検索ワード: pagawaan ng sapatos at payong (英語 - タガログ語)

tali ng sapatos
tali nang sapatos

gumagawa ng sapatos
gumagawa ng sapatos

proper noun ng sapatos
wastong pangngalan ng sapatos

nasira ang tahi ng sapatos
nasira ang tahi ng sapatos

ang apakan ng sapatos ay hinde makapit sa tiles
ang apakan ng sapatos hinde makapit sa tiles

gusto kong ibalik ang sapatos na ito dahil mali ang size ng sapatos ang order ko size 36 at size 37 ang pinadala niyo sayang lang dahil sobrang luwag ng sapatos
gusto ko itong mga sapatos

gumising ako ng 4:10 dahil papasok ako at bago ako lumigo ay ng kape muna ako at komain at pag katapos ko ay nag hugas ako ng plato at lumigo na ako at ng damit nako at ng sapatos at ng lalakad ako at may nakita ako ako tricycle kaya sumakay ako at naka rating nako at pumasok nako at hinahanap ko ang room ko at nakita ko na
gumising ako ng 4:10 dahil papasok ako at bago ako lumigo ay ng kape muna ako atkumain at pag katapos ko ay nag hugas ako ng plato at lumigo ba ako at ng damit nako at ng sapatos at ng lalakad ako at may nakita ako tricycle kaya sumakay ako at naka rating nako at pumasok nako at hinahanap ko ang room ko at nakita ko na

