At the best of times (в лучшие времена) heights made Bilbo giddy (от высоты у Бильбо кружилась голова). He used to turn queer (ему обычно становилось дурно;
twinkle [ˈtwɪŋk (ǝ) l] ankle [ˈæŋk (ǝ) l] dangling [ˈdæŋɡlɪŋ]
Soon the light of the burning was faint below, a red twinkle on the black floor; and they were high up in the sky, rising all the time in strong sweeping circles. Bilbo never forgot that flight, clinging onto Dori’s ankles.
He moaned “my arms, my arms!”; but Dori groaned “my poor legs, my poor legs!” At the best of times heights made Bilbo giddy. He used to turn queer if he looked over the edge of quite a little cliff; and he had never liked ladders, let alone trees (never having had to escape from wolves before). So you can imagine how his head swam now, when he looked down between his dangling toes and saw the dark lands opening wide underneath him, touched here and there with the light of the moon on a hill-side rock or a stream in the plains.