if you had come
mar teffes · mar teffewgh
you had had oor Kornies
you had had
Vertalings in die woordeboek Engels - Kornies
a'fia
en
singular familiar
kw
pluperfect/conditional
a'gas bia
en
plural or singular polite
kw
pluperfect/conditional
hwi a'gas bia
en
plural or polite singular
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ty a'fia · y'fia · y'gas bia
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you had had
My a’th kar!langbot langbot
you had had
Lavar neppyth.langbot langbot
you had had
Tom a yll neuvya mar skav avelos.langbot langbot
you had had
A wodhes neuvya?langbot langbot
you had had
Res yw dhyn assaya hemma.langbot langbot
you had had
Esos ta owth oberi?langbot langbot
you had had
Goliys yw Tom.langbot langbot
you had had
Y hyllir y usya avel kollel.langbot langbot
‘The Gaffer can’t be blamed anyway,’ said Frodo. ‘As a matter of fact I heard him talking to a stranger, who seemed to be inquiring for me, and I nearly went and asked him who it was. I wish I had, or you had told me about it before. I might have been more careful on the road.’
Skwith ov.langbot langbot
‘I don’t keep water in my pockets,’ said Frodo. ‘We thought you had gone to find some,’ said Pippin, busy setting out the food, and cups. ‘You had better go now.’
Hemm yw kig da.langbot langbot
‘Oh, not what he told the dwarves and put in his book,’ said Frodo. ‘He told me the true story soon after I came to live here. He said you had pestered him till he told you, so I had better know too. "No secrets between us, Frodo," he said; "but they are not to go any further. It’s mine anyway."‘
Nyns o res dhis fistena.langbot langbot
‘All the same,’ said Frodo, ‘even if Bilbo could not kill Gollum, I wish he had not kept the Ring. I wish he had never found it, and that I had not got it! Why did you let me keep it? Why didn’t you make me throw it away, or, or destroy it?’
Pyth yw dha hanow?langbot langbot
TRUE!—NERVOUS—VERY, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why will you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses—not destroyed—not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How, then, am I mad? Hearken! and observe how healthily—how calmly I can tell you the whole story.
Yth esov vy ow mos.langbot langbot
Who you been loving since I been gone A long tall man with a red coat on Good-for-nothing-baby you've been doing me wrong Who you been loving since I been gone Who you been loving since I been gone Who's been playing around with you A real cool cat with eyes of blue Trifling baby are you being true Who's been fooling around with you Who's been fooling around with you Somebody saw you at the break of day Dining and a-dancing in the cabaret He was long and tall, he had plenty of cash He had a red Cadillac and a black mustache He held your hand and he sang you a song Who you been loving since I been gone Who you been loving since I been gone Who's been playing around with you A real cool cat with eyes of blue Trifling baby are you being true Who's been fooling around with you Who's been fooling around with you Somebody saw you at the break of day Dining and a-dancing in the cabaret He was long and tall, he had plenty of cash He had a red Cadillac and a black mustache He held your hand and he sang you a song Who you been loving since I been gone Who you been loving since I been gone
Ev a dheuth omma rag ow gweres.langbot langbot
Many people said, ``It is no use at all your denying it. It is proved by your speech that you are a man of galilee. straight away he swore as great an oath as he could that he had not dwelt with christ and that he had never seen him.
Ple'th esos ta ow mos?langbot langbot
He had to show his hands to the out-and-out traitors. They saw leprosy on them, yet there was none. his wife said, ``i am very surprised at that, by my troth. when you started out today no leprosy had taken hold of you.
Nyns ov agas eskar.langbot langbot
Thinking back, the main topic of conversation with the young ladies had been the aphorisms of Oscar Wilde – a topic with which these middle-class suburban girls seemed entirely unacquainted. Since running into Paul again at University (he was continuing with French), I noted he still had many close friends who were attractive girls. And now I find that he had been attacked in a crypt with Charles while naked. Both he and Charles had been bitten but, unlike every other male I knew that had been bitten, they had both recovered. I decided to explore further. “Paul, you said you became ill after you got bitten?” “Certainly. That’s true. I remember the day after the attack, when we scavenged in the gate-keeper’s house, but nothing after that until yesterday. It was like I was asleep for those days. His Royal Majesty tended to me – or so he says.” “Indeed,” said Charles. “Our court has been much reduced of late and there was need to preserve our standards. The Roundheads press upon us even now, as you have seen for yourself.” Fine. “Did you get sick, too, Charles?” Charles considered his answer. “No, Oliver. We cleaned and bound our wound – just as we had done for Paul – and there was some discomfort but ... no, we did not get ill. On the other hand, we thought Paul had died. He lay there without moving, pale and feverish, for several days. We were in the process of planning a simply wonderful funeral service at St. Patrick’s cathedral when he started to recover. We had the music planned and everything. Mozart’s ‘Requiem’ would have been suitable, don’t you think? Though we know the Pope is not a big fan. In any event, Paul proved to be an ungrateful wretch and, unexpectedly, as we said, started to recover. However, today is the very first day he has really been up and about.” (Paul was, in better times, a reasonable athlete.) So, was there a pattern here?
