Слово "bore". Англо-русский словарь Мюллера

The front end of the sled was turned up, like a scroll, in order to force down and under the bore of soft snow that surged like a wave before it.

And then, he went on to reflect, she was really rather a bore with her heavy, insensitive earnestness.

Go on, anyway, shove the bore down, slush up the emptiness, if such a thing could be brought out in the throb of the suction snake.

Less important people, workmen and others, traveled by interconnecting ice-exploration bores, still easier way to get lost.

Go on, anyway, shove the bore down, slush up the emptiness, if such a thing could be brought out in the throb of the suction snake.

"Hast wiped the oil from the bore of thy gun, old one?" he whispered.

It bores clear through it with its roots.

In the first place, that stuff bores me, and in the second place, my parents would have about two hemorrhages apiece if I told anything pretty personal about them.

What a bore!

In every club there is a club bore.

He was a bore, a crashing bore.

In consequence, I’m inclined to reserve all judgments, a habit that has opened up many curious natures to me and also made me the victim of not a few veteran bores.

His thunderous predictions of immediate war and his rhetorical questions as to whether the South would stand for further insults from the Yankees only produced faintly bored,

It bores clear through it with its roots.

            Zoya bore his gaze.

The front end of the sled was turned up, like a scroll, in order to force down and under the bore of soft snow that surged like a wave before it.

The choirmaster, with great dexterity, bored his way on to a bus speeding towards the Arbat Square and slipped away.

His hand, trembling with his effort at self-control, bore to his lips the last of his glass of ale.

The front end of the sled was turned up, like a scroll, in order to force down and under the bore of soft snow that surged like a wave before it.

“My mother, when my eldest brother Osman was born, nursed the eldest Khan, Abu Nutsal Khan. Then she nursed the second son of the Khan, Umma Khan, and reared him; but Akhmet my second brother died, and when I was born and the Khansha bore Bulach Khan, my mother would not go as wet-nurse again. My father ordered her to, but she would not. She said: ‘I should again kill my own son, and I will not go.’ Then my father, who was passionate, struck her with a dagger and would have killed her had they not rescued her from him. So she did not give me up, and later on she composed a song . . . but I need not tell that.” “Yes, you must tell everything. It is necessary,” said Loris-Melikov. Hadji Murad grew thoughtful. He remembered how his mother had laid him to sleep beside her under a fur coat on the roof of the saklya, and he had asked her to show him the place in her side where the scar of her wound was still visible. He repeated the song, which he remembered: “My white bosom was pierced by the blade of bright steel, But I laid my bright sun, my dear boy, close upon it Till his body was bathed in the stream of my blood. And the wound healed without aid of herbs or of grass. As I feared not death, so my boy will ne’er fear it.” “My mother is now in Shamil’s hands,” he added, “and she must be rescued.” He remembered the fountain below the hill, when holding on to his mother’s sarovary (loose Turkish trousers) he had gone with her for water. He remembered how she had shaved his head for the first time, and how the reflection of his round bluish head in the shining brass vessel that hung on the wall had astonished him. He remembered a lean dog that had licked his face. He remembered the strange smell of the lepeshki (a kind of flat cake) his mother had given him — a smell of smoke and of sour milk. He remembered how his mother had carried him in a basket on her back to visit his grandfather at the farmstead. He remembered his wrinkled grandfather with his grey hairs, and how he had hammered silver with his sinewy hands. “Well, so my mother did not go as nurse,” he said with a jerk of his head, “and the Khansha took another nurse but still remained fond of my mother, and my mother used to take us children to the Khansha’s palace, and we played with her children and she was fond of us.

She had never cared for Walter and since she had loved Charlie Townsend it had irked and bored her to submit to her husband's caresses.

In consequence, I’m inclined to reserve all judgments, a habit that has opened up many curious natures to me and also made me the victim of not a few veteran bores.