2016届高三英语美文阅读(二)

2016届高三英语美文阅读（二）（1）美文Blind FaithBY PAULA TIMPSONLittle did my husband, Jimmy, and I know how much we would learn from our adopted American white Eskimo dog, Fritz.(倒装句，否定词+助动词+主谓）We called him ―The White Angel.‖ Love came through his heart into ours. Spirit knew we needed him, so he came to us easily and simply!Fritz was a miracle. His fur shined rainbows. He danced on the big ocean waves, even when he was blind in his later years. Fritz was always with us, and he lived a full life, enjoying sushi, traveling to Florida, and meeting many special friends （分词结构，非谓语动词语法）. He helped the elderly smile at the nursing home as a pet therapy dog.Fritz walked by faith, not by sight. His heart led him to where he had to go, and his keen sense of smell helped him live a good life. He always saw with his heart, and now more than ever before, he showed us how to trust life. The scent of deer was always present to dear Fritz, who adored peaceful East Hampton, Long Island, living. The sea lovingly held blind Fritz up so he could float freely in pure joy, as if he were ri ding a surfboard! Fritz’s bravery ignited within us a Spirit of Belief, of miracles and of open hearts! How capable he was — never pitying himself, but truly coping.Fritz was a strong, beautiful soul, always protecting us and playing tricks. Once in Florida, Fritz disappeared. He was nowhere to be seen, as I searched around for him near the beach. I went back upstairs and found him there already, waiting for me. He had quietly, wisely taken the elevator back up, all by himself.As he grew older, he remained very independent, even though his eyesight failed. Fritz opened the door with his nose and made his way down the stairs to go out to the bathroom. He circled around to come back in. Watching Fritz circle around, independent, yet dependent on God, I found that pure faith led him to find his way. He taught us all true courage and hope. Fritz was a strong, beautiful soul, always protecting me and playing tricks with Jimmy. He knew how to ―be‖ peace and love. Finally, Fritz became really weak and life became a struggle and no longer fun for him. I watched my husband gaze at his beloved dog. I prayed he would have the courage to let him go.I reflected on sea memories, Fritz’s laughter, and all the little jokes he played as I watched Jimmy touch Fritz on the to p of his head, Jimmy’s eyes tender and loving, full of tears. I knew inside my heart, Jimmy was courageously saying good-bye to his dear friend. When his spirit left his body, Fritz’s soft smile created freedom for my husband and me. As my husband and I st ood side by side, we felt and watched his soul fly to heaven. There was a tiny smile on Fritz’s face as he left this world, although he remains here, always the pure, loving spirit that he is. It was a moment weboth will never forget. The miracle was that when we threw Fritz’s ashes into the ocean, wetrusted life fully. We saw the dream of letting go and the reality of believing.Fritz already showed us how much love we had within, if we opened our hearts to trust life. When we spread Fritz’s ashes into t he windy ocean, our hearts rushed out to sea to be with his beautiful soul. It was miraculous as we saw the reality of letting go and the dream of believing in life.Fritz was with us since our beginnings; he grew with us and watched us to the end, always loving.Blind Fritz was Blind Faith and is now forever free.（2）文学作品The Story of an Hour 一个小时的故事[美] 凯特·肖邦（Kate Chopin）《一个小时的故事》精炼地概述了在一个小时里，玛拉德夫人对一偶发事件的反应。

