips. “Going my way, sailor?” she murmured. Almost uncontrollably I made one step closer to her, and then I saw Hollis Maynell. She was standing behind the girl. A more than plump woman in her late forties had grey hair under a worn hat. She was wearing the low-heeled shoes. The girl in the green suit was walking quickly away. I felt as though I was split in two, so great was my desire to follow her. And there she stood. Her pale, plump face was gentle and sensible, her grey eyes were warm and kind. I did not hesitate. My fingers gripped the small worn blue leather copy of the book that was to identify me to her. This would not be love, but it would be something pre­cious, something perhaps even better than love, a friendship for which I had been and must ever be grateful. I squared my shoulders and saluted and held out the book to the woman, even though while I spoke I felt bitterness of my disappointment. “I'm Lieutenant John Blanchard, and you must be Miss Maynell. I am so glad you could meet me. May I take you to dinner?” The woman smiled. “I don't know what this is about, son,” she answered, “but the young lady in the green suit who just went by begged me to wear this rose on my coat. And she said if you were to ask me out to dinner, I should go and tell you that she is waiting for you in the big restaurant across the street. She said it was some kind of test!” It's not diffi­cult to understand and admire Miss Maynell's wisdom. The true nature of a heart is seen in its response to the unattractive.

 Confirm or deny the statements.

□  2. He was intrigued with the handwriting marks on the margin of the book.

THE ROSE

John Blanchard stood up from the bench, in his army uniform, and studied the crowd of people walking through the Grand Central Station. He looked for the girl whose heart he knew, but whose face he didn't, the girl with the rose. His in­terest in her had begun thirteen months before in a Florida library. Taking a book off the shelf he found himself intrigued, not with the words of the book, but with the notes pencilled in the margin. The soft handwriting reflected a thoughtful soul and open mind. In the front of the book, he discovered the previous owner's name, Miss Hollis Maynell. He did his best to find her address. She lived in New York City. He wrote her a letter introducing himself and inviting her to correspond. The next day he was taken to World War II. During the next year and one month the two grew to know each other through the mail. Each letter was a seed falling on a fertile heart. A romance was budding. Blanchard asked her for a photograph, but she refused. She felt that if he really cared, it wouldn't matter what she looked like. When the day finally came for him to return from Europe, they appointed their first meeting — 7:00 p.m. at the Grand Central Station in New York. “You'll recognize me,” she wrote, “by the red rose I'll be wearing on my coat.” So at 7:00 he was in the station looking for a girl whose heart he loved, but whose face he'd never seen.

Mr. Blanchard tells us what happened:

A young woman was coming toward me, her figure long and slim. Her blonde hair lay back in curls from her delicate ears; her eyes were blue as flowers. Her lips and chin had a gentle firmness, and in her pale green suit she was like springtime come alive. I started toward her, completely forgetting to notice that she was not wearing a rose. As I moved, a small smile curved her lips. “Going my way, sailor?” she murmured. Almost uncontrollably I made one step closer to her, and then I saw Hollis Maynell. She was standing behind the girl. A more than plump woman in her late forties had grey hair under a worn hat. She was wearing the low-heeled shoes. The girl in the green suit was walking quickly away. I felt as though I was split in two, so great was my desire to follow her. And there she stood. Her pale, plump face was gentle and sensible, her grey eyes were warm and kind. I did not hesitate. My fingers gripped the small worn blue leather copy of the book that was to identify me to her. This would not be love, but it would be something pre­cious, something perhaps even better than love, a friendship for which I had been and must ever be grateful. I squared my shoulders and saluted and held out the book to the woman, even though while I spoke I felt bitterness of my disappointment. “I'm Lieutenant John Blanchard, and you must be Miss Maynell. I am so glad you could meet me. May I take you to dinner?” The woman smiled. “I don't know what this is about, son,” she answered, “but the young lady in the green suit who just went by begged me to wear this rose on my coat. And she said if you were to ask me out to dinner, I should go and tell you that she is waiting for you in the big restaurant across the street. She said it was some kind of test!” It's not diffi­cult to understand and admire Miss Maynell's wisdom. The true nature of a heart is seen in its response to the unattractive.

1.   Confirm or deny the statements.

□  3. Miss Hollis Maynell attracted him with her appearance and charm.

