Interactive English

Cats aren't always nice to each other. A handsome, discreet, middle-aged, respectable, responsible, domesticated tabby cat reveals his darkest secrets. There was nothing to trouble him until some thoughtless person gave his human master the white Persian cat. Read in English, unabridged.

Mrs. Buff begins to tell a story to her youngest kitten about another cat mother who wanted to observe human people and live more like them. Cat people have more sense than human people, of course, but still there are some things one might learn from them. Read in English, unabridged.

It is not every cat who can get an elephant to catch her mice for her. Buff reveals how he managed to overcome his laziness and make friends with an elephant. Read in English, unabridged.

A rare opportunity to hear two seasoned cats share their experiences of life. One spent her entire life hopping from one house to another seeking better conditions for herself. The other simply loved her one poor owner and stayed with her for life. Which would you prefer? Read in English, unabridged.

A crafty, boots-wearing cat named Puss and how he made a fortune for his young, not very rich master and made friends with a great monarch, Marquis Carabas. Read in English, unabridged.

Imagine walking along a beautiful mountain stream. You can hear birds singing as the stream rushes by. Light waves of fresh air are cooling your face, and the sun warms your back as you keep walking. In the distance you see a beautiful waterfall. You start walking towards this waterfall and feel the mist on your face and hands as you approach it. You can now see the water bounce off the rocks and bubbles of air large and small pop.

Long ago, in the merry days of good King Arthur, there lived a ploughman and his wife. They were very poor but would have been content and happy if only they could have had a little child. One day, having heard of the great fame of the magician Merlin, who was living at the court of King Arthur, the wife persuaded her husband to go and tell him of their trouble.

Polinka, a thin fair little person whose mother is the head of a dressmaking establishment, is standing in the middle of the shop looking about for some one. Nikolay Timofeitch, a graceful dark young man, fashionably dressed, with frizzled hair and a big pin in his cravat, has already cleared a place on the counter and is craning forward, looking at Polinka with a smile.

Obviously he was born a mouse catcher, a worthy son of his bloodthirsty ancestors. Fate had destined him to be the terror of cellars, storerooms and corn bins, and had it not been for education....

'Ovsyanikov reminded me of the Russian boyars of the times before Peter the Great...The national holiday dress would have suited him well. He was one of the last men left of the old time. All his neighbours had a great respect for him, and considered it an honour to be acquainted with him. His fellow peasant-proprietors almost worshipped him, and took off their hats to him from a distance: they were proud of him.'

It was past midnight. Nikolay Yevgrafitch knew his wife would not be home very soon, not till five o'clock at least. He did not trust her, and when she was long away he could not sleep, was worried, and at the same time he despised his wife, and her bed, and her looking-glass, and her boxes of sweets, and the hyacinths, and the lilies of the valley which were sent her every day by someone or other, and which diffused the sickly fragrance of a florist's shop all over the house.

In the cheapest room of a big block of furnished apartments Stepan Klotchkov, a medical student in his third year, was walking to and fro, zealously conning his anatomy. In the window, covered by patterns of frost, sat Anyuta, a thin little brunette of five-and-twenty, very pale with mild grey eyes. Sitting with bent back she was busy embroidering with red thread the collar of a man's shirt. She was working against time....

There was once a merchant who was very, very rich. He had six children, three boys and three girls, and as he was a man of good sense, he spared no expense in order that they might be well educated and gave them masters of every kind. His daughters were all beautiful, but his youngest one was especially admired, and from the time she was a small child had been known and spoken of only as Beauty. Read in English, unabridged.

The starways' Lone Watcher had expected some odd developments in his singular, nerve-fraught job on the asteroid. But nothing like the weird, twenty-one-day liquid test devised by the invading Steel-Blues. Unlike the usual style of audiobook, this release has a music and effects soundtrack backing the narration, giving it a radio play feel rather than a straightforward reading.

One must never judge by appearances! Look at this book: it has long ago been read. It is warped, tattered, and lies in the dust uncared for; but open it, and it will make you weep and turn pale. My sister is like that book. Lift the cover and peep into her soul, and you will be horror-stricken. Read in English, unabridged.

There was once a man who had three sons, the youngest of whom was called the Simpleton. He was laughed at and despised and neglected on all occasions. Now it happened one day that the eldest son wanted to go into the forest to hew wood, and his mother gave him a beautiful cake to take with him, so he might not suffer from hunger.... Read in English, unabridged.

''I will tell you without beating about the bush. My patient...how should I say?...Well, she had fallen in love with me...or, no, it was not that she was in love...however...really, how should one say?'' (The doctor looked down and grew red.) ''No,'' he went on quickly, ''in love, indeed!''

Big raindrops were pattering on the dark windows. It was one of .those disgusting summer holiday rains which, when they have begun, last a long time - for weeks, till the frozen holiday maker grows used to it and sinks into complete apathy. It was cold; there was a feeling of raw, unpleasant dampness. The mother-in-law of a lawyer, called Kvashin, and his wife, Nadyezhda Filippovna, dressed in waterproofs and shawls, were sitting over the dinner table in the dining room.

The party of sportsmen spent the night in a peasant's hut on some newly mown hay. The moon peeped in at the window; from the street came the mournful wheezing of a concertina; from the hay came a sickly sweet, faintly troubling scent. The sportsmen talked about dogs, about women, about first love and about snipe.

Vasilisa had not seen her daughter for four years. Her daughter, Yefimya, had gone after her wedding to Petersburg, had sent them two letters, and since then had seemed to vanish out of their lives; there had been no sight nor sound of her. And whether the old woman was milking her cow at dawn or heating her stove or dozing at night, she was always thinking of one and the same thing - what was happening to Yefimya, whether she were alive.... Read in English, unabridged.