The village is an open (to) stretch of grass between the duck pond and the Norman church. Here on fire summer evenings, the schoolchildren (to) gather to play cricket, until it is to dark, to see the ball any more. Then one by one the turn reluctantly towards their homes, leaving the old men smoking their pipes under the great oak tree and talking of their youth.
The museum was almost empty of visitors at this hour of the morning. A few bored travellers, forced to spend a few hours in the town waiting for their train, wandered aimlessly about. The guard sitting in the main hall, wondered how long he must wait till he could smoke a cigarette. Suddenly the silence was (to be) shattered by a mob of schoolchildren, all shouting and screaming in the excitement of having a short holidays fromlessons, and, at their head, the poor distracted teacher.
There is nothing more satisfying after a cold busy day than to settle down in a armchair. In front of a fire with your feet strecked the blaze a good book on your lap, friends to chat with and no need to do anything but whatch the glowing coals. It is when you are comfortably settled in this way that the telephone rings that there is a knock at the front door, or that the baby upstairs, who is (to be) meant to be sleep, wakes up and begins to cry.
One of his favorite pastures was collecting clocks. He already had a most remarkable collection, which was admire by his friends and (envy) envied by his followcollected. The most valuable piece was an old Dutch clock, which had been made in the 70th century and, so he said, had been in the possession of his family for several generations. He used to make around of old his clocks, winding up those that were running down and adjusted any that were going fast or slow.