The Kiss (for Advanced Levels C1-C2)

The Kiss is a short story by the Russian writer and playwright Anton Chekhov, one of the most influential literary figures of the nineteenth century. Chekhov is particularly admired for his subtle psychological observation, understated humour, and ability to reveal a character’s inner world through seemingly ordinary events. Rather than relying on dramatic action, he often explores loneliness, desire, disappointment, uncertainty, and the complicated ways in which people understand themselves and one another.

In The Kiss, Chekhov takes a seemingly insignificant accident and shows how profoundly it can affect a person’s imagination. The story follows Lieutenant Ryabovitch, a shy and socially awkward artillery officer who feels uncomfortable in the company of other people, especially women. During a military journey, Ryabovitch and his fellow officers are unexpectedly invited to the estate of General von Rabbek. Although Ryabovitch feels out of place among the confident guests, the evening gradually becomes more interesting as the officers drink tea, talk, listen to music, and watch the young people dance.

Later that evening, while trying to find his way back to the drawing room, Ryabovitch accidentally enters a dark room. A woman, apparently expecting someone else, suddenly embraces him and kisses him before realizing her mistake. The encounter lasts only a few moments, yet it changes Ryabovitch’s thoughts and feelings. He becomes fascinated by the unknown woman and begins to imagine who she might have been. Gradually, the accidental kiss becomes much more important in his mind than it ever was in reality.

As the story continues, Ryabovitch begins to build an imaginary future around this brief encounter. During the long days of military life, he dreams about love, marriage, companionship, and a different kind of life. Months later, when his brigade returns to the same area, he hopes that fate will give him another opportunity to see the mysterious woman.

Chekhov, however, does not turn the story into a conventional romance. Instead, he explores the distance between what actually happens and what a person creates in his imagination. The kiss itself is almost meaningless as an event, but for Ryabovitch it becomes a source of hope, excitement, and emotional escape. When reality finally fails to match his expectations, his disappointment reveals how deeply he has invested himself in a dream.

This C1-level adaptation has been carefully rewritten for advanced English learners while preserving the essential plot, characters, atmosphere, psychological development, humour, and ending of Chekhov’s original story. The language has been modernized and made more accessible without removing the literary richness that makes the story valuable.

For C1 learners, The Kiss offers particularly useful exposure to the language of emotions, personality, relationships, uncertainty, imagination, expectations, and disappointment. Readers will encounter sophisticated vocabulary and natural expressions in meaningful contexts rather than isolated examples. The story also provides valuable practice with descriptive language, narrative structures, dialogue, psychological vocabulary, and a variety of complex sentence patterns.

Most importantly, this adaptation allows learners to develop their English through genuine literature. By following Ryabovitch’s thoughts and emotional transformation, readers can improve not only their vocabulary and reading comprehension but also their ability to understand tone, irony, character development, and implied meaning—important skills for anyone studying English at an advanced level.

This story, The Kiss by Anton Chekhov, has been carefully adapted and rewritten by LearnEnglish-new.com for advanced English learners. The original work by Anton Chekhov is in the public domain. This learner-friendly adaptation uses clear, modern English while preserving the main characters, events, psychological depth, atmosphere, and themes of the original story. It is designed to help C1–C2 learners develop their reading comprehension, vocabulary, and understanding of literary English. Enjoy reading and improve your English skills!

The Kiss

By Anton Chekhov

Contents

Section One: The Invitation and the Evening

Section Two: The Kiss

Section Three: The Dream

Section Four: The Return and the Disappointment

Vocabulary

Comprehension Questions

Grammar Exercises

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Section One

The Invitation and the Evening

At eight o’clock on the evening of May 20, the six batteries of the N— Reserve Artillery Brigade stopped for the night in the village of Myestetchki. They were on their way to camp, and the arrival of the brigade filled the village with movement and noise. Soldiers were unharnessing horses, officers were giving orders, and men were busy around the guns.

While several officers were gathered near the church, a civilian riding a strange-looking horse appeared from behind the churchyard. The small, dun-coloured horse moved sideways in an awkward, almost dancing rhythm.

The rider stopped in front of the officers, removed his hat, and announced:

“His Excellency Lieutenant-General von Rabbek invites the gentlemen to drink tea with him immediately.”

Then he turned his horse and disappeared behind the church.

The officers were not particularly pleased.