Nyns yw boghosek.langbot langbot
‘That is a sample of his talk. I don’t suppose you want any more. I had weary days of it. But from hints dropped among the snarls I even gathered that his padding feet had taken him at last to Esgaroth, and even to the streets of Dale, listening secretly and peering. Well, the news of the great events went far and wide in Wilderland, and many had heard Bilbo’s name and knew where he came from. We had made no secret of our return journey to his home in the West. Gollum’s sharp ears would soon learn what he wanted.’
Nyns eus edhom dhedhi a arghans.langbot langbot
The Aussie ‘veterans’ chewed it over for a few seconds more. Some of them appeared genuinely troubled by what they were now being told – concerned at what they had been doing most recently in the ‘War’. “Nah, Mate,” said the first Australian. “I still think it’s all bull. I seen thousands of zombies over the last week or so and I haven’t seen any that looked, even remotely, like they might get better ...” “Did you look?” interrupted Swooper. “I mean, before you pulled the trigger or threw the grenade?” There was a pause – evidently, he had not. Suddenly, another Aussie – who might have had a bit more to drink than the others broke in: “Nah, nah, nah, Mate! It’s all b.s. Definitely b.s. This guy’s a spy, the one who told you all this. There’s spies in every war. We all know that. That’s why the Doctor Captain had to shut him up.” This new guy was of a rather piggish cast. His face, though still young, ran to jowls – and was definitely rosy-cheeked from all the alcohol he had consumed. As the police would say: “His eyes were glazed, he was unsteady on his feet and his breath smelt of intoxicating liquor.” He was, in short, pissed. Gately was having trouble restraining his growing anger. He turned to the interrupting Aussie: “A spy? Really? Do zombies have a spy network like the CIA or the KGB? How amazing. Perhaps, he’s a double agent – and turns into a zombie himself at night, like a werewolf. What do you think?” The drunken Aussie didn’t appreciate Gately’s sarcasm. He took it very personally. “You! You!” said the intoxicated and inarticulate Aussie. “What would you fucken’ know? You’re just a black cunt, just a fucken’, Yankee abo!” Racial abuse will never win you friends.
Nyns yw den vyth moy skentel agesso.langbot langbot
DOCTOR INGRID “Are you in need of pain relief?” The voice was that of Ingrid, through the peephole of our cell door. I was ready for her – I had given this meeting some thought. “Tell me, doctor,” I replied. “What’s it like working with Doctor Josef Mengele? What’s it like working in Auschwitz instead of Puckapunyal?” She gasped involuntarily – evidently, she knew of the evil reputation of the bestial Nazi doctor and how that reputation had been earned. I had struck a real nerve. I had intended to. So, I pushed hard on that nerve. “Tell me, doctor. If you can’t answer that question, what about this one: when did you decide to renounce your Hippocratic Oath? When did you decide it was okay to ‘do harm’?” The peephole was abruptly snapped shut. I heard the sound of rapidly retreating footsteps. Advantage: me. The peephole stayed shut for some hours until Ingrid (who had apparently now composed herself) returned once again. “Are you in need of pain relief?” she repeated without emotion. Of course, I was. My skin was still on fire from all the scorch marks inflicted upon my body – and my genitals were very bruised and achy. (There had been no need to put the cattle-prod in my groin to get the desired reaction from David – this had been pure malice, pure payback. Then again, as he’d been so thorough in applying the prod to David’s testes, he probably just thought he needed to be completely even-handed about the matter. Hmmmph!) I decided I could put my mind games to one side until I had gotten the relief I’d been craving for some hours. Even so, I tried to make light of my suffering: “Yes, as it happens, an Aspro or two would be most welcome,” I said, as sweetly as I could.
