高中生经典英文小说阅读欣赏与写作系列The McWilliamses And The Burglar Alarm
高中英语小说品鉴单选题30题
高中英语小说品鉴单选题30题1. In the novel "Pride and Prejudice", Elizabeth Bennet is known for her ______.A. shyness and timidityB. intelligence and independenceC. vanity and arroganceD. submissiveness and obedience答案:B。
伊丽莎白·班纳特以聪明和独立著称。
选项 A 中的“shyness and timidity”(害羞和胆怯)不符合她的性格;选项C 中的“vanity and arrogance”(虚荣和傲慢)也与她不符;选项 D 中的“submissiveness and obedience”(顺从和服从)更不是她的特点。
2. The character of Heathcliff in "Wuthering Heights" is often described as ______.A. kind-hearted and gentleB. cruel and vengefulC. optimistic and cheerfulD. rational and calm答案:B。
希斯克利夫在《呼啸山庄》中常被描述为残忍且充满复仇心。
选项A 的“kind-hearted and gentle”((善良和温和)与他的形象相反;选项C 的“optimistic and cheerful”(乐观和开朗)不符合他的性格;选项D 的“rational and calm”(理性和平静)也不是他的特点。
3. In "Jane Eyre", Mr. Rochester is initially presented as ______.A. sincere and straightforwardB. mysterious and broodingC. sociable and friendlyD. simple and naive答案:B。
适合高中生看的英文书籍
适合高中生看的英文书籍以下是一些适合高中生阅读的英文书籍:1. 《To Kill a Mockingbird》by Harper Lee - 哈珀·李的《杀死一只知更鸟》是一本经典小说,讲述了在南部小镇上,一名黑人男子被错误地指控犯有强奸罪的故事,以及这个事件对小镇居民的影响。
2. 《The Great Gatsby》by F. Scott Fitzgerald- 菲茨杰拉德的《了不起的盖茨比》描写了20世纪20年代美国社会的繁荣和空虚,以及一个以追求无法实现的梦想为中心的故事。
3. 《1984》by George Orwell- 乔治·奥威尔的《1984》是一部反乌托邦小说,描绘了极权主义社会的恐怖宰制和对个人自由的压制。
4. 《The Catcher in the Rye》by J.D. Salinger- J.D. 萨林格的《麦田里的守望者》是一部以内心世界和青春期困惑为主题的小说,讲述了少年草地的成长和对社会不合理、虚伪的失望。
5. 《The Book Thief》by Markus Zusak- 马库斯·祖萨克的《偷书贼》是一部以二战时期的纳粹德国为背景,讲述了一个关于勇敢、爱和人性的故事。
6. 《The Fault in Our Stars》by John Green- 约翰·格林的《星星之火》是一部关于两个癌症患者之间的爱情故事,同时也探索了生死、希望和人生意义的问题。
7. 《The Perks of Being a Wallflower》by Stephen Chbosky- 斯蒂芬·塞博斯基的《壁花少年》讲述了一个青少年在高中时期面临的挑战和发现自我的故事。
8. 《The Hunger Games》by Suzanne Collins- 苏珊·柯林斯的《饥饿游戏》是一部描述未来战斗竞技节目的小说,主要关注权力、社会不公和个人抗争。
英文经典文学作品
英文经典文学作品The realm of English literature is vast and rich, with a multitude of classic works that have stood the test of time. These literary gems span various genres, from epic poetry to novels, and they have shaped not only the English language but also the minds and hearts of readers across the globe.One of the most revered works in English literature is William Shakespeare's "Hamlet." This tragedy, penned in the late 16th century, delves into themes of revenge, mortality, and the complexities of human nature. Hamlet's soliloquies, particularly the "To be or not to be" speech, are some of the most quoted lines in the English language, reflecting onlife's existential questions.Moving into the 18th century, we encounter the novels of Jane Austen. Her works, such as "Pride and Prejudice," offer a witty and incisive look at the social norms and courtship rituals of the time. Austen's novels are celebrated for their sharp dialogue and well-drawn characters, which continue to captivate modern audiences.The 19th century was a golden age for English literature, with the emergence of the novel as a dominant form. Works such as "Wuthering Heights" by Emily Brontë and "Great Expectations" by Charles Dickens are prime examples of the era's exploration of social class, love, and the human condition. Dickens, in particular, is known for his vividportrayal of Victorian society, with its stark contrasts between wealth and poverty.In the 20th century, English literature saw a shift towards modernism, with authors like Virginia Woolf and T.S. Eliot experimenting with narrative structure and language. Woolf's "Mrs. Dalloway" and "To the Lighthouse" are celebrated for their stream-of-consciousness style, which allows readers to delve into the inner thoughts of the characters.Postmodern literature, with its focus on metafiction and the questioning of narrative authority, is exemplified by authors such as Salman Rushdie and Ian McEwan. Rushdie's "Midnight's Children," with its blend of magical realism and historical fiction, is a testament to the enduring power of storytelling.English literature is not just a collection of texts; it is a living tradition that continues to evolve and inspire. Each classic work, from the medieval epics to the contemporary novels, contributes to a rich tapestry of stories that reflect the human experience in all its diversity and complexity.。
中英对照英国散文欣赏
中英对照英国散文欣赏中英对照英国散文欣赏(一)(编者注:以下中英对照英国散文选段摘自杨自伍编的《英国散文名篇欣赏》,其中有些译文编者根据自己所好重新作了翻译,目的一是让年轻人知道有这么本好书,也许他们会自己找来阅读;二是让成天钻在英语考题中的初三至高三的同学们了解到:英语中原来还有这么美好的东西,远比他们的练习题和考卷有趣。
文章后面摘录的英语单词,只须按一下电子辞典就明白了。
)1. I went out in the afternoon. It was too early in the year fora heavy fallof leaves, but nevertheless the garden was covered. They were washed to the sides of the roads, and lay heaped up over the road-gratings, masses of gorgeous harmonies in red, brown, and yellow. The chestnuts andacorns dropped in showers, and the patter on the gravel was a little weird.The chestnut husks split wide open when they came to the ground,revealing the polished brown of the shy fruit.(nevertheless, gorgeous, harmony, weird, reveal, polish)这天下午我信步出门。
还不到一年中落叶纷飞的季节,花园却已被枯叶覆盖。
它们被雨水冲到路边,堆积在阴沟格栅上,红色的,褐色的,黄色的,一堆堆,一丛丛,既绚丽多彩,又和谐悦目。
橡实雨点般纷纷坠下,嗒嗒地拍打在鹅卵石上,给人一种神秘感。
高中生经典英文小说阅读欣赏与写作系列A Horseman in the Sky
A Horseman in the Skyby Ambrose BierceIOne sunny afternoon in the autumn of the year 1861 a soldier lay in a clump of laurel by the side of a road in western Virginia. He lay at full length upon his stomach, his feet resting upon the toes, his head upon the left forearm. His extended right hand loosely grasped his rifle. But for the somewhat methodical disposition of his limbs and a slight rhythmic movement of the cartridge-box at the back of his belt he might have been thought to be dead. He was asleep at his post of duty. But if detected he would be dead shortly afterward, death being the just and legal penalty of his crime.The clump of laurel in which the criminal lay was in the angle of a road which after ascending southward a steep acclivity to that point turned sharply to the west, running along the summit for perhaps one hundred yards. There it turned southward again and went zigzagging downward through the forest. At the salient of that second angle was a large flat rock, jutting out northward, overlooking the deep valley from which the road ascended. The rock capped a high cliff; a stone dropped from its outer edge would have fallen sheer downward one thousand feet to the tops of the pines. The angle where the soldier lay was on another spur of the same cliff. Had he been awake he would have commanded a view, not only of the short arm of the road and the jutting rock, but of the entire profile of the cliff below it. It might well have made him giddy to look.The country was wooded everywhere except at the bottom of the valley to the northward, where there was a small natural meadow, through which flowed a stream scarcely visible from the valley's rim. This open ground looked hardly larger than an ordinary door-yard, but was really several acres in extent. Its green was more vivid than that of the inclosing forest. Away beyond it rose a line of giant cliffs similar to those upon which we are supposed to stand in our survey of the savage scene, and through which the road had somehow made its climb to the summit. The configuration of the valley, indeed, was such that from this point of observation it seemed entirely shut in, and one could but have wondered how the road which found a way out of it had found a way into it, and whence came and whither went the waters of the stream that parted the meadow more than a thousand feet below.No country is so wild and difficult but men will make it a theatre of war; concealed in the forest at the bottom of that military rat-trap, in which half a hundred men in possession of the exits might have starved an army to submission,lay five regiments of Federal infantry. They had marched all the previous day and night and were resting. At nightfall they would take to the road again, climb to the place where their unfaithful sentinel now slept, and descending the other slope of the ridge fall upon a camp of the enemy at about midnight. Their hope was to surprise it, for the road led to the rear of it. In case of failure, their position would be perilous in the extreme; and fail they surely would should accident or vigilance apprise the enemy of the movement.IIThe sleeping sentinel in the clump of laurel was a young Virginian named Carter Druse. He was the son of wealthy parents, an only child, and had known such ease and cultivation and high living as wealth and taste were able to command in the mountain country of western Virginia. His home was but a few miles from where he now lay. One morning he had risen from the breakfast-table and said, quietly but gravely: "Father, a Union regiment has arrived at Grafton. I am going to join it."The father lifted his leonine head, looked at the son a moment in silence, and replied: "Well, go, sir, and whatever may occur do what you conceive to be your duty. Virginia, to which you are a traitor, must get on without you. Should we both live to the end of the war, we will speak further of the matter. Your mother, as the physician has informed you, is in a most critical condition; at the best she cannot be with us longer than a few weeks, but that time is precious. It would be better not to disturb her."So Carter Druse, bowing reverently to his father, who returned the salute with a stately courtesy that masked a breaking heart, left the home of his childhood to go soldiering. By conscience and courage, by deeds of devotion and daring, he soon commended himself to his fellows and his officers; and it was to these qualities and to some knowledge of the country that he owed his selection for his present perilous duty at the extreme outpost. Nevertheless, fatigue had been stronger than resolution and he had fallen asleep. What good or bad angel came in a dream to rouse him from his state of crime, who shall say? Without a movement, without a sound, in the profound silence and the languor of the late afternoon, some invisible messenger of fate touched with unsealing finger the eyes of his consciousness--whispered into the ear of his spirit the mysterious awakening word which no human lips ever have spoken, no human memory ever has recalled. He quietly raised his forehead from his arm and looked between the masking stems of the laurels, instinctively closing his right hand about the stock of his rifle.His first feeling was a keen artistic delight. On a colossal pedestal, the cliff,--motionless at the extreme edge of the capping rock and sharply outlined against the sky,--was an equestrian statue of impressive dignity. The figure of theman sat the figure of the horse, straight and soldierly, but with the repose of a Grecian god carved in the marble which limits the suggestion of activity. The gray costume harmonized with its arial background; the metal of accoutrement and caparison was softened and subdued by the shadow; the animal's skin had no points of high light. A carbine strikingly foreshortened lay across the pommel of the saddle, kept in place by the right hand grasping it at the "grip"; the left hand, holding the bridle rein, was invisible. In silhouette against the sky the profile of the horse was cut with the sharpness of a cameo; it looked across the heights of air to the confronting cliffs beyond. The face of the rider, turned slightly away, showed only an outline of temple and beard; he was looking downward to the bottom of the valley. Magnified by its lift against the sky and by the soldier's testifying sense of the formidableness of a near enemy the group appeared of heroic, almost colossal, size.For an instant Druse had a strange, half-defined feeling that he had slept to the end of the war and was looking upon a noble work of art reared upon that eminence to commemorate the deeds of an heroic past of which he had been an inglorious part. The feeling was dispelled by a slight movement of the group: the horse, without moving its feet, had drawn its body slightly backward from the verge; the man remained immobile as before. Broad awake and keenly alive to the significance of the situation, Druse now brought the butt of his rifle against his cheek by cautiously pushing the barrel forward through the bushes, cocked the piece, and glancing through the sights covered a vital spot of the horseman's breast.A touch upon the trigger and all would have been well with Carter Druse. At that instant the horseman turned his head and looked in the direction of his concealed foeman--seemed to look into his very face, into his eyes, into his