THE ROSE

John Blanchard stood up from the bench, in his army uniform, and studied the crowd of people walking through the Grand Central Station. He looked for the girl whose heart he knew, but whose face he didn't, the girl with the rose. His in­terest in her had begun thirteen months before in a Florida library. Taking a book off the shelf he found himself intrigued, not with the words of the book, but with the notes pencilled in the margin. The soft handwriting reflected a thoughtful soul and open mind. In the front of the book, he discovered the previous owner's name, Miss Hollis Maynell. He did his best to find her address. She lived in New York City. He wrote her a letter introducing himself and inviting her to correspond. The next day he was taken to World War II. During the next year and one month the two grew to know each other through the mail. Each letter was a seed falling on a fertile heart. A romance was budding. Blanchard asked her for a photograph, but she refused. She felt that if he really cared, it wouldn't matter what she looked like. When the day finally came for him to return from Europe, they appointed their first meeting — 7:00 p.m. at the Grand Central Station in New York. “You'll recognize me,” she wrote, “by the red rose I'll be wearing on my coat.” So at 7:00 he was in the station looking for a girl whose heart he loved, but whose face he'd never seen.

Mr. Blanchard tells us what happened:

A young woman was coming toward me, her figure long and slim. Her blonde hair lay back in curls from her delicate ears; her eyes were blue as flowers. Her lips and chin had a gentle firmness, and in her pale green suit she was like springtime come alive. I started toward her, completely forgetting to notice that she was not wearing a rose. As I moved, a small smile curved her lips. “Going my way, sailor?” she murmured. Almost uncontrollably I made one step closer to her, and then I saw Hollis Maynell. She was standing behind the girl. A more than plump woman in her late forties had grey hair under a worn hat. She was wearing the low-heeled shoes. The girl in the green suit was walking quickly away. I felt as though I was split in two, so great was my desire to follow her. And there she stood. Her pale, plump face was gentle and sensible, her grey eyes were warm and kind. I did not hesitate. My fingers gripped the small worn blue leather copy of the book that was to identify me to her. This would not be love, but it would be something pre­cious, something perhaps even better than love, a friendship for which I had been and must ever be grateful. I squared my shoulders and saluted and held out the book to the woman, even though while I spoke I felt bitterness of my disappointment. “I'm Lieutenant John Blanchard, and you must be Miss Maynell. I am so glad you could meet me. May I take you to dinner?” The woman smiled. “I don't know what this is about, son,” she answered, “but the young lady in the green suit who just went by begged me to wear this rose on my coat. And she said if you were to ask me out to dinner, I should go and tell you that she is waiting for you in the big restaurant across the street. She said it was some kind of test!” It's not diffi­cult to understand and admire Miss Maynell's wisdom. The true nature of a heart is seen in its response to the unattractive.

1.   Confirm or deny the statements.

□  4. They agreed to meet at the Grand Central Station in New York. 

THE ROSE

John Blanchard stood up from the bench, in his army uniform, and studied the crowd of people walking through the Grand Central Station. He looked for the girl whose heart he knew, but whose face he didn't, the girl with the rose. His in­terest in her had begun thirteen months before in a Florida library. Taking a book off the shelf he found himself intrigued, not with the words of the book, but with the notes pencilled in the margin. The soft handwriting reflected a thoughtful soul and open mind. In the front of the book, he discovered the previous owner's name, Miss Hollis Maynell. He did his best to find her address. She lived in New York City. He wrote her a letter introducing himself and inviting her to correspond. The next day he was taken to World War II. During the next year and one month the two grew to know each other through the mail. Each letter was a seed falling on a fertile heart. A romance was budding. Blanchard asked her for a photograph, but she refused. She felt that if he really cared, it wouldn't matter what she looked like. When the day finally came for him to return from Europe, they appointed their first meeting — 7:00 p.m. at the Grand Central Station in New York. “You'll recognize me,” she wrote, “by the red rose I'll be wearing on my coat.” So at 7:00 he was in the station looking for a girl whose heart he loved, but whose face he'd never seen.