"hilahin ang lilim; nais kong makita," utos niya, tahimik. sumunod si sue. matapos ang matinding pag-ulan at mabangis na hangin na humihip sa gabi, may nakatayo pa sa pader ng isang dahon ng ivy. ito ang huli sa puno ng ubas. madilim pa ang berde sa gitna. ngunit ang mga gilid nito ay may kulay na dilaw. matapang itong nakabitin mula sa sangay mga pitong metro sa itaas ng lupa. "ito na ang huli," sabi ni johnsy. "akala ko tiyak na mahuhulog ito sa gabi. narinig ko ang hangin. mahuhulog ito ngayon at mamamatay ako nang sabay." "mahal, mahal!" sabi ni sue, isinandal ang kanyang pagod na mukha patungo sa kama. "isipin mo ako, kung hindi mo iisipin ang iyong sarili. ano ang gagawin ko?" ngunit hindi sumagot si johnsy. kinaumagahan, nang magaan, hiniling ni johnsy na itaas ang window shade. nariyan pa rin ang dahon ng ivy. matagal nang nakahiga si johnsy, tinitingnan ito. at pagkatapos ay tumawag siya kay sue, na naghahanda ng sopas ng manok. "ako ay isang masamang babae," sabi ni johnsy. "may isang bagay na ginawa sa huling dahon na manatili roon upang ipakita sa akin kung gaano ako masama. mali ang nais na mamatay. maaaring dalhin mo ako ng kaunting sopas ngayon." isang oras mamaya sinabi niya: "balang araw inaasahan kong ipinta ang bay of naples." nang maglaon, dumating ang doktor, at si sue ay nakipag-usap sa kanya sa pasilyo. "kahit na ang mga pagkakataon," sabi ng doktor. "sa pamamagitan ng mabuting pag-aalaga, mananalo ka. at ngayon dapat akong makakita ng isa pang kaso na mayroon ako sa iyong gusali. behrman, ang kanyang pangalan ay - ilang uri ng isang artista, naniniwala ako. pneumonia, masyadong. siya ay isang luma, mahina na tao. at ang kanyang kaso ay malubha. walang pag-asa para sa kanya; ngunit pumupunta siya sa ospital ngayon upang luwag ang kanyang sakit. " kinabukasan, sinabi ng doktor kay sue: "nanganib siya. napanalunan mo. nutrisyon at pangangalaga ngayon - iyon lang." kalaunan nang araw na iyon, dumating si sue sa kama kung saan nahiga si johnsy, at inilagay ang isang braso sa kanya. "may sasabihin ako sa iyo, puting mouse," aniya. "si mister behrman ay namatay sa pulmonya ngayon sa ospital. nakasakit lamang siya ng dalawang araw. natagpuan nila sa kanya ang umaga ng unang araw sa kanyang silid na wala sa silungan ng sakit.ang kanyang sapatos at damit ay ganap na basa at malamig na malamig. hindi nila maisip kung saan siya ay nasa tulad ng isang kakila-kilabot na gabi. at pagkatapos ay nakakita sila ng isang parol, naaaninag pa rin. at nakita nila ang isang hagdan na inilipat mula sa lugar nito. at mga suplay ng sining at isang board ng pagpipinta na may berde at dilaw na kulay na halo-halong dito. aow, mahal, sa huling dahon ng ivy sa dingding. hindi ka ba nagtataka kung bakit hindi ito kailanman lumipat nang humihip ang hangin? ah, mahal, ito ay obra maestra ng behrman - ipininta niya ito doon sa gabing nahulog ang huling dahon. "
many artists lived in the greenwich village area of new york. two young women named sue and johnsy shared a studio apartment at the top of a three-story building. johnsy's real name was joanna. in november, a cold, unseen stranger came to visit the city. this disease, pneumonia, killed many people. johnsy lay on her bed, hardly moving. she looked through the small window. she could see the side of the brick house next to her building. one morning, a doctor examined johnsy and took her temperature. then he spoke with sue in another room. "she has one chance in -- let us say ten," he said. "and that chance is for her to want to live. your friend has made up her mind that she is not going to get well. has she anything on her mind?" "she -- she wanted to paint the bay of naples in italy some day," said sue. "paint?" said the doctor. "bosh! has she anything on her mind worth thinking twice -- a man for example?" "a man?" said sue. "is a man worth -- but, no, doctor; there is nothing of the kind." "i will do all that science can do," said the doctor. "but whenever my patient begins to count the carriages at her funeral, i take away fifty percent from the curative power of medicines." after the doctor had gone, sue went into the workroom and cried. then she went to johnsy's room with her drawing board, whistling ragtime. johnsy lay with her face toward the window. sue stopped whistling, thinking she was asleep. she began making a pen and ink drawing for a story in a magazine. young artists must work their way to "art" by making pictures for magazine stories. sue heard a low sound, several times repeated. she went quickly to the bedside. johnsy's eyes were open wide. she was looking out the window and counting -- counting backward. "twelve," she said, and a little later "eleven"; and then "ten" and "nine;" and then "eight" and "seven," almost together. sue looked out the window. what was there to count? there was only an empty yard and the blank side of the house seven meters away. an old ivy vine, going bad at the roots, climbed half way up the wall. the cold breath of autumn had stricken leaves from the plant until its branches, almost bare, hung on the bricks. "what is it, dear?" asked sue. "six," said johnsy, quietly. "they're falling faster now. three days ago there were almost a hundred. it made my head hurt to count them. but now it's easy. there goes another one. there are only five left now." "five what, dear?" asked sue. "leaves. on the plant. when the last one falls i must go, too. i've known that for three days. didn't the doctor tell you?" "oh, i never heard of such a thing," said sue. "what have old ivy leaves to do with your getting well? and you used to love that vine. don't be silly. why, the doctor told me this morning that your chances for getting well real soon were -- let's see exactly what he said – he said the chances were ten to one! try to eat some soup now. and, let me go back to my drawing, so i can sell it to the magazine and buy food and wine for us." "you needn't get any more wine," said johnsy, keeping her eyes fixed out the window. "there goes another one. no, i don't want any soup. that leaves just four. i want to see the last one fall before it gets dark. then i'll go, too." "johnsy, dear," said sue, "will you promise me to keep your eyes closed, and not look out the window until i am done working? i must hand those drawings in by tomorrow." "tell me as soon as you have finished," said johnsy, closing her eyes and lying white and still as a fallen statue. "i want to see the last one fall. i'm tired of waiting. i'm tired of thinking. i want to turn loose my hold on everything, and go sailing down, down, just like one of those poor, tired leaves."