brave, compassionate heart.Is it then so terrible to kill an enemy in war--an enemy who has surprised a secret vital to the safety of one's self and comrades--an enemy more formidable for his knowledge than all his army for its numbers? Carter Druse grew pale; he shook in every limb, turned faint, and saw the statuesque group before him as black figures, rising, falling, moving unsteadily in arcs of circles in a fiery sky. His hand fell away from his weapon, his head slowly dropped until his face rested on the leaves in which he lay. This courageous gentleman and hardy soldier was near swooning from intensity of emotion.It was not for long; in another moment his face was raised from earth, his hands resumed their places on the rifle, his forefinger sought the trigger; mind, heart, and eyes were clear, conscience and reason sound. He could not hope to capture that enemy; to alarm him would but send him dashing to his camp with his fatal news. The duty of the soldier was plain: the man must be shot dead fromambush--without warning, without a moment's spiritual preparation, with never so much as an unspoken prayer, he must be sent to his account. But no--there is a hope; he may have discovered nothing--perhaps he is but admiring the sublimity of the landscape. If permitted, he may turn and ride carelessly away in the direction whence he came. Surely it will be possible to judge at the instant of his withdrawing whether he knows. It may well be that his fixity of attention--Druse turned his head and looked through the deeps of air downward, as from the surface to the bottom of a translucent sea. He saw creeping across the green meadow a sinuous line of figures of men and horses--some foolish commander was permitting the soldiers of his escort to water their beasts in the open, in plain view from a dozen summits!Druse withdrew his eyes from the valley and fixed them again upon the group of man and horse in the sky, and again it was through the sights of his rifle. But this time his aim was at the horse. In his memory, as if they were a divine mandate, rang the words of his father at their parting: "Whatever may occur, do what you conceive to be your duty." He was calm now. His teeth were firmly but not rigidly closed; his nerves were as tranquil as a sleeping babe's--not a tremor affected any muscle of his body; his breathing, until suspended in the act of taking aim, was regular and slow. Duty had conquered; the spirit had said to the body: "Peace, be still." He fired.IIIAn officer of the Federal force, who in a spirit of adventure or in quest of knowledge had left the hidden bivouac in the valley, and with aimless feet had made his way to the lower edge of a small open space near the foot of the cliff, was considering what he had to gain by pushing his exploration further. At a distance of a quarter-mile before him, but apparently at a stone's throw, rose from its fringe of pines the gigantic face of rock, towering to so great a height above him that it made him giddy to look up to where its edge cut a sharp, rugged line against the sky. It presented a clean, vertical profile against a background of blue sky to a point half the way down, and of distant hills, hardly less blue, thence to the tops of the trees at its base. Lifting his eyes to the dizzy altitude of its summit the officer saw an astonishing sight--a man on horseback riding down into the valley through the air!Straight upright sat the rider, in military fashion, with a firm seat in the saddle, a strong clutch upon the rein to hold his charger from too impetuous a plunge. From his bare head his long hair streamed upward, waving like a plume. His hands were concealed in the cloud of the horse's lifted mane. The animal's body was as level as if every hoof-stroke encountered the resistant earth. Its motions were those of a wild gallop, but even as the officer looked they ceased, with all the legs thrown sharply forward as in the act of alighting from a leap. But this was a flight!Filled with amazement and terror by this apparition of a horseman in the sky--half believing himself the chosen scribe of some new Apocalypse, the officer was overcome by the intensity of his emotions; his legs failed him and he fell. Almost at the same instant he heard a crashing sound in the trees--a sound that died without an echo--and all was still.The officer rose to his feet, trembling. The familiar sensation of an abraded shin recalled his dazed faculties. Pulling himself together he ran rapidly obliquely away from the cliff to a point distant from its foot; thereabout he expected to find his man; and thereabout he naturally failed. In the fleeting instant of his vision his imagination had been so wrought upon by the apparent grace and ease and intention of the marvelous performance that it did not occur to him that the line of march of arial cavalry is directly downward, and that he could find the objects of his search at the very foot of the cliff. A half-hour later he returned to camp.This officer was a wise man; he knew better than to tell an incredible truth. He said nothing of what he had seen. But when the commander asked him if in his scout he had learned anything of advantage to the expedition he answered: "Yes, sir; there is no road leading down into this valley from the southward."The commander, knowing better, smiled.IVAfter firing his shot, Private Carter Druse reloaded his rifle and resumed his watch. Ten minutes had hardly passed when a Federal sergeant crept cautiously to him on hands and knees. Druse neither turned his head nor looked at him, but lay without motion or sign of recognition."Did you fire?" the sergeant whispered."Yes.""At what?""A horse. It was standing on yonder rock--pretty far out. You see it is no longer there. It went over the cliff."The man's face was white, but he showed no other sign of emotion. Having answered, he turned away his eyes and said no more. The sergeant did not understand."See here, Druse," he said, after a moment's silence, "it's no use making a mystery. I order you to report. Was there anybody on the horse?""Yes.""Well?""My father."The sergeant rose to his feet and walked away. "Good God!" he said.。
适合高中生的中英文读物
适合高中生的中英文读物
如果你正在寻找适合高中生的中英文读物,那么你来对地方了。
下面是一些值得推荐的书籍。
1. 《麦田里的守望者》(The Catcher in the Rye) by J.D. Salinger
这是一本经典的美国小说,讲述了一个叛逆的青少年Holden Caulfield的故事。
这部小说探讨了成长、自我认知和社会压力等主题,适合高中生阅读。
2. 《英国文学史》(A History of English Literature) by Michael Alexander
这是一本关于英国文学发展历史的书籍,包括了从中世纪到现代的文学作品和作家。
它可以帮助高中生理解英国文学的发展历程和主要作品。
3. 《了不起的盖茨比》(The Great Gatsby) by F. Scott Fitzgerald
这是另一本经典的美国小说,讲述了上流社会的浪漫和堕落。
这本书可以帮助高中生理解20世纪的美国文化和价值观。
4. 《哈利·波特》系列 (Harry Potter series) by J.K. Rowling
这是一系列畅销书籍,讲述了一个年轻巫师哈利·波特的冒险故事。
这些书籍不仅适合青少年阅读,也适合成年读者。
5. 《1984》(1984) by George Orwell
这是一本关于极权主义和政治控制的小说,可以帮助高中生理解现代政治和社会的问题。
它也是一部经典的文学作品,值得一读。
以上是一些适合高中生阅读的中英文读物,希望可以帮助你更好地发展你的阅读兴趣和扩展你的知识面。
【英语阅读】高中英语课外读物美文欣赏40篇(双语版)
高中英语课外读物美文欣赏40篇(双语版)1《飞鸟集》精选1夏天的飞鸟,飞到我的窗前唱歌,又飞去了。
Stray birds of summer come to my window to sing and fly away.2 秋天的黄叶,它们没有什么可唱,只叹息一声,飞落在那里。
And yellow leaves of autumn, which have no songs, flutter and fall there with a sign.3世界对着它的爱人,把它浩翰的面具揭下了。
它变小了,小如一首歌,小如一回永恒的接吻The world puts off its mask of vastness to its lover. It becomes small as one song, as one kiss of the eternal.4是大地的泪点,使她的微笑保持着青春不谢。
It is the tears of the earth that keep her smiles in bloom.5无垠的沙漠热烈追求一叶绿草的爱,她摇摇头笑着飞开了。
The mighty desert is burning for the love of a blade of grass who shakes her head and laughs and flies away.6如果你因失去了太阳而流泪,那么你也将失去群星了。
If you shed tears when you miss the sun, you also miss the stars.7跳舞着的流水呀,在你途中的泥沙,要求你的歌声,你的流动呢。
你肯挟瘸足的泥沙而俱下么?The sands in your way beg for your song and your movement, dancing water. Will you carry the burden of their lameness?8她的热切的脸,如夜雨似的,搅扰着我的梦魂。
高中生经典英文小说阅读与欣赏系列 The Looking Glass
The Looking Glassby Anton ChekhovNEW YEAR'S EVE. Nellie, the daughter of a landowner and general, a young and pretty girl, dreaming day and night of being married, was sitting in her room, gazing with exhausted, half-closed eyes into the looking-glass. She was pale, tense, and as motionless as the looking-glass.The non-existent but apparent vista of a long, narrow corridor with endless rows of candles, the reflection of her face, her hands, of the frame -- all this was already clouded in mist and merged into a boundless grey sea. The sea was undulating, gleaming and now and then flaring crimson. . . .Looking at Nellie's motionless eyes and parted lips, one could hardly say whether she was asleep or awake, but nevertheless she was seeing. At first she saw only the smile and soft, charming expression of someone's eyes, then against the shifting grey background there gradually appeared the outlines of a head, a face, eyebrows, beard. It was he, the destined one, the object of long dreams and hopes. The destined one was for Nellie everything, the significance of life, personal happiness, career, fate. Outside him, as on the grey background of the looking-glass, all was dark, empty, meaningless. And so it was not strange that, seeing before her a handsome, gently smiling face, she was conscious of bliss, of an unutterably sweet dream that could not be expressed in speech or on paper. Then she heard his voice, saw herself living under the same roof with him, her life merged into his. Months and years flew by against the grey background. And Nellie saw her future distinctly in all its details.Picture followed picture against the grey background. Now Nellie saw herself one winter night knocking at the door of Stepan Lukitch, the district doctor. The old dog hoarsely and lazily barked behind the gate. The doctor's windows were in darkness. All was silence."For God's sake, for God's sake!" whispered Nellie.But at last the garden gate creaked and Nellie saw the doctor's cook."Is the doctor at home?""His honour's asleep," whispered the cook into her sleeve, as though afraid of waking her master."He's only just got home from his fever patients, and gave orders he was not to be waked."But Nellie scarcely heard the cook. Thrusting her aside, she rushed headlong into the doctor's house. Running through some dark and stuffy rooms, upsetting two or three chairs, she at last reached the doctor's bedroom. Stepan Lukitch waslying on his bed, dressed, but without his coat, and with pouting lips was breathing into his open hand. A little night-light glimmered faintly beside him. Without uttering a word Nellie sat down and began to cry. She wept bitterly, shaking all over."My husband is ill!" she sobbed out. Stepan Lukitch was silent. He slowly sat up, propped his head on his hand, and looked at his visitor with fixed, sleepy eyes. "My husband is ill!" Nellie continued, restraining her sobs. "For mercy's sake come quickly. Make haste. . . . Make haste!""Eh?" growled the doctor, blowing into his hand."Come! Come this very minute! Or . . . it's terrible to think! For mercy's sake!"And pale, exhausted Nellie, gasping and swallowing her tears, began describing to the doctor her husband's illness, her unutterable terror. Her sufferings would have touched the heart of a stone, but the doctor looked at her, blew into his open hand, and -- not a movement."I'll come to-morrow!" he muttered."That's impossible!" cried Nellie. "I know my husband has typhus! At once . . . this very minute you are needed!""I . . . er . . . have only just come in," muttered the doctor. "For the last three days I've been away, seeing typhus patients, and I'm exhausted and ill myself. . . . I simply can't! Absolutely! I've caught it myself! There!"And the doctor thrust before her eyes a clinical thermometer."My temperature is nearly forty. . . . I absolutely can't. I can scarcely sit up. Excuse me. I'll lie down. . . ."The doctor lay down."But I implore you, doctor," Nellie moaned in despair. "I beseech you! Help me, for mercy's sake! Make a great effort and come! I will repay you, doctor!""Oh, dear! . . . Why, I have told you already. Ah!"Nellie leapt up and walked nervously up and down the bedroom. She longed to explain to the doctor, to bring him to reason. . . . She thought if only he knew how dear her husband was to her and how unhappy she was, he would forget his exhaustion and his illness. But how could she be eloquent enough?"Go to the Zemstvo doctor," she heard Stepan Lukitch's voice."That's impossible! He lives more than twenty miles from here, and time is precious. And the horses can't stand it. It is thirty miles from us to you, and as much from here to