Mr. Blanchard tells us what happened:

A young woman was coming toward me, her figure long and slim. Her blonde hair lay back in curls from her delicate ears; her eyes were blue as flowers. Her lips and chin had a gentle firmness, and in her pale green suit she was like springtime come alive. I started toward her, completely forgetting to notice that she was not wearing a rose. As I moved, a small smile curved her lips. “Going my way, sailor?” she murmured. Almost uncontrollably I made one step closer to her, and then I saw Hollis Maynell. She was standing behind the girl. A more than plump woman in her late forties had grey hair under a worn hat. She was wearing the low-heeled shoes. The girl in the green suit was walking quickly away. I felt as though I was split in two, so great was my desire to follow her. And there she stood. Her pale, plump face was gentle and sensible, her grey eyes were warm and kind. I did not hesitate. My fingers gripped the small worn blue leather copy of the book that was to identify me to her. This would not be love, but it would be something pre­cious, something perhaps even better than love, a friendship for which I had been and must ever be grateful. I squared my shoulders and saluted and held out the book to the woman, even though while I spoke I felt bitterness of my disappointment. “I'm Lieutenant John Blanchard, and you must be Miss Maynell. I am so glad you could meet me. May I take you to dinner?” The woman smiled. “I don't know what this is about, son,” she answered, “but the young lady in the green suit who just went by begged me to wear this rose on my coat. And she said if you were to ask me out to dinner, I should go and tell you that she is waiting for you in the big restaurant across the street. She said it was some kind of test!” It's not diffi­cult to understand and admire Miss Maynell's wisdom. The true nature of a heart is seen in its response to the unattractive.

1.   Confirm or deny the statements.

□  5. John Blanchard bought a very beautiful rose for his beloved girl.

THE ROSE

John Blanchard stood up from the bench, in his army uniform, and studied the crowd of people walking through the Grand Central Station. He looked for the girl whose heart he knew, but whose face he didn't, the girl with the rose. His in­terest in her had begun thirteen months before in a Florida library. Taking a book off the shelf he found himself intrigued, not with the words of the book, but with the notes pencilled in the margin. The soft handwriting reflected a thoughtful soul and open mind. In the front of the book, he discovered the previous owner's name, Miss Hollis Maynell. He did his best to find her address. She lived in New York City. He wrote her a letter introducing himself and inviting her to correspond. The next day he was taken to World War II. During the next year and one month the two grew to know each other through the mail. Each letter was a seed falling on a fertile heart. A romance was budding. Blanchard asked her for a photograph, but she refused. She felt that if he really cared, it wouldn't matter what she looked like. When the day finally came for him to return from Europe, they appointed their first meeting — 7:00 p.m. at the Grand Central Station in New York. “You'll recognize me,” she wrote, “by the red rose I'll be wearing on my coat.” So at 7:00 he was in the station looking for a girl whose heart he loved, but whose face he'd never seen.

Mr. Blanchard tells us what happened:

A young woman was coming toward me, her figure long and slim. Her blonde hair lay back in curls from her delicate ears; her eyes were blue as flowers. Her lips and chin had a gentle firmness, and in her pale green suit she was like springtime come alive. I started toward her, completely forgetting to notice that she was not wearing a rose. As I moved, a small smile curved her lips. “Going my way, sailor?” she murmured. Almost uncontrollably I made one step closer to her, and then I saw Hollis Maynell. She was standing behind the girl. A more than plump woman in her late forties had grey hair under a worn hat. She was wearing the low-heeled shoes. The girl in the green suit was walking quickly away. I felt as though I was split in two, so great was my desire to follow her. And there she stood. Her pale, plump face was gentle and sensible, her grey eyes were warm and kind. I did not hesitate. My fingers gripped the small worn blue leather copy of the book that was to identify me to her. This would not be love, but it would be something pre­cious, something perhaps even better than love, a friendship for which I had been and must ever be grateful. I squared my shoulders and saluted and held out the book to the woman, even though while I spoke I felt bitterness of my disappointment. “I'm Lieutenant John Blanchard, and you must be Miss Maynell. I am so glad you could meet me. May I take you to dinner?” The woman smiled. “I don't know what this is about, son,” she answered, “but the young lady in the green suit who just went by begged me to wear this rose on my coat. And she said if you were to ask me out to dinner, I should go and tell you that she is waiting for you in the big restaurant across the street. She said it was some kind of test!” It's not diffi­cult to understand and admire Miss Maynell's wisdom. The true nature of a heart is seen in its response to the unattractive.