“What does he want from us?” one of them muttered. “We are exhausted, and now we have to drink tea.”

They remembered a similar invitation from the previous year. During military manoeuvres, they had been invited to the estate of a retired army officer. Their host had been extremely hospitable. He had fed them, given them wine, and insisted that they stay the night. Unfortunately, he had also talked to them until sunrise, showing them his paintings, weapons, old engravings, and letters from famous people.

The officers had listened politely while secretly longing for their beds.

They wondered whether Von Rabbek might be the same kind of host.

There was no point in refusing, however. They changed their uniforms, brushed themselves off, and set out together.

Near the church they were told that there were two ways to reach the general’s estate. The lower path went behind the church and followed the river to the garden. The upper road led directly towards the granaries.

They chose the upper road.

As they walked, they tried to remember which Von Rabbek had invited them.

“Could he be the man who commanded the N— cavalry division at Plevna?”

“No. That was Rabbe. There was no ‘von.’”

The evening was clear and pleasant.

When they reached the granaries, the road divided. One branch disappeared into the darkness, while the other led towards the manor house.

They turned towards the house.

On both sides stood large stone granaries with red roofs. Their heavy walls looked almost like barracks. Ahead of them, the windows of the manor house shone brightly.

“A good omen,” one officer remarked. “Our setter is leading us straight to the game.”

Lieutenant Lobytko, a tall and well-built officer without a moustache, turned around.

He was famous in the brigade for claiming that he could sense the presence of women from a great distance.

“There must be women here,” he said confidently. “I can feel it.”

At the entrance to the house they were met by Von Rabbek himself.

He was a handsome man of about sixty, dressed in civilian clothes. He welcomed the officers and immediately apologized that he could not offer them rooms for the night.

“My brothers, sisters, their children, and several neighbours are staying with us,” he explained. “There isn’t a single room left.”

He smiled pleasantly, but it was obvious that he was not genuinely delighted to have nineteen unfamiliar officers arrive at his crowded house.

The officers sensed it too.

As they climbed the softly carpeted stairs, servants hurried about lighting lamps. The visitors began to feel that they had brought inconvenience with them. The house was already full of relatives and guests, probably gathered for some family occasion. How could nineteen strangers possibly be welcome?

At the drawing-room door they were greeted by Von Rabbek’s wife.

She was a tall, graceful woman with dark eyebrows and a long face. She smiled majestically and apologized for not being able to accommodate the officers.

Her manners were impeccable.

But the smile disappeared as soon as she turned away from them.

She had clearly spent much of her life receiving guests and knew exactly how a woman of her position was expected to behave. She was polite because good manners required it.

The officers entered the large dining room.

About a dozen people were sitting at the far end of a long table, drinking tea. Men and women of different ages were talking together, while cigar smoke hung in the air. Among them stood a lanky young man with red whiskers who was speaking loudly in English.

“Gentlemen,” Von Rabbek announced, “there are so many of you that it would be impossible to introduce everyone. Make each other’s acquaintance without ceremony.”

The officers bowed awkwardly and sat down.

The most uncomfortable of them all was Lieutenant Ryabovitch.

He was a small officer with spectacles, sloping shoulders, and whiskers like those of a lynx. He considered himself the shyest, most modest, and least remarkable man in the brigade.

At first he could hardly concentrate on anything.

Faces, dresses, glasses, furniture, steam rising from the tea—all these details blended into one confusing impression. He felt like a lecturer appearing before an audience for the first time. He could see everything, but he could not properly understand what he was seeing.

After a while he became accustomed to the room.

Then he began to observe the people around him.

What struck him most was their confidence.

Von Rabbek, his wife, two elderly ladies, a young woman in a lilac dress, and the red-whiskered young man joined the officers at the table. Almost immediately they began a lively discussion.

The young woman in lilac insisted that artillery officers had a much better life than cavalry or infantry officers.

Von Rabbek and the older women disagreed.

The conversation became animated.

Ryabovitch watched the young woman with interest. He found it strange that she could argue so passionately about a subject that seemed neither familiar nor important to her.

The Von Rabbek family were remarkably skilled hosts.

They constantly watched the officers to make sure everyone had enough tea, sugar, cakes, and brandy.

Ryabovitch was fascinated by them.

Their hospitality was obviously somewhat artificial, yet it was carried out with such discipline that he could not help admiring it.