the Zemstvo doctor. No, it's impossible! Come along, Stepan Lukitch. I ask of you an heroic deed. Come, perform that heroic deed! Have pity on us!""It's beyond everything. . . . I'm in a fever. . . my head's in a whirl . . . and she won't understand! Leave me alone!""But you are in duty bound to come! You cannot refuse to come! It's egoism! A man is bound to sacrifice his life for his neighbour, and you. . . you refuse to come!I will summon you before the Court."Nellie felt that she was uttering a false and undeserved insult, but for her husband's sake she was capable of forgetting logic, tact, sympathy for others. . . . In reply to her threats, the doctor greedily gulped a glass of cold water. Nellie fell to entreating and imploring like the very lowest beggar. . . . At last the doctor gave way. He slowly got up, puffing and panting, looking for his coat."Here it is!" cried Nellie, helping him. "Let me put it on to you. Come along! I will repay you. . . . All my life I shall be grateful to you. . . ."But what agony! After putting on his coat the doctor lay down again. Nellie got him up and dragged him to the hall. Then there was an agonizing to-do over his goloshes, his overcoat. . . . His cap was lost. . . . But at last Nellie was in the carriage with the doctor. Now they had only to drive thirty miles and her husband would have a doctor's help. The earth was wrapped in darkness. One could not see one's hand before one's face. . . . A cold winter wind was blowing. There were frozen lumps under their wheels. The coachman was continually stopping and wondering which road to take.Nellie and the doctor sat silent all the way. It was fearfully jolting, but they felt neither the cold nor the jolts."Get on, get on!" Nellie implored the driver.At five in the morning the exhausted horses drove into the yard. Nellie saw the familiar gates, the well with the crane, the long row of stables and barns. At last she was at home."Wait a moment, I will be back directly," she said to Stepan Lukitch, making him sit down on the sofa in the dining-room. "Sit still and wait a little, and I'll see how he is going on."On her return from her husband, Nellie found the doctor lying down. He was lying on the sofa and muttering."Doctor, please! . . . doctor!""Eh? Ask Domna!" muttered Stepan Lukitch."What?""They said at the meeting . . . Vlassov said . . . Who? . . . what?"And to her horror Nellie saw that the doctor was as delirious as her husband. What was to be done?"I must go for the Zemstvo doctor," she decided.Then again there followed darkness, a cutting cold wind, lumps of frozen earth. She was suffering in body and in soul, and delusive nature has no arts, no deceptions to compensate these sufferings. . . .Then she saw against the grey background how her husband every spring was in straits for money to pay the interest for the mortgage to the bank. He could not sleep, she could not sleep, and both racked their brains till their heads ached, thinking how to avoid being visited by the clerk of the Court.She saw her children: the everlasting apprehension of colds, scarlet fever, diphtheria, bad marks at school, separation. Out of a brood of five or six one was sure to die.The grey background was not untouched by death. That might well be. A husband and wife cannot die simultaneously. Whatever happened one must bury the other. And Nellie saw her husband dying. This terrible event presented itself to her in every detail. She saw the coffin, the candles, the deacon, and even the footmarks in the hall made by the undertaker."Why is it, what is it for?" she asked, looking blankly at her husband's face.And all the previous life with her husband seemed to her a stupid prelude to this.Something fell from Nellie's hand and knocked on the floor. She started, jumped up, and opened her eyes wide. One looking-glass she saw lying at her feet. The other was standing as before on the table.She looked into the looking-glass and saw a pale, tear-stained face. There was no grey background now."I must have fallen asleep," she thought with a sigh of relief.。
高中生经典英文小说阅读欣赏与写作系列 The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County
The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras Countyby Mark TwainIn compliance with the request of a friend of mine, who wrote me from the East, I called on good-natured, garrulous old Simon Wheeler, and inquired after my friend's friend, Leonidas W. Smiley, as requested to do, and I hereunto append the result. I have a lurking suspicion that Leonidas W. Smiley is a myth; and that my friend never knew such a personage; and that he only conjectured that if I asked old Wheeler about him, it would remind him of his infamous Jim Smiley, and he would go to work and bore me to death with some exasperating reminiscence of him as long and as tedious as it should be useless to me. If that was the design, it succeeded.I found Simon Wheeler dozing comfortably by the barroom stove of the dilapidated tavern in the decayed mining camp of Angel's, and I noticed that he was fat and bald-headed, and had an expression of winning gentleness and simplicity upon his tranquil countenance. He roused up, and gave me good-day. I told him a friend had commissioned me to make some inquiries about a cherished companion of his boyhood named Leonidas W. Smiley--Rev. Leonidas W. Smiley, a young minister of the Gospel, who he had heard was at one time a resident of Angel's Camp. I added that if Mr. Wheeler could tell me anything about this Rev. Leonidas W. Smiley, I would feel under many obligations to him.Simon Wheeler backed me into a corner and blockaded me there with his chair, and then sat down and reeled off the monotonous narrative which follows this paragraph. He never smiled, he never frowned, he never changed his voice from the gentle-flowing key to which he tuned his initial sentence, he never betrayed the slightest suspicion of enthusiasm; but all through the interminable narrative there ran a vein of impressive earnestness and sincerity, which showed me plainly that, so far from his imagining that there was anything ridiculous or funny about his story, he regarded it as a really important matter, and admired its two heroes as men of transcendent genius in finesse. I let him go on in his own way, and never interrupted him once."Rev. Leonidas W. H'm, Reverend Le--well, there was a feller here once by the name of Jim Smiley, in the winter of '49--or may be it was the spring of '50--I don't recollect exactly, somehow, though what makes me think it was one or the other is because I remember the big flume warn't finished when he first came to the camp; but any way, he was the curiousest man about always betting on anything that turned up you ever see, if he could get anybody to bet on the other side; and if he couldn't he'd change sides. Any way that suited the other man would suit him--any way just so's he got a bet, he was satisfied. But still he was lucky, uncommon lucky;he most always come out winner. He was always ready and laying for a chance; there couldn't be no solit'ry thing mentioned but that feller'd offer to bet on it, and take any side you please, as I was just telling you. If there was a horse-race, you'd find him flush or you'd find him busted at the end of it; if there was a dog-fight, he'd bet on it; if there was a cat-fight, he'd bet on it; if there was a chicken-fight, he'd bet on it; why, if there was two birds setting on a fence, he would bet you which one would fly first; or if there was a camp-meeting, he would be there reg'lar to bet on Parson Walker, which he judged to be the best exhorter about here, and he was, too, and a good man. If he even see a straddle-bug start to go anywheres, he would bet you how long it would take him to get to--to wherever he was going to, and if you took him up, he would foller that straddle-bug to Mexico but what he would find out where he was bound for and how long he was on the road.Lots of the boys here has seen that Smiley and can tell you about him. Why, it never made no difference to him--he'd bet on any thing--the dangest feller. Parson Walker's wife laid very sick once, for a good while, and it seemed as if they warn't going to save her; but one morning he come in, and Smiley up and asked him how she was, and he said she was considerable better--thank the Lord for his inf'nit' mercy--and coming on so smart that with the blessing of Prov'dence she'd get well yet; and Smiley, before he thought, says, Well, I'll risk two-and-a-half she don't anyway.'"Thish-yer Smiley had a mare--the boys called her the fifteen-minute nag, but that was only in fun, you know, because, of course, she was faster than that--and he used to win money on that horse, for all she was so slow and always had the asthma, or the distemper, or the consumption, or something of that kind. They used to give her two or three hundred yards start, and then pass her under way; but always at the fag-end of the race she'd get excited and desperate-like, and come cavorting and straddling up, and scattering her legs around limber, sometimes in the air, and sometimes out to one side amongst the fences, and kicking up m-o-r-e dust and raising m-o-r-e racket with her coughing and sneezing and blowing her nose--and always fetch up at the stand just about a neck ahead, as near as you could cipher it down.And he had a little small bull-pup, that to look at him you'd think he warn't worth a cent but to set around and look ornery and lay for a chance to steal something. But as soon as money was up on him he was a different dog; his under-jaw'd begin to stick out like the fo'-castle of a steamboat, and his teeth would uncover and shine like the furnaces. And a dog might tackle him and bully-rag him, and bite him, and throw him over his shoulder two or three times, and Andrew Jackson--which was the name of the pup--Andrew Jackson would never let on but what he was satisfied, and hadn't expected nothing else--and the bets being doubledand doubled on the other side all the time, till the money was all up; and then all of a sudden he would grab that other dog jest by the j'int of his hind leg and freeze to it--not chaw, you understand, but only just grip and hang on till they throwed up the sponge, if it was a year. Smiley always come out winner on that pup, till he harnessed a dog once that didn't have no hind legs, because they'd been sawed off in a circular saw, and when the thing had gone along far enough, and the money was all up, and he come to make a snatch for his pet holt, he see in a minute how he'd been imposed on, and how the other dog had him in the door, so to speak, and he 'peared surprised, and then he looked sorter discouraged-like, and didn't try no more to win the fight, and so he got shucked out bad. He gave Smiley a look, as much as to say his heart was broke, and it was his fault, for putting up a dog that hadn't no hind legs for him to take holt of, which was his main dependence in a fight, and then he limped off a piece and laid down and died. It was a good pup, was that Andrew Jackson, and would have made a name for hisself if he'd lived, for the stuff was in him and he had genius--I know it, because he hadn't no opportunities to speak of, and it don't stand to reason that a dog could make such a fight as he could under them circumstances if he hadn't no talent. It always makes me feel sorry when I think of that last fight of his'n, and the way it turned out.Well, thish-yer Smiley had rat-tarriers, and chicken cocks, and tom-cats and all of them kind of things, till you couldn't rest, and you couldn't fetch nothing for him to bet on but he'd match you. He ketched a frog one day, and took him home, and said he cal'lated to educate him; and so he never done nothing for three months but set in his back yard and learn that frog to jump. And you bet you he did learn him, too. He'd give him a little punch behind, and the next minute you'd see that frog whirling in the air like a doughnut--see him turn one summerset, or may be a couple, if he got a good start, and come down flat-footed and all right, like a cat.He got him up so in the matter of ketching flies, and kep' him in practice so constant, that he'd nail a fly every time as fur as he could see him. Smiley said all a frog wanted was education, and he could do 'most anything--and I believe him. Why, I've seen him set Dan'l Webster down here on this floor--Dan'l Webster was the name of the frog--and sing