1.   Confirm or deny the statements.

□  6.   While waiting for Hollis he got acquainted with a woman in the late forties.

THE ROSE

John Blanchard stood up from the bench, in his army uniform, and studied the crowd of people walking through the Grand Central Station. He looked for the girl whose heart he knew, but whose face he didn't, the girl with the rose. His in­terest in her had begun thirteen months before in a Florida library. Taking a book off the shelf he found himself intrigued, not with the words of the book, but with the notes pencilled in the margin. The soft handwriting reflected a thoughtful soul and open mind. In the front of the book, he discovered the previous owner's name, Miss Hollis Maynell. He did his best to find her address. She lived in New York City. He wrote her a letter introducing himself and inviting her to correspond. The next day he was taken to World War II. During the next year and one month the two grew to know each other through the mail. Each letter was a seed falling on a fertile heart. A romance was budding. Blanchard asked her for a photograph, but she refused. She felt that if he really cared, it wouldn't matter what she looked like. When the day finally came for him to return from Europe, they appointed their first meeting — 7:00 p.m. at the Grand Central Station in New York. “You'll recognize me,” she wrote, “by the red rose I'll be wearing on my coat.” So at 7:00 he was in the station looking for a girl whose heart he loved, but whose face he'd never seen.

Mr. Blanchard tells us what happened:

A young woman was coming toward me, her figure long and slim. Her blonde hair lay back in curls from her delicate ears; her eyes were blue as flowers. Her lips and chin had a gentle firmness, and in her pale green suit she was like springtime come alive. I started toward her, completely forgetting to notice that she was not wearing a rose. As I moved, a small smile curved her lips. “Going my way, sailor?” she murmured. Almost uncontrollably I made one step closer to her, and then I saw Hollis Maynell. She was standing behind the girl. A more than plump woman in her late forties had grey hair under a worn hat. She was wearing the low-heeled shoes. The girl in the green suit was walking quickly away. I felt as though I was split in two, so great was my desire to follow her. And there she stood. Her pale, plump face was gentle and sensible, her grey eyes were warm and kind. I did not hesitate. My fingers gripped the small worn blue leather copy of the book that was to identify me to her. This would not be love, but it would be something pre­cious, something perhaps even better than love, a friendship for which I had been and must ever be grateful. I squared my shoulders and saluted and held out the book to the woman, even though while I spoke I felt bitterness of my disappointment. “I'm Lieutenant John Blanchard, and you must be Miss Maynell. I am so glad you could meet me. May I take you to dinner?” The woman smiled. “I don't know what this is about, son,” she answered, “but the young lady in the green suit who just went by begged me to wear this rose on my coat. And she said if you were to ask me out to dinner, I should go and tell you that she is waiting for you in the big restaurant across the street. She said it was some kind of test!” It's not diffi­cult to understand and admire Miss Maynell's wisdom. The true nature of a heart is seen in its response to the unattractive.

Answer the questions.

1. What was John Blanchard's occupation?

THE ROSE

John Blanchard stood up from the bench, in his army uniform, and studied the crowd of people walking through the Grand Central Station. He looked for the girl whose heart he knew, but whose face he didn't, the girl with the rose. His in­terest in her had begun thirteen months before in a Florida library. Taking a book off the shelf he found himself intrigued, not with the words of the book, but with the notes pencilled in the margin. The soft handwriting reflected a thoughtful soul and open mind. In the front of the book, he discovered the previous owner's name, Miss Hollis Maynell. He did his best to find her address. She lived in New York City. He wrote her a letter introducing himself and inviting her to correspond. The next day he was taken to World War II. During the next year and one month the two grew to know each other through the mail. Each letter was a seed falling on a fertile heart. A romance was budding. Blanchard asked her for a photograph, but she refused. She felt that if he really cared, it wouldn't matter what she looked like. When the day finally came for him to return from Europe, they appointed their first meeting — 7:00 p.m. at the Grand Central Station in New York. “You'll recognize me,” she wrote, “by the red rose I'll be wearing on my coat.” So at 7:00 he was in the station looking for a girl whose heart he loved, but whose face he'd never seen.