After tea, the officers moved into the drawing room.

Lobytko’s prediction had proved correct. There were many young women and married ladies.

He immediately approached a very young, fair-haired girl in a black dress. With complete confidence, he bent towards her and began talking.

She looked at him with mild indifference.

“Really?”

Lobytko continued.

Then the piano began to play.

The melancholy notes of a waltz floated through the open windows. Outside, the warm May air carried the fragrance of roses, lilac, and young poplar leaves.

Everyone seemed suddenly conscious of spring.

Ryabovitch had drunk some brandy. Under the influence of the music and the evening atmosphere, he glanced towards the window.

The scent of flowers seemed to him to come not from the garden but from the women’s dresses and faces.

People began to dance.

Ryabovitch remained near the door with those who were not dancing.

He had never danced in his life. He had never put his arm around the waist of a respectable woman.

He watched his companions with a mixture of admiration and melancholy.

They seemed so confident and natural.

They could approach women, speak to them, laugh, and dance without worrying about how they appeared.

Ryabovitch could not imagine himself doing any of those things.

For years he had been painfully conscious of his appearance. He was round-shouldered, awkward, and, as he had once overheard some women say, thoroughly unremarkable.

But he had gradually become accustomed to this feeling.

Now he simply watched the others and felt a quiet sadness.

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Section Two

Section Two

When a quadrille began, young Von Rabbek invited two officers to play billiards.

They accepted.

Ryabovitch followed them because he had nothing else to do and wanted to remain part of the evening’s general movement.

They passed through several rooms and a narrow corridor before reaching the billiard room.

Three sleepy-looking servants rose from a sofa when they entered.

The officers began to play.

Ryabovitch had never cared for billiards. He stood beside the table and watched the others joke, move around with their cues, and shout expressions whose meaning he did not always understand.

Nobody paid much attention to him.

From time to time someone bumped him with an elbow or accidentally touched him with a cue.

“Pardon.”

After a while he felt that he was merely in the way.

He decided to return to the drawing room.

On the way, however, he took a wrong turning.

He remembered that he should have passed the three sleepy servants, but after walking through several rooms he could no longer find them.

He turned back and tried another passage.

He found himself in a small, unfamiliar room.

It was dark.

After hesitating for a moment, he opened the first door he saw and stepped into another room that was almost completely black.

Far ahead he could see a narrow crack of bright light beneath a door.

From beyond it came the distant sound of a melancholy mazurka.

The windows were open.

Once again he could smell poplar, lilac, and roses.

Ryabovitch stood still.

He was uncertain where he was or what he should do.

Then he heard hurried footsteps.

A dress rustled.

A woman’s breathless voice whispered:

“At last!”

Before he had time to move, two soft arms suddenly clasped his neck.

A warm cheek touched his.

And a woman kissed him.

For a moment he could not understand what had happened.

Then the woman gave a faint cry.

She stepped back in shock, apparently realizing that he was not the man she had expected.

Ryabovitch himself almost cried out.

He rushed towards the narrow strip of light beneath the door.

When he returned to the drawing room, his heart was beating violently.

His hands were trembling, and he quickly hid them behind his back.

For several minutes he was terrified that everyone knew what had happened.

He looked around anxiously.

But nobody seemed to have noticed anything.

The guests continued talking and dancing as calmly as before.

Slowly, his fear disappeared.

Something else took its place.

A strange and unfamiliar happiness.

He had never experienced anything like it.

The place where the woman’s arms had touched his neck seemed unusually sensitive. On his cheek, near his mouth, there remained a faint, almost imaginary sensation from the kiss.

He wanted to dance.

He wanted to speak.

He wanted to run into the garden and laugh aloud.

For the first time in his life, he forgot that he was awkward and unremarkable.

He forgot his shoulders, his whiskers, his spectacles.

When Von Rabbek’s wife happened to pass him, he smiled at her so warmly that she stopped and looked at him with surprise.

“I like your house very much,” he said, adjusting his spectacles.

She smiled and told him that the house had belonged to her father.

Then she began asking him questions.

Were his parents alive?

How long had he been in the army?

Why was he so thin?

Ryabovitch answered her.

After their conversation, his opinion of the family became even more favourable.

They seemed to him like wonderful people.

At supper he ate and drank almost mechanically.

His mind was occupied by one question.

Who was she?