out, "Flies, Dan'l, flies!" and quicker'n you could wink he'd spring straight up and snake a fly off'n the counter there, and flop down on the floor ag'in as solid as a gob of mud, and fall to scratching the side of his head with his hind foot as indifferent as if he hadn't no idea he'd been doin' any more'n any frog might do. You never see a frog so modest and straightfor'ard as he was, for all he was so gifted. And when it come to fair and square jumping on a dead level, he could get over more ground at one straddle than any animal of his breed you ever see. Jumping on a dead level was his strong suit, you understand; and when it come to that, Smiley would ante up money on him as long as he had ared. Smiley was monstrous proud of his frog, and well he might be, for fellers that had traveled and been everywheres, all said he laid over any frog that ever they see.Well, Smiley kep' the beast in a little lattice box, and he used to fetch him downtown sometimes and lay for a bet. One day a feller--a stranger in the camp, he was--come acrost him with his box, and says:"What might be that you've got in the box?"And Smiley says, sorter indifferent-like, "It might be a parrot, or it might be a canary, maybe, but it ain't--it's only just a frog."And the feller took it, and looked at it careful, and turned it round this way and that, and says, "H'm--so 'tis. Well, what's he good for?""Well," Smiley says, easy and careless, "he's good enough for one thing, I should judge--he can outjump any frog in Calaveras county."The feller took the box again, and took another long, particular look, and give it back to Smiley, and says, very deliberate, "Well," he says, "I don't see no p'ints about that frog that's any better'n any other frog.""Maybe you don't," Smiley says. "Maybe you understand frogs and maybe you don't understand 'em; maybe you've had experience, and maybe you ain't only a amature, as it were. Anyways, I've got my opinion and I'll risk forty dollars that he can outjump any frog in Calaveras County."And the feller studied a minute, and then says, kinder sad like, "Well, I'm only a stranger here, and I ain't got no frog; but if I had a frog, I'd bet you."And then Smiley says, "That's all right--that's all right--if you'll hold my box a minute, I'll go and get you a frog." And so the feller took the box, and put up his forty dollars along with Smiley's, and set down to wait.So he set there a good while thinking and thinking to his-self, and then he got the frog out and prized his mouth open and took a teaspoon and filled him full of quail shot--filled! him pretty near up to his chin--and set him on the floor. Smiley he went to the swamp and slopped around in the mud for a long time, and finally he ketched a frog, and fetched him in, and give him to this feller, and says: "Now, if you're ready, set him alongside of Dan'l, with his forepaws just even with Dan'l's, and I'll give the word." Then he says, "One--two--three--git!" and him and the feller touched up the frogs from behind, and the new frog hopped off lively, but Dan'l give a heave, and hysted up his shoulders--so--like a Frenchman, but it warn't no use--he couldn't budge; he was planted as solid as a church, and he couldn't no more stir than if he was anchored out. Smiley was a good deal surprised, and he was disgusted too, but he didn't have no idea what the matter was, of course.The feller took the money and started away; and when he was going out at the door, he sorter jerked his thumb over his shoulder--so--at Dan'l, and says again, very deliberate, "Well," he says, "I don't see no p'ints about that frog that's anybetter'n any other frog."Smiley he stood scratching his head and looking down at Dan'l a long time, and at last says, "I do wonder what in the nation that frog throwed off for--I wonder if there ain't something the matter with him--he 'pears to look mighty baggy, somehow." And he ketched Dan'l up by the nap of the neck, and hefted him, and says, "Why blame my cats if he don't weigh five pounds!" and turned him upside down and he belched out a double handful of shot. And then he see how it was, and he was the maddest man--he set the frog down and took out after that feller, but he never ketched him. And----(Here Simon Wheeler heard his name called from the front yard, and got up to see what was wanted.) And turning to me as he moved away, he said: "Just set where you are, stranger, and rest easy--I ain't going to be gone a second."But, by your leave, I did not think that a continuation of the history of the enterprising vagabond Jim Smiley would be likely to afford me much information concerning the Rev. Leonidas W. Smiley, and so I started away.At the door I met the sociable Wheeler returning, and he buttonholed me and recommenced:"Well, thish-yer Smiley had a yaller, one-eyed cow that didn't have no tail, only jest a short stump like a bannanner, and----"However, lacking both time and inclination, I did not wait to hear about the afflicted cow, but took my leave.。
高中生经典英文小说阅读欣赏与写作系列 One Summer Night
One Summer Nightby Ambrose BierceThe fact that Henry Armstrong was buried did not seem to him to prove that he was dead: he had always been a hard man to convince. That he really was buried, the testimony of his senses compelled him to admit. His posture -- flat upon his back, with his hands crossed upon his stomach and tied with something that he easily broke without profitably altering the situation -- the strict confinement of his entire person, the black darkness and profound silence, made a body of evidence impossible to controvert and he accepted it without cavil.But dead -- no; he was only very, very ill. He had, withal, the invalid's apathy and did not greatly concern himself about the uncommon fate that had been allotted to him. No philosopher was he -- just a plain, commonplace person gifted, for the time being, with a pathological indifference: the organ that he feared consequences with was torpid. So, with no particular apprehension for his immediate future, he fell asleep and all was peace with Henry Armstrong.But something was going on overhead. It was a dark summer night, shot through with infrequent shimmers of lightning silently firing a cloud lying low in the west and portending a storm. These brief, stammering illuminations brought out with ghastly distinctness the monuments and headstones of the cemetery and seemed to set them dancing. It was not a night in which any credible witness was likely to be straying about a cemetery, so the three men who were there, digging into the grave of Henry Armstrong, felt reasonably secure.Two of them were young students from a medical college a few miles away; the third was a gigantic negro known as Jess. For many years Jess had been employed about the cemetery as a man-of-all-work and it was his favourite pleasantry that he knew 'every soul in the place.' From the nature of what he was now doing it was inferable that the place was not so populous as its register may have shown it to be.Outside the wall, at the part of the grounds farthest from the public road, were a horse and a light wagon, waiting.The work of excavation was not difficult: the earth with which the grave had been loosely filled a few hours before offered little resistance and was soon thrown out. Removal of the casket from its box was less easy, but it was taken out, for it was a perquisite of Jess, who carefully unscrewed the cover and laid it aside, exposing the body in black trousers and white shirt. At that instant the air sprang to flame, a cracking shock of thunder shook the stunned world and Henry Armstrong tranquilly sat up. With inarticulate cries the men fled in terror, each in a differentdirection. For nothing on earth could two of them have been persuaded to return. But Jess was of another breed.In the grey of the morning the two students, pallid and haggard from anxiety and with the terror of their adventure still beating tumultuously in their blood, met at the medical college.'You saw it?' cried one.'God! yes -- what are we to do?'They went around to the rear of the building, where they saw a horse, attached to a light wagon, hitched to a gatepost near the door of the dissecting-room. Mechanically they entered the room. On a bench in the obscurity sat the negro Jess. He rose, grinning, all eyes and teeth.'I'm waiting for my pay,' he said.Stretched naked on a long table lay the body of Henry Armstrong, the head defiled with blood and clay from a blow with a spade.。
高中英语小说品鉴单选题30题
高中英语小说品鉴单选题30题1. In the novel "Pride and Prejudice", Elizabeth is known for her intelligence and independence. Which of the following characters is most similar to her in these traits?A. Jane BennetB. Lydia BennetC. Charlotte LucasD. Mary Bennet答案:C。
解析:Jane Bennet 性格温柔和善;Lydia Bennet 轻浮鲁莽;Mary Bennet 书呆子气且自负;Charlotte Lucas 较为理智和独立,与Elizabeth 在这方面有相似之处。
2. In "Great Expectations", Pip starts as a humble boy but changes over time. Which character shows the least change in personality throughout the story?A. EstellaB. Joe GargeryC. Miss HavishamD. Herbert Pocket答案:B。
解析:Estella 从冷漠变得温和;Miss Havisham 始终心怀怨恨;Herbert Pocket 有所成长;Joe Gargery 一直善良朴实,性格变化最小。
3. The character of Heathcliff in "Wuthering Heights" is complex andbrooding. Which of the following characters shares a similar intensity of emotions?A. Catherine EarnshawB. Edgar LintonC. Isabella LintonD. Nelly Dean答案:A。
高中生经典英文小说阅读欣赏与写作系列 Odour of Chrysanthemums
Odour of Chrysanthemumsby D. H. LawrenceIThe small locomotive engine, Number 4, came clanking, stumbling down from Selston--with seven full waggons. It appeared round the corner with loud threats of speed, but the colt that it startled from among the gorse, which still flickered indistinctly in the raw afternoon, outdistanced it at a canter. A woman, walking up the railway line to Underwood, drew back into the hedge, held her basket aside, and watched the footplate of the engine advancing. The trucks thumped heavily past, one by one, with slow inevitable movement, as she stood insignificantly trapped between the jolting black waggons and the hedge; then they curved away towards the coppice where the withered oak leaves dropped noiselessly, while the birds, pulling at the scarlet hips beside the track, made off into the dusk that had already crept into the spinney. In the open, the smoke from the engine sank and cleaved to the rough grass. The fields were dreary and forsaken, and in the marshy strip that led to the whimsey, a reedy pit-pond, the fowls had already abandoned their run among the alders, to roost in the tarred fowl-house. The pit-bank loomed up beyond the pond, flames like red sores licking its ashy sides, in the afternoon's stagnant light. Just beyond rose the tapering chimneys and the clumsy black head-stocks of Brinsley Colliery. The two wheels were spinning fast up against the sky, and the winding-engine rapped out its little spasms. The miners were being turned up.The engine whistled as it came into the wide bay of railway lines beside the colliery, where rows of trucks stood in harbour.Miners, single, trailing and in groups, passed like shadows diverging home. At the edge of the ribbed level of sidings squat a low cottage, three steps down from the cinder track. A large bony vine clutched at the house, as if to claw down the tiled roof. Round the bricked yard grew a few wintry primroses. Beyond, the long garden sloped down to a bush-covered brook course. There were some twiggy apple trees, winter-crack trees, and ragged cabbages. Beside the path hung dishevelled pink chrysanthemums, like pink cloths hung on bushes. A woman came stooping out of the felt-covered fowl-house, half-way down the garden. She closed and padlocked the door, then drew herself erect, having brushed some bits from her white apron.She was a till woman of imperious mien, handsome, with definite black eyebrows. Her smooth black hair was parted exactly. For a few moments she stood steadily watching the miners as they passed along the railway: then she turnedtowards the brook course. Her face was calm and set, her mouth was closed with disillusionment. After a moment she called:"John!" There was no answer. She waited, and then said distinctly:"Where are you?""Here!" replied a child's sulky voice from among the bushes. The woman looked piercingly through the dusk."Are you at that brook?" she asked sternly.For answer the child showed himself before the raspberry-canes that rose like whips. He was a small, sturdy