What do the words “shining at few things” mean in connection with the boy?Прочитайте текст. Для каждого вопроса выберите верный ответ из предложенного списка. I was nine when this started. That was in 1964, the year my mother left us. Chess led me to Horatio – chess and my father and my absent mother and the fact that on that day, I broke the rule about not showing what you feel. My form-master of that year at the private day-school I went to was a chess enthusiast who explained the rules to us and encouraged us to play. He was kind to me and I admired him, even more than just admired: I wanted to be where he was. I suppose I was more than usually responsive to kindness just at that time. To please him I tried hard to be good at chess and I discovered that I was good. I had a natural talent, the master said. I joined the school chess club. I took part in tournaments and distinguished myself. Shining at few things, for a brief season I shone at chess. I studied the game, I read the accounts of historic encounters, the ploys of long-dead masters, and I played them out alone. I would set out the pieces at random, then sweep them off and try to replace them from memory. At night, I would picture the chess board, go through the moves of some legendary end-game and find consolation. A colleague of my father’s was there on Sunday afternoon – my father was a senior official at the Treasury. “Your father tells me you are quite a chess-player.” On his reddish face an indulgent look. “At least by his own report”, my father said with a sarcastic smile. He seemed to suggest I had boasted. Perhaps I had. “Not up to your level, Henry, not yet.” Henry, Henry, Humpherey. A chessplayer of note. “Fancy a game, young man?” that he didn’t have many achievements that he won a few tournaments that he perfected his chess skills that he devoted himself to many activities
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What do the words “shining at few things” mean in connection with the boy?Прочитайте текст. Для каждого вопроса выберите верный ответ из
предложенного списка.

I was nine
when this started. That was in 1964, the year my mother left us. Chess led me
to Horatio – chess and my father and my absent mother and the fact that on that
day, I broke the rule about not showing what you feel. My form-master of that
year at the private day-school I went to was a chess enthusiast who explained
the rules to us and encouraged us to play. He was kind to me and I admired him,
even more than just admired: I wanted to be where he was. I suppose I was more
than usually responsive to kindness just at that time. To please him I tried
hard to be good at chess and I discovered that I was good. I had a natural talent,
the master said.
I joined
the school chess club. I took part in tournaments and distinguished myself.
Shining at few things, for a brief season I shone at chess. I studied the game,
I read the accounts of historic encounters, the ploys of long-dead masters, and
I played them out alone. I would set out the pieces at random, then sweep them
off and try to replace them from memory. At night, I would picture the chess
board, go through the moves of some legendary end-game and find consolation.
A colleague
of my father’s was there on Sunday afternoon – my father was a senior official
at the Treasury. “Your father tells me you are quite a chess-player.” On his reddish face an indulgent look. “At least by his own
report”, my father said with a sarcastic smile. He seemed to suggest I had
boasted. Perhaps I had. “Not up to your level, Henry, not yet.” Henry, Henry, Humpherey. A chessplayer of note. “Fancy a game, young man?”

  • that he didn’t have many achievements
  • that he won a few tournaments
  • that he perfected his chess skills
  • that he devoted himself to many activities