He returned to the incident again and again.

There was an obvious explanation.

A young woman must have arranged to meet someone secretly in that dark room. She had been waiting for the man she expected, had heard Ryabovitch enter, and had mistaken him for her lover.

That was almost certainly what had happened.

But who was she?

She must have been young.

The rustle of her dress, her perfume, and her voice had told him that much.

He looked around the table.

His eyes settled on the young woman in lilac.

She was attractive. Her shoulders and arms were beautiful, her face was intelligent, and her voice was pleasant.

Perhaps it had been her.

He watched her more carefully.

Then he noticed something artificial in her laughter and the way she wrinkled her long nose.

Suddenly she seemed older to him.

His attention moved to the fair-haired girl in black.

She looked younger and more sincere.

Perhaps it had been her.

But after studying her face, he decided that it was too flat.

His gaze moved to another woman.

He began combining different features in his imagination.

Perhaps the unknown woman had the shoulders of the girl in lilac, the forehead of the girl in black, and the eyes of another woman sitting nearby.

He created her piece by piece.

She became more beautiful with every imagined detail.

The strange thing was that he could not find her anywhere in the room.

The woman who had kissed him now existed mainly in his imagination.

When the officers finally prepared to leave, Von Rabbek and his wife again apologized that they could not offer them beds.

This time, however, the general seemed genuinely pleased to have met them.

“Come and see us again when you pass this way,” he said. “Don’t stand on ceremony.”

Then he suggested that they take the lower path through the garden because it was shorter.

The officers went outside.

After the brightness and noise of the house, the garden seemed almost completely dark.

They walked quietly towards the gate.

They were slightly drunk and in good spirits, but the darkness made them thoughtful.

Perhaps each of them was wondering whether there would ever come a time when he too would have a large house, a family, a garden, and enough social importance to receive guests.

At the gate they began talking and laughing again.

The path led down towards the river.

The water was dark and fast-moving. Stars trembled on its surface. Willows hung over the bank, and a nightingale sang from a bush.

The officers gathered around it.

“What a fellow!”

“He doesn’t care about us at all.”

The bird continued singing.

Eventually they reached the road.

They sat down for a while and lit cigarettes.

Across the river, a red light could be seen.

The officers discussed what it might be—a campfire, perhaps, or a lamp in a distant house.

Ryabovitch looked at the light.

For a moment he imagined that it was winking at him, as though it knew about the kiss.

When he returned to his quarters, he went to bed quickly.

His companions, Lobytko and Merzlyakov, settled down beside him.

Lobytko complained about the lack of beer.

Merzlyakov calmly continued reading his newspaper.

Ryabovitch stared at the ceiling.

Who was she?

The sensation of the kiss seemed still to linger on his skin.

He closed his eyes.

The women he had seen that evening floated through his imagination. Their faces, shoulders, dresses, eyes, and smiles mixed together until they became one woman.

Then the images disappeared.

He heard, in his imagination, hurried footsteps and the rustling of a dress.

He remembered the kiss.

A deep, unreasonable happiness filled him.

That thought remained with him even as he fell asleep.

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Section Three

The Dream

The next morning, the physical sensations of the kiss had disappeared, but the happiness remained.

Ryabovitch looked enthusiastically at the sunlight on the window frames and listened to people talking outside.

The brigade was preparing to continue its march.

As they passed Von Rabbek’s estate, Ryabovitch looked towards the house.

The blinds were still closed.

The household was asleep.

The woman who had kissed him must be asleep too.

He tried to imagine her.

He could picture the bedroom, the open windows, the branches outside, the morning light, the bed, a chair, the dress she had worn the evening before, and the small objects on a table.

But whenever he tried to imagine her face, it escaped him.

He could picture everything except the most important detail.

When the brigade had travelled some distance, he looked back.

The church, the house, and the river were all bathed in light.

The river shone between its green banks, reflecting the blue sky.

Ryabovitch looked at Myestetchki for the last time.

He felt unexpectedly sad, as though he were leaving something very close and precious behind.

Then the familiar military road stretched ahead of him.

The brigade moved through fields of young rye and buckwheat.

Horses, soldiers, guns, wagons, and officers formed a long procession.

To anyone unfamiliar with military life, the movement of the brigade might have seemed complicated and almost absurd.

To Ryabovitch, however, every detail was perfectly familiar.

He knew where each rider belonged.