boy of five. He stood quite still, defiantly."Oh!" said the mother, conciliated. "I thought you were down at that wet brook--and you remember what I told you--"The boy did not move or answer."Come, come on in," she said more gently, "it's getting dark. There's your grandfather's engine coming down the line!"The lad advanced slowly, with resentful, taciturn movement. He was dressed in trousers and waistcoat of cloth that was too thick and hard for the size of the garments. They were evidently cut down from a man's clothes.As they went slowly towards the house he tore at the ragged wisps of chrysanthemums and dropped the petals in handfuls along the path."Don't do that--it does look nasty," said his mother. He refrained, and she, suddenly pitiful, broke off a twig with three or four wan flowers and held them against her face. When mother and son reached the yard her hand hesitated, and instead of laying the flower aside, she pushed it in her apron-band. The mother and son stood at the foot of the three steps looking across the bay of lines at the passing home of the miners. The trundle of the small train was imminent. Suddenly the engine loomed past the house and came to a stop opposite the gate.The engine-driver, a short man with round grey beard, leaned out of the cab high above the woman."Have you got a cup of tea?" he said in a cheery, hearty fashion.It was her father. She went in, saying she would mash. Directly, she returned."I didn't come to see you on Sunday," began the little grey-bearded man."I didn't expect you," said his daughter.The engine-driver winced; then, reassuming his cheery, airy manner, he said: "Oh, have you heard then? Well, and what do you think--?""I think it is soon enough," she replied.At her brief censure the little man made an impatient gesture, and said coaxingly, yet with dangerous coldness:"Well, what's a man to do? It's no sort of life for a man of my years, to sit at my own hearth like a stranger. And if I'm going to marry again it may as well be soonas late--what does it matter to anybody?"The woman did not reply, but turned and went into the house. The man in the engine-cab stood assertive, till she returned with a cup of tea and a piece of bread and butter on a plate. She went up the steps and stood near the footplate of the hissing engine."You needn't 'a' brought me bread an' butter," said her father. "But a cup of tea"--he sipped appreciatively--"it's very nice." He sipped for a moment or two, then: "I hear as Walter's got another bout on," he said."When hasn't he?" said the woman bitterly."I heered tell of him in the 'Lord Nelson' braggin' as he was going to spend that b---- afore he went: half a sovereign that was.""When?" asked the woman."A' Sat'day night--I know that's true.""Very likely," she laughed bitterly. "He gives me twenty-three shillings.""Aye, it's a nice thing, when a man can do nothing with his money but make a beast of himself!" said the grey-whiskered man. The woman turned her head away. Her father swallowed the last of his tea and handed her the cup."Aye," he sighed, wiping his mouth. "It's a settler, it is--"He put his hand on the lever. The little engine strained and groaned, and the train rumbled towards the crossing. The woman again looked across the metals. Darkness was settling over the spaces of the railway and trucks: the miners, in grey sombre groups, were still passing home. The winding-engine pulsed hurriedly, with brief pauses. Elizabeth Bates looked at the dreary flow of men, then she went indoors. Her husband did not come.The kitchen was small and full of firelight; red coals piled glowing up the chimney mouth. All the life of the room seemed in the white, warm hearth and the steel fender reflecting the red fire. The cloth was laid for tea; cups glinted in the shadows. At the back, where the lowest stairs protruded into the room, the boy sat struggling with a knife and a piece of whitewood. He was almost hidden in the shadow. It was half-past four. They had but to await the father's coming to begin tea. As the mother watched her son's sullen little struggle with the wood, she saw herself in his silence and pertinacity; she saw the father in her child's indifference to all but himself. She seemed to be occupied by her husband. He had probably gone past his home, slunk past his own door, to drink before he came in, while his dinner spoiled and wasted in waiting. She glanced at the clock, then took the potatoes to strain them in the yard. The garden and fields beyond the brook were closed in uncertain darkness. When she rose with the saucepan, leaving the drain steaming into the night behind her, she saw the yellow lamps were lit along the high road that went up the hill away beyond the space of the railway lines and thefield.Then again she watched the men trooping home, fewer now and fewer.Indoors the fire was sinking and the room was dark red. The woman put her saucepan on the hob, and set a batter pudding near the mouth of the oven. Then she stood unmoving. Directly, gratefully, came quick young steps to the door. Someone hung on the latch a moment, then a little girl entered and began pulling off her outdoor things, dragging a mass of curls, just ripening from gold to brown, over her eyes with her hat.Her mother chid her for coming late from school, and said she would have to keep her at home the dark winter days."Why, mother, it's hardly a bit dark yet. The lamp's not lighted, and my father's not home.""No, he isn't. But it's a quarter to five! Did you see anything of him?"The child became serious. She looked at her mother with large, wistful blue eyes."No, mother, I've never seen him. Why? Has he come up an' gone past, to Old Brinsley? He hasn't, mother, 'cos I never saw him.""He'd watch that," said the mother bitterly, "he'd take care as you didn't see him. But you may depend upon it, he's seated in the 'Prince o' Wales'. He wouldn't be this late."The girl looked at her mother piteously."Let's have our teas, mother, should we?" said she.The mother called John to table. She opened the door once more and looked out across the darkness of the lines. All was deserted: she could not hear the winding-engines."Perhaps," she said to herself, "he's stopped to get some ripping done."They sat down to tea. John, at the end of the table near the door, was almost lost in the darkness. Their faces were hidden from each other. The girl crouched against the fender slowly moving a thick piece of bread before the fire. The lad, his face a dusky mark on the shadow, sat watching her who was transfigured in the red glow."I do think it's beautiful to look in the fire," said the child."Do you?" said her mother. "Why?""It's so red, and full of little caves--and it feels so nice, and you can fair smell it.""It'll want mending directly," replied her mother, "and then if your father comes he'll carry on and say there never is a fire when a man comes home sweating from the pit.--A public-house is always warm enough."There was silence till the boy said complainingly: "Make haste, our Annie.""Well, I am doing! I can't make the fire do it no faster, can I?""She keeps wafflin' it about so's to make 'er slow," grumbled the boy."Don't have such an evil imagination, child," replied the mother.Soon the room was busy in the darkness with the crisp sound of crunching. The mother ate very little. She drank her tea determinedly, and sat thinking. When she rose her anger was evident in the stern unbending of her head. She looked at the pudding in the fender, and broke out:"It is a scandalous thing as a man can't even come home to his dinner! If it's crozzled up to a cinder I don't see why I should care. Past his very door he goes to get to a public-house, and here I sit with his dinner waiting for him--"She went out. As she dropped piece after piece of coal on the red fire, the shadows fell on the walls, till the room was almost in total darkness."I canna see," grumbled the invisible John. In spite of herself, the mother laughed."You know the way to your mouth," she said. She set the dustpan outside the door. When she came again like a shadow on the hearth, the lad repeated, complaining sulkily:"I canna see.""Good gracious!" cried the mother irritably, "you're as bad as your father if it's a bit dusk!"Nevertheless she took a paper spill from a sheaf on the mantelpiece and proceeded to light the lamp that hung from the ceiling in the middle of the room. As she reached up, her figure displayed itself just rounding with maternity."Oh, mother--!" exclaimed the girl."What?" said the woman, suspended in the act of putting the lamp glass over the flame. The copper reflector shone handsomely on her, as she stood with uplifted arm, turning to face her daughter."You've got a flower in your apron!" said the child, in a little rapture at this unusual event."Goodness me!" exclaimed the woman, relieved. "One would think the house was afire." She replaced the glass and waited a moment before turning up the wick.A pale shadow was seen floating vaguely on the floor."Let me smell!" said the child, still rapturously, coming forward and putting her face to her mother's waist."Go along, silly!" said the mother, turning up the lamp. The light revealed their suspense so that the woman felt it almost unbearable. Annie was still bending at her waist. Irritably, the mother took the flowers out from her apron-band."Oh, mother--don't take them out!" Annie cried, catching her hand and trying to replace the sprig."Such nonsense!" said the mother, turning away. The child put the pale chrysanthemums to her lips, murmuring:"Don't they smell beautiful!"Her mother gave a short laugh."No," she said, "not to me. It was chrysanthemums when I married him, and chrysanthemums when you were born, and the first time they ever brought him home drunk, he'd got brown chrysanthemums in his button-hole."She looked at the children. Their eyes and their parted lips were wondering. The mother sat rocking in silence for some time. Then she looked at the clock."Twenty minutes to six!" In a tone of fine bitter carelessness she continued: "Eh, he'll not come now till they bring him. There he'll stick! But he needn't come rolling in here in his pit-dirt, for I won't wash him. He can lie on the floor--Eh, what a fool I've been, what a fool! And this is what I came here for, to this dirty hole, rats and all, for him to slink past his very door. Twice last week--he's begun now-"She silenced herself, and rose to clear the table.While for an hour or more the children played, subduedly intent, fertile of imagination, united in fear of the mother's wrath, and in dread of their father's home-coming, Mrs Bates sat in her rocking-chair making a 'singlet' of thick cream-coloured flannel, which gave a dull wounded sound as she tore off the grey edge. She worked at her sewing with energy, listening to the children, and her anger wearied itself, lay down to rest, opening its eyes from time to time and steadily watching, its ears raised to listen. Sometimes even her anger quailed and shrank, and the mother suspended her sewing, tracing the footsteps that thudded along the sleepers outside; she would lift her head sharply to bid the children 'hush', but she recovered herself in time, and the footsteps went past the gate, and the children were not flung out of their playing world.But at last Annie sighed, and gave in. She glanced at her waggon of slippers, and loathed the game. She turned plaintively to her mother."Mother!"