Ha

Ha

La tempesta va durar tota la nit, i al matí següent, quan la família va baixar a esmorzar, la taca de sang era a terra de la biblioteca un cop més. That És estrany, va dir Washington. El cep famosa Pinkerton En general, més neta neta res. Ha de ser el fantasma. he netejar el terra de nou amb el pal poc negre, però al matí següent la taca va aparèixer una vegada més. Aquesta nit, el senyor Otis va tancar les finestres i bloquejat per la biblioteca. Però en el matí la taca de sang hi era de nou. Família The va semblar més interessant. Is Hi ha un fantasma, o no hi ha? Se'ls va dir elfs. No podien decidir. But aquella nit, tenia la resposta a la seva pregunta. Després que la família era al llit i dormit, es va despertar un soroll Stange senyor Otis. Sonava com el metall que alguna cosa es movia lentament pel passadís, i s'acostava a la seva habitació pel. Es va aixecar del llit i va escoltar amb atenció. El soroll estrany continuava, i també va sentir el so dels passos. Llavors ell es va posar les sabates, va prendre una ampolla petita del seu armari, i va obrir la porta de la seva habitació. There, en el clar de lluna, era un home vell amb els ulls com el foc vermell. El seu pèl gris era llarg i brut, la seva roba estava molt vell i ple de forats, i no hi havia cadenes pesades de metall al voltant dels seus braços i cames. My volgut home, va dir el senyor Otis, que realment ha de posar una mica d'oli a les cadenes de Tus soroll! T'he portat una ampolla d'oli d'Tammany del Sol, que és molt bo. Tothom l'utilitza en els Estats Units. Ho deixo aquí per a tu, i jo estaré encantat de donar-li una mica més quan

The storm went on all night, and the next morning, when the family came down to breakfast, the bloodstain was on the library floor again. That's strange, said Washington. Pinkerton's Famous Strain Cleaner usually cleans anything. It must be the ghost. he cleaned the floor again with the little black stick, but the next morning the stain appeared once more. That night, Mr Otis closed the windows and locked the library door. But in the morning the bloodstain was there again. The family found this most interesting. Is there a ghost, or isn't there? they said to themselves. They could not decide. But that night, they had the answer to their question. After the family was in bed and asleep, a stange noise woke Mr Otis. It sounded like something metal moving slowly along the passage, and it was coming nearer to his bedroom door. He got out of bed and listened carefully. The strange noise went on, and he also heard the sound of footsteps. Then he put on his shoes, took a small bottle from his cupboard, and opened the door of his room. There, in the moonlight, was an old man with eyes as red fire. His grey hair was long and dirty, his clothes were old and full of holes, and there were heavy metal chains round his arms and legs. My dear man, said Mr Otis, you really must put some oil on tose noisy chains! I've brought you a bottle of Tammany's Sun Oil, which is very good. Everybody in America uses it. I'll leave it here for you, and I'll be happy to give you some more when you need it. He put the bottle down on a small table, then went back inside his room and got into bed. For a second or two the Canterville ghost stood still. He was so angry! Then he knocked the bottle of oil on to the floor and hurried away. A strange green light came from his body. and he gave a long and terrible cry that rangthrough the house. But when he got to the top of the stairs, a door opened, two little people appeared, and a large pillow went flyingpast his head! This was too much for the ghost, so he quickly disappeared through the wall, and soon the house was quiet again. When he got to his secret room, the canterville ghost sat down in the moonlight and tried to think. He was both angry and unhappy. For three hundred years, he said to himself, Ihave been the best and the most famous ghost in the country! Everybody - everybody- has been afraidof me. There was the Duchess of Bolton not long ago. I put my skeleton hands on her shoulder, and she nearly died of terror. She has been ill ever since. Before that, there were three - no, four - housekeepers, who ran away from the house, screaming. Then there was that wonderful night in 1752 when Lord Augustus shot himself in the library, because he saw a skeleton in the armchair by the fire. And there was the beautiful Lady Stutfield, who never spoke again after my cold fingers held her long white neck while she sat at dinner. The ghost sat there, remembering all those happy times in the past. But he was not happy now. After all this, he said, these terrible modern Americans come to the house and give me Tammany's Sun Oil for my chains, and throw pillows at my head! It's too bad! They'll be sorry for this -oh, yes, they will! All night long, the ghost sat, and thought hard.