He knew the purpose of every piece of equipment.

He knew why the horses were arranged in a particular way and why the soldiers marched beside the guns.

Because he understood it all, none of it interested him.

But now his thoughts were elsewhere.

At first he tried to convince himself that the kiss was merely an amusing little mystery.

To think seriously about it was foolish.

But gradually he abandoned logic.

He gave himself up to his dreams.

Sometimes he imagined himself sitting beside a woman who resembled the young lady in lilac and the fair-haired girl in black.

At other times he imagined a woman he had never seen.

He spoke to her.

He imagined touching her hand and leaning against her shoulder.

He imagined leaving her because of the war, then returning to her.

He imagined having supper with his wife.

He imagined children.

The accidental kiss had become the beginning of an entire imaginary life.

Whenever the road descended, the command “Brakes on!” rang out.

Ryabovitch shouted it with the others, but he was almost annoyed by the sound of his own voice.

He was afraid that it would interrupt his thoughts and bring him back to reality.

At one estate along the road, he looked over a fence into a garden.

A long avenue stretched between young birch trees.

As he watched it, he imagined small feminine feet moving along the yellow sand.

Then, unexpectedly, he saw clearly the woman he had created in his mind.

The image remained with him.

At midday, the brigade’s general rode past the batteries.

He stopped and asked whether there were any sick men.

Then he noticed small faults in the equipment and gave several tedious orders.

Finally, he looked at Lobytko.

“You seem rather melancholy today, Lieutenant. Are you pining for Madame Lopuhov?”

The officers smiled politely.

The general laughed at his own joke and rode away.

Ryabovitch watched the dust rising behind the carriage.

He began to think about his own life.

Everything he had been dreaming about seemed impossible only because he had never experienced it.

But perhaps it was not extraordinary at all.

The general had once been in love.

Other officers had been in love.

Some were married.

Some had children.

Some had experienced romantic adventures that had eventually led to marriage.

Why should he be different?

He was an ordinary man.

And if he was ordinary, then perhaps he too would experience what everyone else experienced.

The thought delighted him.

It gave him courage.

He allowed his imagination to go wherever it pleased.

He no longer tried to restrain it.

When the brigade reached its stopping place that evening, Ryabovitch sat with Lobytko and Merzlyakov over supper.

Merzlyakov ate slowly while reading his newspaper.

Lobytko talked constantly and drank beer.

Ryabovitch remained silent.

He had spent the entire day dreaming.

After several glasses, however, he felt an irresistible desire to tell his companions about the kiss.

He tried to sound casual.

“Something rather strange happened to me at the Rabbeks’.”

He began describing the dark room.

He told them about the footsteps, the woman’s voice, the arms around his neck, and the kiss.

He had imagined that the story would take hours to tell.

In reality, he finished it in a few minutes.

Lobytko looked sceptical.

Merzlyakov raised his eyebrows.

“That is certainly strange,” he said. “A woman throws herself into a man’s arms without even knowing who he is. She must be some sort of neurotic.”

“Yes,” Ryabovitch agreed.

Lobytko then began telling a story of his own about an alleged encounter with a woman on a train.

His story became increasingly dramatic.

Merzlyakov listened calmly.

Then he interrupted.

“You said the compartment was dark. How, then, did you see the colour of her lips?”

Lobytko tried to defend himself.

Ryabovitch winced.

He walked away from them and went to bed.

He decided never to confide in anyone again.

Camp life continued.

The days passed one after another.

Nothing remarkable happened.

And yet Ryabovitch lived as though he were in love.

Every morning, when his orderly brought him water and he washed with cold water, he felt that something warm and delightful had entered his life.

In the evenings, when his comrades talked about women and love, he listened closely.

He felt like a soldier hearing someone describe a battle in which he himself had taken part.

Sometimes the officers went out drinking and chasing women.

Ryabovitch occasionally went with them.

But afterwards he felt deeply uncomfortable and guilty, as though he had betrayed the unknown woman.

During quiet hours and sleepless nights, his thoughts returned to Myestetchki.

He remembered the strange horse.

The church.

Von Rabbek’s house.

His wife.

The dark room.

The crack of light beneath the door.

And the kiss.

As the weeks passed, the event became more deeply rooted in his imagination.

The real woman remained unknown.

The woman in his mind became increasingly real.

