Предмет: Русский язык, автор: doroshenkoviktoriya7

Упражнение 5. Спишите. Вставьте пропущенные буквы. Выделите приставки. Подчеркните мягкий и твёрдый знаки. Мы на экскурсию пошли В с...седний парк. В него вошли. Ч...десный был вокруг пейзаж, Шёл впереди учитель наш. Он об...яснял, что видим мы: Д...рев...я, небо и х...лмы, Вот с...ёж...лся осенний лист, Прохладный воздух свеж и чист. Мы наблюдали, изучали И много нового узнали!

Ответы

Автор ответа: h9mikk

Ответ:соседний парк. В него пошли. Чудесный был вокруг пейзаж, Шёл впереди учитель наш. Он объяснил,что видим мы:Деревья, небо и хилмы, Вот осенний лист, Прохладный воздух свеж и чист.Мы наблюдали, изучали И много нового узнали!

Объяснение:с..ёж...лся не знаю

прости:(

dilfuzaazimova19: написано ,,хилмы,,

dilfuzaazimova19: где прставки

Автор ответа: irinalarina2015

136

Ответ:

Мы на экскурсию пошли(приставка по) в соседний парк. В него вошли(приставка во). Чудесный был вокруг пейзаж. Шёл впереди(приставка в) учитель наш. Он обЪяснял( приставка объ), что видим мы: деревЬя, небо и холмы. Вот сЪёжился(приставка с) осенний лист, прохладный(приставка про) воздух свеж и чист. Мы наблюдали, изучали(приставка из) и много нового узнали(приставка у)!

Объяснение:

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Her high heels, clacking across the marble foyer, made her think of ice cubes rattling in a glass, and flowers, those autumn Chrysanthemums in the urn at the entrance, if touched they would shatter, splinter, she was sure, into frozen dust; yet the house was warm, even somewhat overheated, but cold, and Sylvia shivered, but cold, like the swollen wastes of the secretary’s face: Miss Mozart, who dressed all in white, as though she were a nurse. Perhaps she really was; that, of course, could be the answer. Mr. Revercomb, you are mad, and this is your nurse; she thought about it for a moment: well, no. And now the butler brought her scarf. His beauty touched her: slender, so gentle, a Negro with freckled skin and reddish, unreflecting eyes. As he opened the door, Miss Mozart appeared, her starched uniform rustling dryly in the hall. “We hope you will return,” she said, and handed Sylvia a sealed envelope. “Mr. Revercomb was most particularly pleased.”

Outside, dusk was falling like blue flakes, and Sylvia walked crosstown along the November streets until she reached the lonely upper reaches of Fifth Avenue. It occurred to her then that she might walk home through the park: an act of defiance almost, for Henry and Estelle, always insistent upon their city wisdom, had said over and again, Sylvia, you have no idea how dangerous it is, walking in the park after dark; look what happened to Myrtle Calisher. This isn't Easton, honey. That was the other thing they said. And said. God, she was sick of it. Still, and aside from a few of the other typists at SnugFare, an underwear company for which she worked, who else in New York did she know? Oh, it would be all right if only she did not have to live with them, if she could afford somewhere a small room of her own; but there in that chintz-cramped apartment she sometimes felt she would choke them both. And why did she come to New York? For whatever reason, and it was indeed becoming vague, a principal cause of leaving Easton had been to rid herself of Henry and Estelle; or rather, their counterparts, though in point of fact Estelle was actually from Easton, a town north of Cincinnati. She and Sylvia had grown up together. The real trouble with Henry and Estelle was that they were so excruciatingly married. Nambypamby, bootsytotsy, and everything had a name: the telephone was Tinkling Tillie, the sofa, Our Nelle, the bed, Big Bear; yes, and what about those His-Her towels, those He-She pillows? Enough to drive you loony. "Loony!" she said aloud, the quiet park erasing her voice.

It was lovely now, and she was right to have walked here, with wind moving through the leaves, and globe lamps, freshly aglow, kindling the chalk drawings of children, pink birds, blue arrows, green hearts. But suddenly, like a pair of obscene words, there appeared on the path two boys: pimple-faced, grinning, they loomed in the dusk like menacing flames, and Sylvia, passing them, felt a burning all through her, quite as though she'd brushed fire. They turned and followed her past a deserted playground, one of them bump-bumping a stick along an iron fence, the other whistling: these sounds accumulated around her like the gathering roar of an oncoming engine, and when one of the boys, with a laugh, called, "Hey, whatsa hurry?" her mouth twisted for breath.

Don't, she thought, thinking to throw down her purse and run. At that moment, a man walking a dog came up a sidepath, and she followed at his heels to the exit. Wouldn't they feel gratified. Henry and Estelle, wouldn't they we-told-you-so if she were to tell them? and, what is more, Estelle would write it home and the next thing you knew it would be all over Easton that she'd been raped in Central Park. She spent the rest of the way home despising New York: anonymity, its virtuous terror; and the squeaking drainpipe, all-night light, ceaseless footfall, subway corridor, numbered door.