Tom yw nebes kottha agesov.langbot langbot
Soon seeing that this manner of working had no hope at all, “Miss” turned to the girls instead. As it seemed, the girls were unencumbered by the shyness that had crippled the boys. To my amazement the first girl replied to the question “Who would you like to go to the party with?” with my own name. And the next girl said the same thing. And the next. And the next.
Ny dhebrav kig mogh.langbot langbot
15 Now it was the governor’s custom at the festival to release a prisoner chosen by the crowd. 16 At that time they had a well-known prisoner whose name was Jesus[b] Barabbas. 17 So when the crowd had gathered, Pilate asked them, “Which one do you want me to release to you: Jesus Barabbas, or Jesus who is called the Messiah?” 18 For he knew it was out of self-interest that they had handed Jesus over to him. 19 While Pilate was sitting on the judge’s seat, his wife sent him this message: “Don’t have anything to do with that innocent man, for I have suffered a great deal today in a dream because of him.” 20 But the chief priests and the elders persuaded the crowd to ask for Barabbas and to have Jesus executed. 21 “Which of the two do you want me to release to you?” asked the governor. “Barabbas,” they answered. 22 “What shall I do, then, with Jesus who is called the Messiah?” Pilate asked. They all answered, “Crucify him!” 23 “Why? What crime has he committed?” asked Pilate.
Pyth esowgh hwi ow hwilas?langbot langbot
Then he lifted his hands to his bloodied locks and ran his fingers through his hair . He held the palms of his hands before him and looked admiringly at them. Another grunt of satisfaction. He then raised those palms to my own face and smeared it with what had, so recently, been Meryl’s lifeblood. At first, I pulled back from the gesture but David insisted and I allowed him to do it. I stared deep into David’s dead eyes to try and guess what purpose his withered mind had in doing this. I found none. We paused a moment and then he turned and entered the charnel house that had been ‘The Union’. I followed. I had no choice. Apparently, this was to be our shelter for the night. We entered the foyer area and David strode on to the stairwell outside the Caff. In the bowels of the building, where the lockers and toilets are, the zombies had made their home. (Their base?) There were dozens of them there, pacing about, resting, eating. If Union House had ever been a refuge for the living on that first day, it hadn’t been able to hold out long. Unlike the library, which had just one main entrance, there were just too many entrances to the Union building. It may as well have been open access. It was certainly undefendable. Most of the human remains that were lying about had obviously been there for days. Maybe the building had just been overwhelmed on that first day, in the initial onslaught. But Meryl? She had only just been killed. Where had she been hiding? In one of the activities rooms upstairs? You could hold out there for a while but, well away from the Caff, there’d be no food at all – maybe some water, if you were lucky. Perhaps there were still some survivors clinging on up there. Would I be doing them any favours if I went searching – with my brother in tow? Hmmm. I’d have to think on that one.
Ny vynnav dos.langbot langbot
“If one in six zombies will recover,” she said, now somewhat incredulous, “and is therefore now being killed unnecessarily by our forces, then that’s ...” “...a major war crime,” I completed her thought. “Yes, I think that was what I said the other day to anyone who cared to listen – before Dr Mengele had me silenced. Am I right?” Ingrid ignored my question – and the reference to ‘Dr Mengele’, her superior officer . “But this is simply appalling,” she continued. “If it’s true what you say, we are bombing, shooting and burning thousands of kids who would otherwise recover. Why didn’t you say anything about this at that first lecture, when you had the chance?” I raised my eyebrows at her in mild surprise. She had obviously stopped listening to me - both now and back then. I let it pass. “Cast your mind back to that lecture, doctor. Firstly, you may recall that I was rather rudely interrupted before I was able to finish my comments to the assembled troops ...” Ingrid cast her mind back – and nodded a sheepish concession to me. “ ... and, secondly, what exactly do you think our ‘military planners’ would do differently if they thought the ones who might survive were probably ‘just a bunch of poofters’ - or ‘faggots’, as the doughboys would call them. Ingrid nodded again – slowly this time. She understood what I was saying only too well. The armed forces of the 1970’s did not tolerate gays within their ranks – and the generals would have little care if some gays were ‘wasted’ as ‘collateral damage’. Official tolerance of gay personnel would have to wait until the 21st century. Maybe Ingrid herself was gay – I didn’t ask and was not told. (How ironic – in view of the US military policy which was to come, much later.) In any event, she fell silent for a time and we continued to sit opposite each other at that small wooden table in a stuffy interview room.
A wodhes ta neuvya?langbot langbot
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