She had no definite face, yet she seemed to possess everything he desired. She was gentle.

She was beautiful.

She understood him.

She loved him. None of this had actually happened. But in Ryabovitch’s imagination, it had already begun.

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Section Four

The Return and the Disappointment

On the thirty-first of August, Ryabovitch returned from camp with only two batteries.

He was excited throughout the journey.

It felt strangely like returning to his native place.

He longed to see the church again, the river, the estate, the garden, and the dark room.

Most of all, he longed to see her.

The inner voice that so often deceives people in love told him that he would certainly meet her.

He wondered what he would say.

Would she remember the kiss?

Would she recognize him?

How would they look at each other?

Even if he did not see her, he thought, it would still be comforting simply to enter the dark room again and remember what had happened.

Towards evening, the familiar church and white granaries appeared on the horizon.

Ryabovitch’s heart began to beat faster.

He barely heard the officer riding beside him.

He looked eagerly at the river, the roof of the manor house, and the dovecote shining in the setting sun.

When they reached the church, he expected the messenger to appear.

He waited.

But the billeting orders were read.

The officers prepared to continue to the village.

The man on horseback did not appear.

Ryabovitch tried to reassure himself.

Von Rabbek would soon hear that they had arrived.

Surely he would send someone.

But no one came.

A painful restlessness took hold of Ryabovitch.

He lay down.

Then he got up.

He went to the window.

Nothing.

After half an hour he could no longer remain inside.

He went into the street and walked towards the church.

The square was dark and deserted.

Three soldiers stood silently near the road.

They saluted him.

He returned the salute and started down the familiar path.

The moon was rising.

On the far side of the river, the sky was crimson.

Two peasant women were talking loudly in a kitchen garden.

Everything on the near side of the river seemed almost exactly as it had been in May.

The path was there.

The bushes were there.

The willows still hung over the water.

But the nightingale was silent.

The fragrance of poplar and fresh grass had disappeared.

Ryabovitch reached the garden and looked through the gate.

The garden was dark and still.

He could see the pale trunks of the nearest birch trees and part of the avenue.

He waited.

He listened.

Nothing happened.

No footsteps.

No voice.

No light.

After fifteen minutes, he turned away.

He walked down to the river.

The general’s bath-house stood beside the bridge.

White sheets hung over the railing.

For no particular reason, Ryabovitch touched one.

It was rough and cold.

He looked down at the water.

The river moved quickly around the wooden supports.

The red moon trembled in the water. The reflection stretched, broke apart, and seemed to be carried away by the current.

“How stupid,” Ryabovitch thought.

“How completely stupid.”

Now that he expected nothing, everything appeared in a different light.

The absence of the messenger was no longer mysterious.

There was no reason to expect that he would ever see the woman again.

In fact, it would have been strange if he had.

The kiss had been an accident.

Nothing more.

The river continued flowing as it had flowed in May.

The same water might travel into a larger river, then into the sea, rise as vapour, become rain, and eventually return to the earth.

But why?

For what purpose?

Ryabovitch could find no answer.

The whole world, the whole of life, suddenly seemed like an incomprehensible and pointless joke.

He looked up at the sky.

He remembered the unknown woman who had accidentally kissed him.

He remembered the dreams he had built around that single moment.

And now his life seemed extraordinarily meagre.

Colourless.

Empty.

The actual event had lasted only a few seconds.

Yet his imagination had transformed it into an entire future.

He returned to the hut.

His companions were not there.

The orderly told him that they had all gone to General Von Rabbek’s house.

A messenger on horseback had come to invite them.

For a brief moment, joy flashed through Ryabovitch.

The invitation had finally arrived.

The opportunity he had been waiting for was suddenly real. He could go there.

He could enter the house again.

He could walk through the garden.

He could return to the dark room. Perhaps he could even see her. But the joy disappeared almost immediately.

Ryabovitch got into bed.

He was angry with his fate.

And, as though deliberately taking revenge on it, he decided not to go to the general’s house.

The End

Read the original story: americanliterature.com

Vocabulary

Comprehension Questions

Grammar Exercises

Answers

1-A, 2-A, 3-B, 4-B, 5-A, 6-B, 7-B, 8-A, 9-B, 10-B, 11-B, 12-B, 13-A, 14-A, 15-A, 16-B, 17-B, 18-B, 19-B, 20-A

More: Read a Short Story in English