故事的主人公玛拉德夫人患有心脏病，当她听到丈夫在一场车祸中丧生之后，先是痛不欲生，失声痛哭，但独自回到房间后，她竟很快从悲痛中恢复了过来，有了―自由‖的喜悦。

等她再从房间里走出来的时候，她感受到了新生。

但此时，逃过一劫的玛拉德先生出现在门口，玛拉德夫人心脏病突发，倒地猝死。

Knowing that Mrs.Mallard was afflicted with a heart trouble，great care was taken to break to her as gently as possible the news of her husband’s death.It was her sister Josephine who told her，in broken sentences；veiled hints that revealed in half concealing.Her husband’s friend Richards was there，too，near her. It was he who had been in the newspaper office when intelligence of the railroad disaster was received；with Brently Maitard’s name leading the list of―killed‖. He had only taken the time to assure himself of its truth by a second telegram，and had hastened to forestall any less careful，less tender friend in bearing the sad message.She did not hear the story as many women have heard the same，with a paralyzed inability to accept its significance. She wept at once，with sudden，wild abandonment，in her sister’s arms. When the storm of grief had spent itself she went away to her room alone. She would have no one follow her.There stood，facing the open window，a comfortable，roomy armchair. Into this she sank，pressed down by a physical exhaustion that haunted her body and seemed to reach into her soul.She could see in the open square before her house the tops of trees that were all aquiver with the new spring life. The delicious breath of rain was in the air.In the street below a peddler was crying his wares. The notes of a distant song which someone was singing reached her faintly，and countless sparrows were twittering in the eaves.There were patches of blue sky showing here and there through the clouds that had met and piled one above the other in the west facing her window.She sat with her head thrown back upon the cushion of the chair，quite motionless，except when a sob came up into her throat and shook her，as a child who has cried itself to sleep continues to sob in its dreams.She was young，with a fair，calm face，whose lines bespoke repression and even a certain strength. But now there was a dull stare in her eyes，whose gaze was fixed away off yonder on one of those patches of blue sky. It was not a glance of reflection，but rather indicated a suspension of intelligent thought.There was something coming to her and she was waiting for it，fearfully. What was it? She did not know；it was too subtle and elusive to name. But she felt it，creeping out of the sky，reaching toward her through the sounds，the scents，the color that filled the air.Now her bosom rose and fell tumultuously. She was beginning to recognize this thing that was approaching to possess her，and she was striving to beat it back with her will— as powerless as her two white slender hands would have been.When she abandoned herself，a little whispered word escaped her slightly parted lips. She said it over and over under her breath:―free，free，free!‖The vacant stare and the look of terror that had followed it went from her eyes. They stayed keen and bright. Her pulses beat fast，and the coursing blood warmed and relaxed every inch of her body.She did not stop to ask if it were or were not a monstrous Joy that held her. A clear and exalted perception enabled her to dismiss the suggestion as trivial.She knew that she would weep again when she saw the kind，tender hands folded in death；the face that had never looked save with love upon her，fixed and gray and dead. But she saw beyond that bitter moment a long procession of years to come that would belong to her absolutely. And she opened and spread her arms out to them in welcome.There would be no one to live for her during those coming years；she would live for herself. There would be no powerful will bending hers in that blind persistence with which men and women believe they have a right to impose a private will upon a fellow creature. A kind intention or a cruel intention made the act seem no less a crime as she looked upon it in that brief moment of illumination.And yet she had loved him — sometimes. Often she had not. What did it matter! What could love，the unsolved mystery，count for in face of this possession of self-assertion which she suddenly recognized as the strongest impulse of her being!―Free! Body and soul free! ‖she kept whispering.Josephine was kneeling before the closed door with her lips to the keyhole，imploring for admission. ―Louise，open the door! I beg；open the door — you will make yourself. What are you doing，Louise? For heaven’s sake open the door.‖― Go away. I am not making myself.‖No；she was drinking in a very elixir of life through that open window.Her fancy was running riot along those days ahead of her. Spring days，and summer days，and all sorts of days that would be her own. She breathed a quick prayer that life might be long. It was only yesterday she had thought with a shudder that life might be long.She arose at length and opened the door to her sister’s im portunities. There was a feverish triumph in her eyes，and she carried herself unwittingly like a goddess of Victory. She clasped her sister’s waist，and together they descended the stairs. Richards stood waiting for them at the bottom. Someone was opening the front door with a latchkey. It was Brently Mallard who entered，a little travel-stained，composedly carrying his gripsack and umbrella. He had been far from the scene of accident，and did not know there had been one. He stood amazed at Josephine’s piercing cry；at Richards’s quick motion to screen him from the view of his wife.But Richards was too late.When the doctors came they said she had died of heart disease — of joy that kills.（3）时文The people who need very little sleep.BBC news –Helen Thomson talks to a woman Abby Ross, a retired ―short-sleeper‖ whose genes might hint at how we all could survive on less shut-eye.She needs only four hours sleep a night, so has a lot of spare time to fill while the rest of the world is in the land of nod. ―It’s wonderful to have so many hours in my day – I feel like I can live two lives.‖Short-sleepers like Ross never feel lethargic, nor do they ever sleep in. They wake early –normally around four or five o’clock – raring to get on with their day. Margaret Thatcher may have been one – she famously said she needed just four hours a night.The Ying-Hui Fu’s lab at the University of California, San Francisco, discovered a tiny mutation in a gene called DEC2 that was present in those who were short-sleepers, but not in those who had normal length sleep.When the team bred mice to express this same mutation, the rodents also slept less but performed just as well as regular mice when given physical and cognitive tasks.Getting too little sleep normally has a significant impact on health, quality of life and life expectancy. It can cause depression, weight gain and put you at greater risk of stroke and diabetes, says Fu. ―If you deprive someone of just two hours sleep a day, their cogn itive functions become significantly impaired almost immediately.‖But why sleep is so important is still a bit of a mystery. The general consensus is that the brain needs sleep to do some housekeeping and general maintenance, since it doesn’t get muchdowntime during the day. While we sleep, the brain can repair cellular damage, remove toxins that accumulate during the day, boost flagging energy supplies and lay down memories.―Clearly people with the DEC2 mutation can do the same cleaning up process in a shorter period of time –they are just more efficient than the rest of us at sleeping,‖ says Fu.A positive outlook is common among all of the short-sleepers. ―Anecdotally, they are all very energetic, very optimistic. It’s very common for them to feel l ike they want to cram as much into life as they can.‖ ―Short sleepers always feel great when they wake up.‖Fu has subsequently sequenced the genomes of several other families who fit the criteria ofshort-sleepers. They’re only just beginning to understa nd the gene mutations that lead to this talent, but in principle, she says, it might one day be possible to enable short sleeping in others.Until then, are there any shortcuts to a more efficient night’s sleep for the rest of us? An independent sleep con sultant says yes: ―The most effective way to improve your sleep is to fix your wake-up time in the morning.‖ When your body gets used to the time it needs to wake up, it can use the time it has to sleep as efficiently as possible. ―Studies show that your b ody prepares to wake up one and a half hours prior to actually waking up. You body craves regularity.‖。