--but she was inarticulate.John crept out like a frog from under the sofa. His mother glanced up."Yes," she said, "just look at those shirt-sleeves!"The boy held them out to survey them, saying nothing. Then somebody called in a hoarse voice away down the line, and suspense bristled in the room, till two people had gone by outside, talking."It is time for bed," said the mother."My father hasn't come," wailed Annie plaintively. But her mother was primed with courage."Never mind. They'll bring him when he does come--like a log." She meantthere would be no scene. "And he may sleep on the floor till he wakes himself. I know he'll not go to work tomorrow after this!"The children had their hands and faces wiped with a flannel. They were very quiet. When they had put on their nightdresses, they said their prayers, the boy mumbling. The mother looked down at them, at the brown silken bush of intertwining curls in the nape of the girl's neck, at the little black head of the lad, and her heart burst with anger at their father who caused all three such distress. The children hid their faces in her skirts for comfort.When Mrs Bates came down, the room was strangely empty, with a tension of expectancy. She took up her sewing and stitched for some time without raising her head. Meantime her anger was tinged with fear.IIThe clock struck eight and she rose suddenly, dropping her sewing on her chair. She went to the stairfoot door, opened it, listening. Then she went out, locking the door behind her.Something scuffled in the yard, and she started, though she knew it was only the rats with which the place was overrun. The night was very dark. In the great bay of railway lines, bulked with trucks, there was no trace of light, only away back she could see a few yellow lamps at the pit-top, and the red smear of the burning pit-bank on the night. She hurried along the edge of the track, then, crossing the converging lines, came to the stile by the white gates, whence she emerged on the road. Then the fear which had led her shrank. People were walking up to New Brinsley; she saw the lights in the houses; twenty yards further on were the broad windows of the 'Prince of Wales', very warm and bright, and the loud voices of men could be heard distinctly. What a fool she had been to imagine that anything had happened to him! He was merely drinking over there at the 'Prince of Wales'. She faltered. She had never yet been to fetch him, and she never would go. So she continued her walk towards the long straggling line of houses, standing blank on the highway. She entered a passage between the dwellings."Mr Rigley?--Yes! Did you want him? No, he's not in at this minute."The raw-boned woman leaned forward from her dark scullery and peered at the other, upon whom fell a dim light through the blind of the kitchen window."Is it Mrs Bates?" she asked in a tone tinged with respect."Yes. I wondered if your Master was at home. Mine hasn't come yet.""'Asn't 'e! Oh, Jack's been 'ome an 'ad 'is dinner an' gone out. E's just gone for 'alf an hour afore bedtime. Did you call at the 'Prince of Wales'?""No--""No, you didn't like--! It's not very nice." The other woman was indulgent. There was an awkward pause. "Jack never said nothink about--about your Mester,"she said."No!--I expect he's stuck in there!"Elizabeth Bates said this bitterly, and with recklessness. She knew that the woman across the yard was standing at her door listening, but she did not care. As she turned:"Stop a minute! I'll just go an' ask Jack if e' knows anythink," said Mrs Rigley."Oh, no--I wouldn't like to put--!""Yes, I will, if you'll just step inside an' see as th' childer doesn't come downstairs and set theirselves afire."Elizabeth Bates, murmuring a remonstrance, stepped inside. The other woman apologized for the state of the room.The kitchen needed apology. There were little frocks and trousers and childish undergarments on the squab and on the floor, and a litter of playthings everywhere. On the black American cloth of the table were pieces of bread and cake, crusts, slops, and a teapot with cold tea."Eh, ours is just as bad," said Elizabeth Bates, looking at the woman, not at the house. Mrs Rigley put a shawl over her head and hurried out, saying: "I shanna be a minute."The other sat, noting with faint disapproval the general untidiness of the room. Then she fell to counting the shoes of various sizes scattered over the floor. There were twelve. She sighed and said to herself, "No wonder!"--glancing at the litter. There came the scratching of two pairs of feet on the yard, and the Rigleys entered. Elizabeth Bates rose. Rigley was a big man, with very large bones. His head looked particularly bony. Across his temple was a blue scar, caused by a wound got in the pit, a wound in which the coal-dust remained blue like tattooing."Asna 'e come whoam yit?" asked the man, without any form of greeting, but with deference and sympathy. "I couldna say wheer he is--'e's non ower theer!"--he jerked his head to signify the 'Prince of Wales'."'E's 'appen gone up to th' 'Yew'," said Mrs Rigley.There was another pause. Rigley had evidently something to get off his mind: "Ah left 'im finishin' a stint," he began. "Loose-all 'ad bin gone about ten minutes when we com'n away, an' I shouted, 'Are ter comin', Walt?' an' 'e said, 'Go on, Ah shanna be but a'ef a minnit,' so we com'n ter th' bottom, me an' Bowers, thinkin' as 'e wor just behint, an' 'ud come up i' th' next bantle--"He stood perplexed, as if answering a charge of deserting his mate. Elizabeth Bates, now again certain of disaster, hastened to reassure him:"I expect 'e's gone up to th' 'Yew Tree', as you say. It's not the first time. I've fretted myself into a fever before now. He'll come home when they carry him.""Ay, isn't it too bad!" deplored the other woman."I'll just step up to Dick's an' see if 'e is theer," offered the man, afraid of appearing alarmed, afraid of taking liberties."Oh, I wouldn't think of bothering you that far," said Elizabeth Bates, with emphasis, but he knew she was glad of his offer.As they stumbled up the entry, Elizabeth Bates heard Rigley's wife run across the yard and open her neighbour's door. At this, suddenly all the blood in her body seemed to switch away from her heart."Mind!" warned Rigley. "Ah've said many a time as Ah'd fill up them ruts in this entry, sumb'dy 'll be breakin' their legs yit."She recovered herself and walked quickly along with the miner."I don't like leaving the children in bed, and nobody in the house," she said."No, you dunna!" he replied courteously. They were soon at the gate of the cottage."Well, I shanna be many minnits. Dunna you be frettin' now, 'e'll be all right," said the butty."Thank you very much, Mr Rigley," she replied."You're welcome!" he stammered, moving away. "I shanna be many minnits."The house was quiet. Elizabeth Bates took off her hat and shawl, and rolled back the rug. When she had finished, she sat down. It was a few minutes past nine. She was startled by the rapid chuff of the winding-engine at the pit, and the sharp whirr of the brakes on the rope as it descended. Again she felt the painful sweep of her blood, and she put her hand to her side, saying aloud, "Good gracious!--it's only the nine o'clock deputy going down," rebuking herself.She sat still, listening. Half an hour of this, and she was wearied out."What am I working myself up like this for?" she said pitiably to herself, "I s'll only be doing myself some damage."She took out her sewing again.At a quarter to ten there were footsteps. One person! She watched for the door to open. It was an elderly woman, in a black bonnet and a black woollen shawl--his mother. She was about sixty years old, pale, with blue eyes, and her face all wrinkled and lamentable. She shut the door and turned to her daughter-in-law peevishly."Eh, Lizzie, whatever shall we do, whatever shall we do!" she cried.Elizabeth drew back a little, sharply."What is it, mother?" she said.The elder woman seated herself on the sofa."I don't know, child, I can't tell you!"--she shook her head slowly. Elizabeth sat watching her, anxious and vexed."I don't know," replied the grandmother, sighing very deeply. "There's no endto my troubles, there isn't. The things I've gone through, I'm sure it's enough--!" She wept without wiping her eyes, the tears running."But, mother," interrupted Elizabeth, "what do you mean? What is it?"The grandmother slowly wiped her eyes. The fountains of her tears were stopped by Elizabeth's directness. She wiped her eyes slowly."Poor child! Eh, you poor thing!" she moaned. "I don't know what we're going to do, I don't--and you as you are--it's a thing, it is indeed!"Elizabeth waited."Is he dead?" she asked, and at the words her heart swung violently, though she felt a slight flush of shame at the ultimate extravagance of the question. Her words sufficiently frightened the old lady, almost brought her to herself."Don't say so, Elizabeth! We'll hope it's not as bad as that; no, may the Lord spare us that, Elizabeth. Jack Rigley came just as I was sittin' down to a glass afore going to bed, an' 'e said, ''Appen you'll go down th' line, Mrs Bates. Walt's had an accident. 'Appen you'll go an' sit wi' 'er till we can get him home.' I hadn't time to ask him a word afore he was gone. An' I put my bonnet on an' come straight down, Lizzie. I thought to myself, 'Eh, that poor blessed child, if anybody should come an' tell her of a sudden, there's no knowin' what'll 'appen to 'er.' You mustn't let it upset you, Lizzie--or you know what to expect. How long is it, six months--or is it five, Lizzie? Ay!"--the old woman shook her head--"time slips on, it slips on! Ay!"Elizabeth's thoughts were busy elsewhere. If he was killed--would she be able to manage on the little pension and what she could earn?--she counted up rapidly. If he was hurt--they wouldn't take him to the hospital--how tiresome he would be to nurse!--but perhaps she'd be able to get him away from the drink and his hateful ways. She would--while he was ill. The tears offered to come to her eyes at the picture. But what sentimental luxury was this she was beginning?--She turned to consider the children. At any rate she was absolutely necessary for them. They were her business."Ay!" repeated the old woman, "it seems but a week or two since he brought me his first wages. Ay--he was a good lad, Elizabeth, he was, in his way. I don't know why he got to be such a trouble, I don't. He was a happy lad at home, only full of spirits. But there's no mistake he's been a handful of trouble, he has! I hope the Lord'll spare him to mend his ways. I hope so, I hope so. You've had a sight o' trouble with him, Elizabeth, you have indeed. But he was a jolly enough lad wi' me, he was, I can assure you. I don't know how it is . . ."The old woman continued to muse aloud, a monotonous irritating sound, while Elizabeth thought concentratedly, startled once, when she heard the winding-engine chuff quickly, and the brakes skirr with a shriek. Then she heard the engine more slowly, and the brakes made no sound. The old woman did not notice. Elizabeth。
高二英语文学作品欣赏单选题30题
高二英语文学作品欣赏单选题30题1.In the novel, the character is brave, kind and intelligent. Who is this character?A.A cowardly and selfish person.B.A brave and kind-hearted person.C.A cruel and mean person.D.A lazy and indifferent person.答案:B。
选项 A 是懦弱自私的人,与题干描述不符;选项C 是残忍刻薄的人,也不符合;选项D 是懒惰冷漠的人,同样不符合。
只有选项B 勇敢善良的人与题干描述一致。
2.The character in the story is always honest and loyal. Which one is it?A.A dishonest and unfaithful person.B.An honest and loyal person.C.A cunning and deceitful person.D.A proud and arrogant person.答案:B。
选项A 不诚实不忠诚,不对;选项C 狡猾欺骗,错误;选项D 骄傲自大,不符合。
选项B 诚实忠诚符合题干。
3.In the book, the character is shy and timid. Who could it be?A.An outgoing and confident person.B.A shy and timid person.C.A bold and adventurous person.D.A rude and impolite person.答案:B。
选项 A 外向自信,不符;选项 C 大胆冒险,不对;选项D 粗鲁无礼,不符合。
只有选项B 害羞胆小符合。
4.The character is wise and experienced. Which option describes this character?A.A foolish and inexperienced person.B.A wise and experienced person.C.A naive and innocent person.D.A hot-tempered and impatient person.答案:B。
高中英语小说品鉴单选题30题
高中英语小说品鉴单选题30题1.In the novel, the character is always kind to others and ready to help. Which of the following best describes this character?A.selfishB.generousC.cruelzy答案:B。
本题考查对小说人物形象的理解。
选项A“selfish”意为自私的,与题干中人物总是善良且乐于助人不符;选项B“generous”意为慷慨大方的,符合题干中人物的特点;选项C“cruel”意为残忍的,与题干描述相悖;选项D“lazy”意为懒惰的,题干未提及人物懒惰。
2.The protagonist in the story is brave and faces difficulties head-on. Which trait does NOT describe this character?A.cowardlyB.determinedC.courageousD.bold答案:A。
题干中明确指出主人公勇敢且直面困难。
选项B“determined”意为坚定的,与勇敢面对困难的形象相符;选项C“courageous”意为勇敢的,符合题干描述;选项D“bold”意为大胆的,也与勇敢的形象相关。
而选项A“cowardly”意为胆小的,与题干中人物形象不符。
3.In the novel, a character is intelligent and quick-witted. Which option is incorrect about this character?A.stupidB.smartC.cleverD.wise答案:A。
题干表明人物聪明机智。
选项B“smart”、选项C“clever”和选项D“wise”都有聪明的意思,与题干相符。
选项A“stupid”意为愚蠢的,与人物特点相反。
高中生经典英文小说阅读欣赏与写作系列 Amy's Question
