经典英文短篇小说 (50)
经典英文读物
经典英文读物以下是经典英文读物及简介：1.《夏洛的网》Charlotte's Web：E.B. White的经典儿童小说，讲述了一只蜘蛛和一只小猪之间的故事。
2.《简·爱》Jane Eyre：19世纪英国文学名著，由英国女作家夏洛蒂·勃朗特所著，讲述了一个孤女的成长历程。
3.《傲慢与偏见》Pride and Prejudice：出版于1813年的英国小说，作者是简·奥斯汀。
4.《人鼠之间》Of Mice and Men：美国诺贝尔文学奖得主、作家约翰·斯坦贝克的短篇小说，讲述了两名农工的生活和梦想。
5.《飘》Gone with the Wind：美国女作家玛格丽特·米契尔所著的经典小说，讲述了南北战争期间一个女人的故事。
6.《汤姆·索亚历险记》The Adventures of Tom Sawyer：马克·吐温的经典儿童小说，讲述了一个调皮男孩的冒险经历。
7.《尤利西斯》Ulysses：詹姆斯·乔伊斯的经典小说，讲述了都柏林一天的生活。
8.《了不起的盖茨比》The Great Gatsby：F·斯科特·菲茨杰拉德的经典小说，讲述了一个富豪和美女的故事。
9.《杀死一只知更鸟》To Kill a Mockingbird：哈珀·李的经典小说，讲述了一个小女孩的成长历程和种族歧视。
10.《麦田里的守望者》The Catcher in the Rye：J.D. 塞林格的经典小说，讲述了一个少年的孤独和反叛。
11.《安妮日记》The Diary of Anne Frank：安妮·弗兰克的日记，记录了她在纳粹统治下的生活。
12.《哈姆雷特》Hamlet：威廉·莎士比亚的经典悲剧，讲述了一位丹麦王子复仇的故事。
13.《雾都孤儿》Oliver Twist：查尔斯·狄更斯的经典小说，讲述了一个孤儿在伦敦的悲惨经历。
英语短篇小说朗诵欣赏
英语短篇小说朗诵欣赏
英语短篇小说是一种精彩的文学形式，它以简短的篇幅讲述一个完整的故事，往往给人留下深刻的印象。
下面是几篇值得欣赏的英语短篇小说，希望能够为您带来一些喜悦和启发。
1. "The Gift of the Magi" by O. Henry
这是一篇经典的英语短篇小说，讲述了一对贫穷夫妇的故事。
在圣诞节即将来临时，他们为了给对方买礼物，各自做出了牺牲。
最终，他们明白到真正的礼物是彼此的爱。
这个故事温暖人心，给人留下了深刻的思考。
2. "The Lottery" by Shirley Jackson
这是一篇令人瞩目的英语短篇小说，讲述了一个平凡小镇举行的抽签抽奖活动。
然而，这个抽奖活动的结果却令人震惊和恐惧。
这个故事探讨了社会的黑暗面和人性的复杂性，给人以警示。
3. "The Necklace" by Guy de Maupassant
这是一篇经典的法国短篇小说，讲述了一个女人因一条丢失的项链而陷入困境的故事。
通过这个故事，我们能够看到虚荣和自负的危险，以及珍惜现有的幸福的重要性。
4. "The Tell-Tale Heart" by Edgar Allan Poe
这是一篇恐怖的英语短篇小说，讲述了一个疯狂的人因良心的谴责而被逼发疯的故事。
通过一系列紧张的描写，这个故事唤起了读者的疑虑和恐惧，展示了人类内心深处的黑暗面。
以上是几篇值得欣赏的英语短篇小说，每一篇都有其独特的味道和意义。
希望您享受这些故事，并从中获得启迪和欢乐。
短篇小说英文作文
短篇小说英文作文I woke up to the sound of birds chirping outside my window. It was a beautiful morning, and I couldn't wait to start my day.The sun was shining brightly, and the sky was a perfect shade of blue. I decided to go for a walk and enjoy the lovely weather.As I strolled through the park, I noticed a little girl feeding the ducks by the pond. She had a big smile on her face, and it made me realize how important it is to find joy in the simple things in life.I sat down on a bench and watched the world go by. It was nice to take a moment to relax and appreciate thelittle moments that make life so special.After my w alk, I went to a café and treated myself to a delicious cup of coffee. It was the perfect way to startmy day.As I sipped my coffee, I couldn't help but feelgrateful for the little things that bring me happiness. Sometimes, it's the small moments that make the biggest impact on our lives.I finished my coffee and headed home, feeling refreshed and content. It was a reminder that life is full of simple pleasures, and we just have to take the time to notice and appreciate them.。
经典英文著作
经典英文著作以下是一些经典的英文著作，供您参考：1.《傲慢与偏见》（Pride and Prejudice）：简·奥斯汀的这部经典小说讲述了一段关于爱情和社会阶层的19世纪英国故事。
2.《了不起的盖茨比》（The Great Gatsby）：弗朗西斯·斯科特·基·菲茨杰拉德的这部小说是一部描绘20世纪20年代美国社会的经典之作。
3.《老人与海》（The Old Man and the Sea）：欧内斯特·海明威的这部短篇小说是一部关于勇气和毅力的经典之作。
4.《哈利·波特》（Harry Potter）系列：J.K.罗琳的这部奇幻小说系列在全球范围内广受欢迎，讲述了一位年轻巫师的成长故事。
5.《简爱》（Jane Eyre）：夏洛蒂·勃朗特的这部经典小说是一部描绘19世纪英国女性自我觉醒和追求自由的故事。
6.《雾都孤儿》（Oliver Twist）：查尔斯·狄更斯的这部经典小说是一部描绘19世纪英国社会黑暗面的作品。
7.《呼啸山庄》（Wuthering Heights）：艾米莉·勃朗特的这部经典小说是一部描绘爱情、复仇和自然之美的作品。
8.《鲁滨逊漂流记》（Robinson Crusoe）：丹尼尔·笛福的这部经典小说是一部描绘人类与自然斗争的故事。
9.《战争与和平》（War and Peace）：列夫·托尔斯泰的这部经典小说是一部描绘19世纪俄国社会的史诗巨著。
10.《傲慢与偏见》（Animal Farm）：乔治·奥威尔的这部经典小说是一部描绘权力斗争和政治讽刺的作品。
以上是一些经典的英文著作，它们涵盖了不同的文学流派和主题，对于提高英语阅读和写作能力有很大帮助。
中学必读经典英文短篇小说《A BUSH DANCE 》
