The Hitchhiker (ESL Intermediate)

She wore a long, shabby old dress, and she had a yellow hat pulled down low over her eyes.

As soon as she was out of the vehicle, Andrea gunned the engine and accelerated madly away.

It was another ten miles to the cottage where she lived with her husband Michael, and the dim light and wintry weather made her feel a little lonely.

The interior of the car was not cold, but the trees bending in the harsh wind and the patches of yesterday's snow still heaped in the fields made her feel chilly inside.

However, the weather and the coming darkness made her feel sorry for the lady, waiting hopefully on a country road like this with little traffic.

The interior of the car was not cold, but the trees bending in the harsh wind and the patches of yesterday's snow still heaped in the fields made her feel chilly inside.

As soon as she was out of the vehicle, Andrea gunned the engine and accelerated madly away.

Maybe the bag would provide some information about the real identity about the old woman who was not an old woman.

Something in the way the lady spoke, and the way she never turned her head, but stared continuously into the darkness ahead from under her old yellow hat, made Andrea uneasy about this strange hitchhiker.

She studied the hat, the dirty collar of the dress, the shapeless body, the arms with their thick black hairs....

But how could an old lady be dangerous? it was absurd.

Swinging the wheel suddenly, she threw the car into a skid, and brought it to a halt.

She would have liked to listen to the radio, but it had been stolen from her car when it was parked outside her office in London about two weeks ago, and she had not got around to replacing it yet.

She was just coming out of the little village of Mickley when she saw the old lady, standing by the road, with a crude hand-written sign saying "Brockbourne" in her hand.

Panting noisily from her effort, she pushed her big brown canvas shopping bag down onto the floor under her feet, and said in a voice which was almost a whisper, "Thank you dearie -- I'm just going to Brockbourne."

Pulling into the side of the road, Andrea lifted the heavy bag onto her lap and opened it curiously.

The interior of the car was not cold, but the trees bending in the harsh wind and the patches of yesterday's snow still heaped in the fields made her feel chilly inside.

It contained only one item -- a small hand axe, with a razor-sharp blade.

The interior of the car was not cold, but the trees bending in the harsh wind and the patches of yesterday's snow still heaped in the fields made her feel chilly inside.

Broad and fat, the old lady had some difficulty climbing in through the car door, with her big bag, and when she had got in, she more than filled the seat next to Andrea.

Careful not to turn her head, Andrea looked sideways at her passenger.

It contained only one item -- a small hand axe, with a razor-sharp blade.

Panting noisily from her effort, she pushed her big brown canvas shopping bag down onto the floor under her feet, and said in a voice which was almost a whisper, "Thank you dearie -- I'm just going to Brockbourne."

Andrea was surprised.

Then suddenly, an idea came into her racing, terrified brain.

Swinging the wheel suddenly, she threw the car into a skid, and brought it to a halt.

At this time in December, it would be completely dark by five o'clock.

The passenger slowly opened the car door, leaving her bag inside, and climbed out to investigate.

It was another ten miles to the cottage where she lived with her husband Michael, and the dim light and wintry weather made her feel a little lonely.

Something in the way the lady spoke, and the way she never turned her head, but stared continuously into the darkness ahead from under her old yellow hat, made Andrea uneasy about this strange hitchhiker.

Then suddenly, an idea came into her racing, terrified brain.

"I'm sure it was a child!" insisted Andrea.

He was supposed to meet me back there at Mickley, but his car won't start, so I decided to hitchhike -- there isn't a bus until seven, and I didn't want to wait.

Broad and fat, the old lady had some difficulty climbing in through the car door, with her big bag, and when she had got in, she more than filled the seat next to Andrea.

Normally, Andrea would never pick up a hitchhiker when she was alone, thinking it was too dangerous, but what was the harm in doing a favor for a little old lady like this?

Panting noisily from her effort, she pushed her big brown canvas shopping bag down onto the floor under her feet, and said in a voice which was almost a whisper, "Thank you dearie -- I'm just going to Brockbourne."

She would have liked to listen to the radio, but it had been stolen from her car when it was parked outside her office in London about two weeks ago, and she had not got around to replacing it yet.

It was only then that she thought about the bag lying on the floor in front of her.

Maybe the bag would provide some information about the real identity about the old woman who was not an old woman.

I knew some kind soul would give me a lift."

Broad and fat, the old lady had some difficulty climbing in through the car door, with her big bag, and when she had got in, she more than filled the seat next to Andrea.