Amy's Questionby T.S. Arthur"Amy!"Mrs. Grove called from the door that opened towards the garden. But no answer came. The sun had set half an hour before, and his parting rays were faintly tinging with gold and purple, few clouds that lay just alone the edge of the western sky. In the east, the full moon was rising in all her beauty, making pale the stars that were sparking in the firmament."Where is Amy?" she asked. "Has any one seen her come in?""I saw her go up stairs with her knitting in her hand half an hour ago," said Amy's brother, who was busily at work with his knife on a block of pine wood, trying to make a boat.Mrs. Grove went to the foot of the stairs, and called again. But there was no reply."I wonder where the child can be," she said to herself, a slight feeling of anxiety crossing her mind. So she went up stairs to looks for her. The door of Amy's bedroom was shut, but on pushing it open Mrs. Grove saw her little girl sitting at the open window, so lost in the beauty of the moonlit sky and her own thoughts that she did not hear the noise of her mother's entrance."Amy," said Mrs. Grove.The child started, and then said quickly,--"O, mother! Come and see! Isn't it lovely?""What are you looking at, dear?" asked Mrs. Grove, as she sat down by her side, and drew an arm around her."At the moon, and stars, and the lake away off by the hill. See what a great road of light lies across the water! Isn't it beautiful, mother? And it makes me feel so quiet and happy. I wonder why it is?""Shall I tell you the reason?""O, yes, mother, dear! What is the reason?""God made everything that is good and beautiful.""O, yes, I know that!""Good and beautiful for the sake of man; because man is the highest thing of creation and nearest to God. All things below him were created for his good; that is, God made them for him to use in sustaining the life of his body or the life of his soul.""I don't see what use I can make of the moon and stars," said Amy."And yet," answered her mother, "you said only a minute ago that the beauty ofthis moon-light evening made you feel so quiet and happy.""O, yes! That is so; and you were going to tell me why it was.""First," said the mother, "let me, remind you that the moon and stars give us light by night, and that, if you happened to be away at a neighbor's after the sun went down, they would be of great use in showing you the path home-ward.""I didn't think of that when I spoke of not seeing what use I could make, of the moon and stars," Amy replied.Her mother went on,--"God made everything that is good and beautiful for the stake of man, as I have just told you; and each of these good and beautiful things of creation comes to us with a double blessing,--one for our bodies and the other for our souls. The moon and stars not only give light this evening to make dark ways plain, but their calm presence fills our souls with peace. And they do so, because all things of nature being the work of God, have in them a likeness of something in himself not seen by our eyes, but felt in our souls. Do you understand anything of what I mean, Amy?""Just a little, only," answered the child. "Do you mean, mother dear, that God is inside of the moon and stars, and everything else that he has made?""Not exactly what I mean; but that he has so made them, that each created thin is as a mirror in which our souls may see something of his love and his wisdom reflected. In the water we see an image of his truth, that, if learned, will satisfy our thirsty minds and cleanse us from impurity. In the sun we see an image of his love, that gives light, and warmth, and all beauty and health to our souls.""And what in the moon?" asked Amy."The moon is cold and calm, not warm and brilliant like the sun, which tells us of God's love. Like truths learned, but not made warm and bright by love, it shows us the way in times of darkness. But you are too young to understand much about this. Only keep in your memory that every good and beautiful thing you see, being made by God, reflects something of his nature and quality to your soul and that this is why the lovely, the grand, the beautiful, the pure, and sweet things of nature fill your heart with peace or delight when you gaze at them."For a little while after this they sat looking out of the window, both feeling very peaceful in the presence of God and his works. Then voice was heard below, and Amy, starting up, exclaimed,--"O, there is father!" and taking her mother's hand, went down to meet him.。
适合高一读的英语原著
适合高一读的英语原著随着高中英语教育的不断深入,越来越多的学生开始接触英语原著。
英语原著不仅可以帮助学生提高英语水平,还可以帮助他们了解不同的文化和思想。
然而,对于初学者来说,选择一本适合自己的英语原著并不容易。
本文将介绍几本适合高一学生阅读的英语原著。
1. The Catcher in the Rye《麦田里的守望者》是美国作家J·D·塞林格的代表作,讲述了一个叛逆的少年霍尔顿·考尔菲尔德的故事。
这本书通俗易懂,语言简单,非常适合高一学生阅读。
此外,这本书也是美国文学经典之一,读完后可以让学生更好地了解美国文化和思想。
2. Animal Farm《动物农场》是英国作家乔治·奥威尔的经典之作,讲述了一群动物反抗人类统治的故事。
这本书不仅语言简单易懂,而且内容深刻,可以帮助学生理解政治和社会问题。
此外,这本书也适合学生学习英国文化和历史。
3. The Great Gatsby《了不起的盖茨比》是美国作家F·斯科特·菲茨杰拉德的代表作,讲述了一个富有的商人盖茨比为了追求自己心爱的女人而奋斗的故事。
这本书语言优美,情节曲折,可以帮助学生提高阅读能力和文学素养。
此外,这本书也是了解20世纪美国文化和社会变革的重要途径。
4. To Kill a Mockingbird《杀死一只知更鸟》是美国作家哈珀·李的代表作,讲述了一个小女孩的成长故事和她父亲为了维护正义而奋斗的故事。
这本书语言简单,情节感人,可以帮助学生理解种族和社会问题。
此外,这本书也是了解美国南部文化和历史的重要途径。
5. The Adventures of Tom Sawyer《汤姆·索亚历险记》是美国作家马克·吐温的经典之作,讲述了一个男孩汤姆·索亚的冒险故事。
这本书语言生动,情节有趣,可以帮助学生提高阅读能力和文学素养。
此外,这本书也是了解19世纪美国文化和社会的重要途径。
英语小说专题:英语专业学生必读书目20本americanliterature
American Literature1、T he Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Howthorne 《红字》霍桑著小说惯用象征手法,人物、情节和语言都颇具主观想象色彩,在描写中又常把人的心理活动和直觉放在首位。
因此,它不仅是美利坚合众国浪漫主义小说的代表作,同时也被称作是美利坚合众国心理分析小说的开创篇2、T he Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain 《哈克贝利.芬历险记》马克.吐温著简称《赫克》是美国文学中的珍品,也是美国文化中的珍品。
十六年前【1984】,美国文坛为《赫克》出版一百周年举行了广泛的庆祝活动和学术讨论,也出版了一些研究马克吐温,特别是他的《赫克》的专著。
专门为一位大作家的一本名著而举行如此广泛的纪念和专门的研究,这在世界文坛上也是少有的盛事。
这是因为《赫克》的意义不一般. 美国著名作家海明威说, "一切现代美国文学来自一本书, 即马克吐温的《赫克尔贝里芬历险记》……这是我们所有书中最好的。
一切美国文学都来自这本书,在它之前,或在它之后,都不曾有过能与之媲美的作品。
3、T he Portrait of a Lady by Henry James 《贵妇画像》亨利.詹姆斯著美国小说家亨利·詹姆斯的《贵妇画像》自问世以来一直受到文学评论界的关注,专家学者已从各个不同角度对女主人伊莎贝尔·阿切尔作了深入细致的研究。
本文试图从一个全新的视角,即跨文化交际角度,剖析伊莎贝尔在婚姻方面所作的选择。
文章指出她是该小说中跨文化交际的最大失败者,并对其失败原因作了分析。
希望在跨文化交际日益频繁的今天我们都能从伊莎贝尔的生活经历中得到某种启发。
4.Moby Dick by Herman Melville 《白鲸》麦尔维尔著小说描写了亚哈船长为了追逐并杀死白鲸莫比·迪克的经历,最终与白鲸同归于尽的故事。
作家的代表作英语作文高中
In the realm of literature,a writers magnum opus is often the work that defines their legacy and showcases their artistic prowess.It is the piece that resonates with readers and stands the test of time.When discussing a writers magnum opus,it is essential to delve into the themes,narrative style,and the impact it has had on both the literary world and society at large.The Significance of a Magnum OpusA writers magnum opus is not merely a collection of words on a page it is a reflection of their life experiences,their understanding of the human condition,and their creative vision.It is the work that encapsulates the essence of their literary career and often serves as a benchmark for their other works.The magnum opus is a testament to the writers growth and evolution as an artist,and it is the piece that they are most remembered for.Themes and Narrative StyleThe themes of a magnum opus are often universal and timeless,addressing issues such as love,loss,identity,and the human struggle for meaning.These themes resonate with readers across cultures and generations,making the work relevant and relatable.The narrative style of a magnum opus can vary greatly,from the intricate prose of a novel to the poetic language of a poem.Regardless of the style,the work is characterized by its depth,complexity,and the way it engages the reader.Impact on Literature and SocietyA magnum opus often has a profound impact on the literary world.It can influence the direction of a genre,inspire other writers,and set new standards for literary excellence. Moreover,the work can have a broader societal impact,challenging readers to question their beliefs,encouraging social change,or simply providing a source of comfort and solace.A magnum opus can become a cultural touchstone,shaping the way people perceive the world and their place in it.Examples of Magnum Opus1.Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen:This novel is considered Austens magnum opus, with its sharp wit,keen social commentary,and memorable characters.It has been celebrated for its portrayal of early19thcentury English society and the dynamics of love and marriage.2.MobyDick by Herman Melville:Melvilles epic tale of Captain Ahabs obsessive questto kill the white whale is a complex work that delves into themes of obsession,revenge, and the human struggle against nature.It is a prime example of American literature and has been the subject of countless analyses and adaptations.3.One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel García Márquez:This novel is the magnum opus of the Colombian author and a cornerstone of magical realism.It tells the multigenerational story of the Buendía family and their fictional town of Macondo, reflecting the history and culture of Latin America.4.War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy:Tolstoys monumental work is a sweeping epic that captures the historical events of the Napoleonic era in Russia.It is renowned for its detailed character studies and philosophical insights into human nature and the meaning of life.5.To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee:Lees only published novel is a powerful exploration of racial injustice and moral growth in the American South.Its impact on American literature and society has been profound,making it a defining work of the20th century.In conclusion,a writers magnum opus is a work of art that transcends time and space, leaving an indelible mark on the literary landscape.It is a testament to the writers creative genius and a source of inspiration for generations of readers and writers alike.。
高中英语小说品鉴单选题30题
高中英语小说品鉴单选题30题1. In the novel "Pride and Prejudice", Elizabeth Bennet is known for her ______.A. arroganceB. intelligence and independenceC. shynessD. obedience答案:B。
伊丽莎白·班纳特以聪明和独立著称。
选项A“arrogance”意为傲慢,不符合她的性格特点。
选项C“shyness”害羞,也不是她的主要特点。
选项D“obedience”顺从,与她的性格相悖。
2. The character of Heathcliff in "Wuthering Heights" is often described as ______.A. kind and gentleB. cruel and revengefulC. optimistic and friendlyD. weak and timid答案:B。
希斯克利夫在《呼啸山庄》中常被描述为残忍和充满报复心的。
选项A“kind and gentle”善良温和,与他的形象不符。
选项C“optimistic and friendly”乐观友好,不符合其性格。
选项D“weak and timid”软弱胆小,不是他的特点。
3. In "Jane Eyre", Mr. Rochester is characterized by his ______.A. honesty and simplicityB. mystery and complexityC. straightforwardness and opennessD. naivety and innocence答案:B。
在《简·爱》中,罗切斯特先生的特点是神秘和复杂。
选项A“honesty and simplicity”诚实和简单,并非他的主要特征。
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The McWilliamses And The Burglar Alarmby Mark TwainThe conversation drifted smoothly and pleasantly along from weather to crops, from crops to literature, from literature to scandal, from scandal to religion; then took a random jump, and landed on the subject of burglar alarms. And now for the first time Mr. McWilliams showed feeling. Whenever I perceive this sign on this man's dial, I comprehend it, and lapse into silence, and give him opportunity to unload his heart. Said he, with but ill-controlled emotion:"I do not go one single cent on burglar alarms, Mr. Twain--not a single cent--and I will tell you why. When we were finishing our house, we found we had a little cash left over, on account of the plumber not knowing it. I was for enlightening the heathen with it, for I was always unaccountably down on the heathen somehow; but Mrs. McWilliams said no, let's have a burglar alarm. I agreed to this compromise. I will explain that whenever I want a thing, and Mrs. McWilliams wants another thing, and we decide upon the thing that Mrs. McWilliams wants--as we always do --she calls that a compromise. Very well: the man came up from New York and put in the alarm, and charged three hundred and twenty-five dollars for it, and said we could sleep without uneasiness now. So we did for awhile--say a month. Then one night we smelled smoke, and I was advised to get up and see what the matter was. I lit a candle, and started toward the stairs, and met a burglar coming out of a room with a basket of tinware, which he had mistaken for solid silver in the dark. He was smoking a pipe. I said, 'My friend, we do not allow smoking in this room.' He said he was a stranger, and could not be expected to know the rules of the house: said he had been in many houses just as good as this one, and it had never been objected to before. He added that as far as his experience went, such rules had never been considered to apply to burglars, anyway."I said: 'Smoke along, then, if it is the custom, though I think that the conceding of a privilege to a burglar which is denied to a bishop is a conspicuous sign of the looseness of the times. But waiving all that, what business have you to be entering this house in this furtive and clandestine way, without ringing the burglar alarm?'"He looked confused and ashamed, and said, with embarrassment: 'I beg a thousand pardons. I did not know you had a burglar alarm, else I would have rung it. I beg you will not mention it where my parents may hear of it, for they are old and feeble, and such a seemingly wanton breach of the hallowed conventionalities of our Christian civilization might all too rudely sunder the frail bridge whichhangs darkling between the pale and evanescent present and the solemn great deeps of the eternities. May I trouble you for a match?'