Mr. Blanchard tells us what happened:

A young woman was coming toward me, her figure long and slim. Her blonde hair lay back in curls from her delicate ears; her eyes were blue as flowers. Her lips and chin had a gentle firmness, and in her pale green suit she was like springtime come alive. I started toward her, completely forgetting to notice that she was not wearing a rose. As I moved, a small smile curved her lips. “Going my way, sailor?” she murmured. Almost uncontrollably I made one step closer to her, and then I saw Hollis Maynell. She was standing behind the girl. A more than plump woman in her late forties had grey hair under a worn hat. She was wearing the low-heeled shoes. The girl in the green suit was walking quickly away. I felt as though I was split in two, so great was my desire to follow her. And there she stood. Her pale, plump face was gentle and sensible, her grey eyes were warm and kind. I did not hesitate. My fingers gripped the small worn blue leather copy of the book that was to identify me to her. This would not be love, but it would be something pre­cious, something perhaps even better than love, a friendship for which I had been and must ever be grateful. I squared my shoulders and saluted and held out the book to the woman, even though while I spoke I felt bitterness of my disappointment. “I'm Lieutenant John Blanchard, and you must be Miss Maynell. I am so glad you could meet me. May I take you to dinner?” The woman smiled. “I don't know what this is about, son,” she answered, “but the young lady in the green suit who just went by begged me to wear this rose on my coat. And she said if you were to ask me out to dinner, I should go and tell you that she is waiting for you in the big restaurant across the street. She said it was some kind of test!” It's not diffi­cult to understand and admire Miss Maynell's wisdom. The true nature of a heart is seen in its response to the unattractive.

Answer the questions.

2.How did he happen to know Miss Hollis Maynell?

THE ROSE

John Blanchard stood up from the bench, in his army uniform, and studied the crowd of people walking through the Grand Central Station. He looked for the girl whose heart he knew, but whose face he didn't, the girl with the rose. His in­terest in her had begun thirteen months before in a Florida library. Taking a book off the shelf he found himself intrigued, not with the words of the book, but with the notes pencilled in the margin. The soft handwriting reflected a thoughtful soul and open mind. In the front of the book, he discovered the previous owner's name, Miss Hollis Maynell. He did his best to find her address. She lived in New York City. He wrote her a letter introducing himself and inviting her to correspond. The next day he was taken to World War II. During the next year and one month the two grew to know each other through the mail. Each letter was a seed falling on a fertile heart. A romance was budding. Blanchard asked her for a photograph, but she refused. She felt that if he really cared, it wouldn't matter what she looked like. When the day finally came for him to return from Europe, they appointed their first meeting — 7:00 p.m. at the Grand Central Station in New York. “You'll recognize me,” she wrote, “by the red rose I'll be wearing on my coat.” So at 7:00 he was in the station looking for a girl whose heart he loved, but whose face he'd never seen.

Mr. Blanchard tells us what happened:

A young woman was coming toward me, her figure long and slim. Her blonde hair lay back in curls from her delicate ears; her eyes were blue as flowers. Her lips and chin had a gentle firmness, and in her pale green suit she was like springtime come alive. I started toward her, completely forgetting to notice that she was not wearing a rose. As I moved, a small smile curved her lips. “Going my way, sailor?” she murmured. Almost uncontrollably I made one step closer to her, and then I saw Hollis Maynell. She was standing behind the girl. A more than plump woman in her late forties had grey hair under a worn hat. She was wearing the low-heeled shoes. The girl in the green suit was walking quickly away. I felt as though I was split in two, so great was my desire to follow her. And there she stood. Her pale, plump face was gentle and sensible, her grey eyes were warm and kind. I did not hesitate. My fingers gripped the small worn blue leather copy of the book that was to identify me to her. This would not be love, but it would be something pre­cious, something perhaps even better than love, a friendship for which I had been and must ever be grateful. I squared my shoulders and saluted and held out the book to the woman, even though while I spoke I felt bitterness of my disappointment. “I'm Lieutenant John Blanchard, and you must be Miss Maynell. I am so glad you could meet me. May I take you to dinner?” The woman smiled. “I don't know what this is about, son,” she answered, “but the young lady in the green suit who just went by begged me to wear this rose on my coat. And she said if you were to ask me out to dinner, I should go and tell you that she is waiting for you in the big restaurant across the street. She said it was some kind of test!” It's not diffi­cult to understand and admire Miss Maynell's wisdom. The true nature of a heart is seen in its response to the unattractive.

