We got out at Sonning, and went for a walk round the village (мы вышли в Соннинге и пошли прогуляться по деревне). It is the most fairy-like little nook on the whole river (это самый волшебный маленький уголок на всей реке; fair — волшебный, сказочный). It is more like a stage village than one built of bricks and mortar (она больше похожа на деревню-декорацию, чем на деревню, построенную из кирпичей и извести; stage — театральные подмостки, сцена; арена; to build; mortar — известковый раствор; строительный раствор). Every house is smothered in roses, and now, in early June (каждый дом утопает в розах, и теперь, в начале июня; to smother — душить; покрывать, окутывать; to smother in — густо покрывать, заваливать), they were bursting forth in clouds of dainty splendour (они цвели в облаках изысканной пышности = были в полном цвету; to burst forth — внезапно возникать, прорываться, вырываться; расцветать; splendour — блеск, великолепие, пышность). If you stop at Sonning, put up at the "Bull," behind the church (если остановитесь = будете в Соннинге, остановитесь в /гостинице/ «Бык», за церковью). It is a veritable picture of an old country inn (это настоящая картина, образ старой провинциальной гостиницы = она представляет собой настоящую старую провинциальную гостиницу), with green, square courtyard in front, where, on seats beneath the trees (с зеленым квадратным двориком спереди, где на лавочках под деревьями; seat — место для сидения, сиденье, стул), the old men group of an evening to drink their ale and gossip over village politics (старики собираются вечером, чтобы пить эль и сплетничать о деревенских делах; politics — политика, политическая жизнь); with low, quaint rooms and latticed windows, and awkward stairs and winding passages (с низкими, старинными комнатами, решетчатыми окнами, неудобными лестницами и извилистыми коридорами).

island ['alnd] veritable ['vertbl] bull [bul] politics ['pltks] awkward [':kwd]

The river up to Sonning winds in and out through many islands, and is very placid, hushed, and lonely. Few folk, except at twilight, a pair or two of rustic lovers, walk along its banks. `Arry and Lord Fitznoodle have been left behind at Henley, and dismal, dirty Reading is not yet reached. It is a part of the river in which to dream of bygone days, and vanished forms and faces, and things that might have been, but are not, confound them.

We got out at Sonning, and went for a walk round the village. It is the most fairy-like little nook on the whole river. It is more like a stage village than one built of bricks and mortar. Every house is smothered in roses, and now, in early June, they were bursting forth in clouds of dainty splendour. If you stop at Sonning, put up at the "Bull," behind the church. It is a veritable picture of an old country inn, with green, square courtyard in front, where, on seats beneath the trees, the old men group of an evening to drink their ale and gossip over village politics; with low, quaint rooms and latticed windows, and awkward stairs and winding passages.