__"I said: 'Your sentiments do you honor, but if you will allow me to say it, metaphor is not your best hold. Spare your thigh; this kind light only on the box, and seldom there, in fact, if my experience may be trusted. But to return to business: how did you get in here?'"'Through a second-story window.'"It was even so. I redeemed the tinware at pawnbroker's rates, less cost of advertising, bade the burglar good-night, closed the window after him, and retired to headquarters to report. Next morning we sent for the burglar-alarm man, and he came up and explained that the reason the alarm did not 'go off' was that no part of the house but the first floor was attached to the alarm. This was simply idiotic; one might as well have no armor on at all in battle as to have it only on his legs. The expert now put the whole second story on the alarm, charged three hundred dollars for it, and went his way. By and by, one night, I found a burglar in the third story, about to start down a ladder with a lot of miscellaneous property. My first impulse was to crack his head with a billiard cue; but my second was to refrain from this attention, because he was between me and the cue rack. The second impulse was plainly the soundest, so I refrained, and proceeded to compromise. I redeemed the property at former rates, after deducting ten per cent. for use of ladder, it being my ladder, and, next day we sent down for the expert once more, and had the third story attached to the alarm, for three hundred dollars."By this time the 'annunciator' had grown to formidable dimensions. It had forty-seven tags on it, marked with the names of the various rooms and chimneys, and it occupied the space of an ordinary wardrobe. The gong was the size of a wash-bowl, and was placed above the head of our bed. There was a wire from the house to the coachman's quarters in the stable, and a noble gong alongside his pillow."We should have been comfortable now but for one defect. Every morning at five the cook opened the kitchen door, in the way of business, and rip went that gong! The first time this happened I thought the last day was come sure. I didn't think it in bed--no, but out of it--for the first effect of that frightful gong is to hurl you across the house, and slam you against the wall, and then curl you up, and squirm you like a spider on a stove lid, till somebody shuts the kitchen door. In solid fact, there is no clamor that is even remotely comparable to the dire clamor which that gong makes. Well, this catastrophe happened every morning regularly at five o'clock, and lost us three hours sleep; for, mind you, when that thing wakes you, it doesn't merely wake you in spots; it wakes you all over, conscience and all, and you are good for eighteen hours of wide-awakeness subsequently--eighteenhours of the very most inconceivable wide-awakeness that you ever experienced in your life. A stranger died on our hands one time, aid we vacated and left him in our room overnight. Did that stranger wait for the general judgment? No, sir; he got up at five the next morning in the most prompt and unostentatious way. I knew he would; I knew it mighty well. He collected his life-insurance, and lived happy ever after, for there was plenty of proof as to the perfect squareness of his death."Well, we were gradually fading toward a better land, on account of the daily loss of sleep; so we finally had the expert up again, and he ran a wire to the outside of the door, and placed a switch there, whereby Thomas, the butler, always made one little mistake--he switched the alarm off at night when he went to bed, and switched it on again at daybreak in the morning, just in time for the cook to open the kitchen door, and enable that gong to slam us across the house, sometimes breaking a window with one or the other of us. At the end of a week we recognized that this switch business was a delusion and a snare. We also discovered that a band of burglars had been lodging in the house the whole time--not exactly to steal, for there wasn't much left now, but to hide from the police, for they were hot pressed, and they shrewdly judged that the detectives would never think of a tribe of burglars taking sanctuary in a house notoriously protected by the most imposing and elaborate burglar alarm in America."Sent down for the expert again, and this time he struck a most dazzling idea--he fixed the thing so that opening the kitchen door would take off the alarm. It was a noble idea, and he charged accordingly. But you already foresee the result.I switched on the alarm every night at bed- time, no longer trusting on Thomas's frail memory; and as soon as the lights were out the burglars walked in at the kitchen door, thus taking the alarm off without waiting for the cook to do it in the morning. You see how aggravatingly we were situated. For months we couldn't have any company. Not a spare bed in the house; all occupied by burglars.__ "Finally, I got up a cure of my own. The expert answered the call, and ran another ground wire to the stable, and established a switch there, so that the coachman could put on and take off the alarm. That worked first rate, and a season of peace ensued, during which we got to inviting company once more and enjoying life."But by and by the irrepressible alarm invented a new kink. One winter's night we were flung out of bed by the sudden music of that awful gong, and when we hobbled to the annunciator, turned up the gas, and saw the word 'Nursery' exposed, Mrs. McWilliams fainted dead away, and I came precious near doing the same thing myself. I seized my shotgun, and stood timing the coachman whilst that appalling buzzing went on. I knew that his gong had flung him out, too, and that he would be along with his gun as soon as he could jump into his clothes. When Ijudged that the time was ripe, I crept to the room next the nursery, glanced through the window, and saw the dim outline of the coachman in the yard below, standing at present-arms and waiting for a chance. Then I hopped into the nursery and fired, and in the same instant the coachman fired at the red flash of my gun. Both of us were successful; I crippled a nurse, and he shot off all my back hair. We turned up the gas, and telephoned for a surgeon. There was not a sign of a burglar, and no window had been raised. One glass was absent, but that was where the coachman's charge had come through. Here was a fine mystery--a burglar alarm 'going off' at midnight of its own accord, and not a burglar in the neighborhood!"The expert answered the usual call, and explained that it was a 'False alarm.' Said it was easily fixed. So he overhauled the nursery window, charged a remunerative figure for it, and departed."What we suffered from false alarms for the next three years no stylographic pen can describe. During the next three months I always flew with my gun to the room indicated, and the coachman always sallied forth with his battery to support me. But there was never anything to shoot at--windows all tight and secure. We always sent down for the expert next day, and he fixed those particular windows so they would keep quiet a week or so, and always remembered to send us a bill about like this:__________Wire_............................$2.15__________Nipple...........................__.75__________Two_hours'_labor_................_1.50__________Wax..............................__.47__________Tape.............................__.34__________Screws...........................__.15__________Recharging_battery_..............__.98__________Three_hours'_labor_.............._2.25__________String...........................__.02__________Lard_............................__.66__________Pond's_Extract_.................._1.25__________Springs_at_50...................._2.00__________Railroad_fares..................._7.25"At length a perfectly natural thing came about--after we had answered three or four hundred false alarms--to wit, we stopped answering them. Yes, I simply rose up calmly, when slammed across the house by the alarm, calmly inspected the annunciator, took note of the room indicated; and then calmly disconnected that room from the alarm, and went back to bed as if nothing had happened. Moreover,I left that room off permanently, and did not send for the expert. Well, it goes without saying that in the course of time all the rooms were taken off, and the entire machine was out of service."It was at this unprotected time that the heaviest calamity of all happened. The burglars walked in one night and carried off the burglar alarm! yes, sir, every hide and hair of it: ripped it out, tooth and nail; springs, bells, gongs, battery, and all; they took a hundred and fifty miles of copper wire; they just cleaned her out, bag and baggage, and never left us a vestige of her to swear at--swear by, I mean."We had a time of it to get her back; but we accomplished it finally, for money. The alarm firm said that what we needed now was to have her put in right--with their new patent springs in the windows to make false alarms impossible, and their new patent clock attached to take off and put on the alarm morning and night without human assistance. That seemed a good scheme. They promised to have the whole thing finished in ten days. They began work, and we left for the summer. They worked a couple of days; then they left for the summer. After which the burglars moved in, and began their summer vacation. When we returned in the fall, the house was as empty as a beer closet in premises where painters have been at work. We refurnished, and then sent down to hurry up the expert. He came up and finished the job, and said: 'Now this clock is set to put on the alarm every night at 10, and take it off every morning at 5:45. All you've got to do is to wind her up every week, and then leave her alone-- she will take care of the alarm herself.' "After that we had a most tranquil season during three months. The bill was prodigious, of course, and I had said I would not pay it until the new machinery had proved itself to be flawless. The time stipulated was three months. So I paid the bill, and the very next day the alarm went to buzzing like ten thousand bee swarms at ten o'clock in the morning. I turned the hands around twelve hours, according to instructions, and this took off the alarm; but there was another hitch at night, and I had to set her ahead twelve hours once more to get her to put the alarm on again. That sort of nonsense went on a week or two, then the expert came up and put in a new clock. He came up every three months during the next three years, and put in a new clock. But it was always a failure. His clocks all had the same perverse defect: they would put the alarm on in the daytime, and they would not put it on at night; and if you forced it on yourself, they would take it off again the minute your back was turned."Now there is the history of that burglar alarm--everything just as it happened; nothing extenuated, and naught set down in malice. Yes, sir,-- and when I had slept nine years with burglars, and maintained an expensive burglar alarm the whole time, for their protection, not mine, and at my sole cost--for not a d---d cent could I ever get THEM to contribute--I just said to Mrs. McWilliams that I had had enough ofthat kind of pie; so with her full consent I took the whole thing out and traded it off for a dog, and shot the dog. I don't know what you think about it, Mr. Twain; but I think those things are made solely in the interest of the burglars. Yes, sir, a burglar alarm combines in its person all that is objectionable about a fire, a riot, and a harem, and at the same time had none of the compensating advantages, of one sort or another, that customarily belong with that combination. Good-by: I get off here."。