Answer the questions

3. Where did they agree to meet?

THE ROSE

John Blanchard stood up from the bench, in his army uniform, and studied the crowd of people walking through the Grand Central Station. He looked for the girl whose heart he knew, but whose face he didn't, the girl with the rose. His in­terest in her had begun thirteen months before in a Florida library. Taking a book off the shelf he found himself intrigued, not with the words of the book, but with the notes pencilled in the margin. The soft handwriting reflected a thoughtful soul and open mind. In the front of the book, he discovered the previous owner's name, Miss Hollis Maynell. He did his best to find her address. She lived in New York City. He wrote her a letter introducing himself and inviting her to correspond. The next day he was taken to World War II. During the next year and one month the two grew to know each other through the mail. Each letter was a seed falling on a fertile heart. A romance was budding. Blanchard asked her for a photograph, but she refused. She felt that if he really cared, it wouldn't matter what she looked like. When the day finally came for him to return from Europe, they appointed their first meeting — 7:00 p.m. at the Grand Central Station in New York. “You'll recognize me,” she wrote, “by the red rose I'll be wearing on my coat.” So at 7:00 he was in the station looking for a girl whose heart he loved, but whose face he'd never seen.

Mr. Blanchard tells us what happened:

A young woman was coming toward me, her figure long and slim. Her blonde hair lay back in curls from her delicate ears; her eyes were blue as flowers. Her lips and chin had a gentle firmness, and in her pale green suit she was like springtime come alive. I started toward her, completely forgetting to notice that she was not wearing a rose. As I moved, a small smile curved her lips. “Going my way, sailor?” she murmured. Almost uncontrollably I made one step closer to her, and then I saw Hollis Maynell. She was standing behind the girl. A more than plump woman in her late forties had grey hair under a worn hat. She was wearing the low-heeled shoes. The girl in the green suit was walking quickly away. I felt as though I was split in two, so great was my desire to follow her. And there she stood. Her pale, plump face was gentle and sensible, her grey eyes were warm and kind. I did not hesitate. My fingers gripped the small worn blue leather copy of the book that was to identify me to her. This would not be love, but it would be something pre­cious, something perhaps even better than love, a friendship for which I had been and must ever be grateful. I squared my shoulders and saluted and held out the book to the woman, even though while I spoke I felt bitterness of my disappointment. “I'm Lieutenant John Blanchard, and you must be Miss Maynell. I am so glad you could meet me. May I take you to dinner?” The woman smiled. “I don't know what this is about, son,” she answered, “but the young lady in the green suit who just went by begged me to wear this rose on my coat. And she said if you were to ask me out to dinner, I should go and tell you that she is waiting for you in the big restaurant across the street. She said it was some kind of test!” It's not diffi­cult to understand and admire Miss Maynell's wisdom. The true nature of a heart is seen in its response to the unattractive.

Answer the questions

4. when did they decide to meet?

THE ROSE

John Blanchard stood up from the bench, in his army uniform, and studied the crowd of people walking through the Grand Central Station. He looked for the girl whose heart he knew, but whose face he didn't, the girl with the rose. His in­terest in her had begun thirteen months before in a Florida library. Taking a book off the shelf he found himself intrigued, not with the words of the book, but with the notes pencilled in the margin. The soft handwriting reflected a thoughtful soul and open mind. In the front of the book, he discovered the previous owner's name, Miss Hollis Maynell. He did his best to find her address. She lived in New York City. He wrote her a letter introducing himself and inviting her to correspond. The next day he was taken to World War II. During the next year and one month the two grew to know each other through the mail. Each letter was a seed falling on a fertile heart. A romance was budding. Blanchard asked her for a photograph, but she refused. She felt that if he really cared, it wouldn't matter what she looked like. When the day finally came for him to return from Europe, they appointed their first meeting — 7:00 p.m. at the Grand Central Station in New York. “You'll recognize me,” she wrote, “by the red rose I'll be wearing on my coat.” So at 7:00 he was in the station looking for a girl whose heart he loved, but whose face he'd never seen.

Mr. Blanchard tells us what happened:

A young woman was coming toward me, her figure long and slim. Her blonde hair lay back in curls from her delicate ears; her eyes were blue as flowers. Her lips and chin had a gentle firmness, and in her pale green suit she was like springtime come alive. I started toward her, completely forgetting to notice that she was not wearing a rose. As I moved, a small smile curved her lips. “Going my way, sailor?” she murmured. Almost uncontrollably I made one step closer to her, and then I saw Hollis Maynell. She was standing behind the girl. A more than plump woman in her late forties had grey hair under a worn hat. She was wearing the low-heeled shoes. The girl in the green suit was walking quickly away. I felt as though I was split in two, so great was my desire to follow her. And there she stood. Her pale, plump face was gentle and sensible, her grey eyes were warm and kind. I did not hesitate. My fingers gripped the small worn blue leather copy of the book that was to identify me to her. This would not be love, but it would be something pre­cious, something perhaps even better than love, a friendship for which I had been and must ever be grateful. I squared my shoulders and saluted and held out the book to the woman, even though while I spoke I felt bitterness of my disappointment. “I'm Lieutenant John Blanchard, and you must be Miss Maynell. I am so glad you could meet me. May I take you to dinner?” The woman smiled. “I don't know what this is about, son,” she answered, “but the young lady in the green suit who just went by begged me to wear this rose on my coat. And she said if you were to ask me out to dinner, I should go and tell you that she is waiting for you in the big restaurant across the street. She said it was some kind of test!” It's not diffi­cult to understand and admire Miss Maynell's wisdom. The true nature of a heart is seen in its response to the unattractive.

Answer the questions.

5.What were John's feelings at the moment of conversation with an elderly woman?

THE ROSE

John Blanchard stood up from the bench, in his army uniform, and studied the crowd of people walking through the Grand Central Station. He looked for the girl whose heart he knew, but whose face he didn't, the girl with the rose. His in­terest in her had begun thirteen months before in a Florida library. Taking a book off the shelf he found himself intrigued, not with the words of the book, but with the notes pencilled in the margin. The soft handwriting reflected a thoughtful soul and open mind. In the front of the book, he discovered the previous owner's name, Miss Hollis Maynell. He did his best to find her address. She lived in New York City. He wrote her a letter introducing himself and inviting her to correspond. The next day he was taken to World War II. During the next year and one month the two grew to know each other through the mail. Each letter was a seed falling on a fertile heart. A romance was budding. Blanchard asked her for a photograph, but she refused. She felt that if he really cared, it wouldn't matter what she looked like. When the day finally came for him to return from Europe, they appointed their first meeting — 7:00 p.m. at the Grand Central Station in New York. “You'll recognize me,” she wrote, “by the red rose I'll be wearing on my coat.” So at 7:00 he was in the station looking for a girl whose heart he loved, but whose face he'd never seen.

Mr. Blanchard tells us what happened:

A young woman was coming toward me, her figure long and slim. Her blonde hair lay back in curls from her delicate ears; her eyes were blue as flowers. Her lips and chin had a gentle firmness, and in her pale green suit she was like springtime come alive. I started toward her, completely forgetting to notice that she was not wearing a rose. As I moved, a small smile curved her lips. “Going my way, sailor?” she murmured. Almost uncontrollably I made one step closer to her, and then I saw Hollis Maynell. She was standing behind the girl. A more than plump woman in her late forties had grey hair under a worn hat. She was wearing the low-heeled shoes. The girl in the green suit was walking quickly away. I felt as though I was split in two, so great was my desire to follow her. And there she stood. Her pale, plump face was gentle and sensible, her grey eyes were warm and kind. I did not hesitate. My fingers gripped the small worn blue leather copy of the book that was to identify me to her. This would not be love, but it would be something pre­cious, something perhaps even better than love, a friendship for which I had been and must ever be grateful. I squared my shoulders and saluted and held out the book to the woman, even though while I spoke I felt bitterness of my disappointment. “I'm Lieutenant John Blanchard, and you must be Miss Maynell. I am so glad you could meet me. May I take you to dinner?” The woman smiled. “I don't know what this is about, son,” she answered, “but the young lady in the green suit who just went by begged me to wear this rose on my coat. And she said if you were to ask me out to dinner, I should go and tell you that she is waiting for you in the big restaurant across the street. She said it was some kind of test!” It's not diffi­cult to understand and admire Miss Maynell's wisdom. The true nature of a heart is seen in its response to the unattractive.

Answer the questions

6.Miss Hollis Maynell was