A BUSH DANCEBy Henry Lawson “tap, tap, tap，”The little schoolhouse and residence in the scrub was lighted brightly in the mids t of the“close”,solid blackness of that moonless December night, when the sky a nd stars were smothered and suffocated by drought haze.It was the evening of the school children’s “Feast”. That is to say that the childre n had been sent, and“let go”，and the younger ones“fetched”through the blazin g heat to the school, one day early in the holidays, and raced—sometimes in co uples tied together by the legs—and caked, and bunned, and fnally improved u pon by the local Chadband, and got rid of.The schoolroom had been cleared fo r dancing, the maps rolled and tied, the desks and blackboards stacked against t he wall outside.Tea was over, and the trestles and boards, whereon had been spr ead better things than had been provided for the unfortunate youngsterhad bee n taken outside to keep the desks and blackboards company.On stools running end to end along one side of the room sat about twenty mor e or less blooming country girls of from ffteen to twenty odd.On the rest of the stools, running end to end along the other wall, sat about twe nty more or less blooming chaps.It was evident that something was seriously wrong. None of the girls spoke abov e a hushed whisper.None of the men spoke above a hushed oath.Now and again two or three sidled out, and if you had followed them you would have found t hat they went outside to listen hard into the darkness and to swear.“tap, tap, tap.”The rows moved uneasily, and some of the girls turned pale faces nervously tow ards the side-door, in the direction of the sound.“tap—tap.”The tapping came from the kitchen at the rear of the teacher’s residence, and w as uncomfortably suggestive of a coffin being made：it was also accompanied b y a sickly, indescribable odour—more like that of warm cheap glue than anythin g else.In the schoolroom was a painful scene of strained listening. Whenever one of th e men returned from outside, or put his head in at the door, all eyes were fasten ed on him in the fash of a single eye, and then withdrawn hopelessly.At the soun d of a horse’s step all eyes and ears were on the door, till some one muttered，‘It’s only the horses in the paddock.’Some of the girls’eyes began to glisten suspiciously, and at last the belle of th e party—a great, dark-haired, pink-and-white Blue Mountain girl, who had bee n sitting for a full minute staring before her, with blue eyes unnaturally bright, su ddenly covered her face with her hands, rose, and started blindly from the roo m, from which she was steered in a hurry by two sympathetic and rather‘upset’gi rl friends, and as she passed out she was heard sobbing hysterically—“Oh, I can’t help it！I did want to dance！It’s a sh-shame！I can’t help it！I—I want to dance！I rode twenty miles to dance—and—and I want to dance！”A tall, strapping young Bushman rose, without disguise, and followed the girl ou t. The rest began to talk loudly of stock, dogs, and horses, and other Bush thing s；but above their voices rang out that of the girl from the outside—being ma n comforted—“I can’t help it, Jack！I did want to dance！I—I had such—such—a job—to get mother—and—and father to let me come—and—and now！”The two girl friends came back. “He sez to leave her to him，”they whispered, i n reply to an interrogatory glance from the schoolmistress.“It’s—it’s no use, Jack！”came the voice of grief.“You don’t know what—what fat her and mother—is. I—I won’t—be able—to ge-get away—again—for—for—n ot till I’m married, perhaps.”The schoolmistress glanced uneasily along the row of girls.“I’ll take her into my room and make her lie down，”shewhispered to h er sister, who was staying with her.“she’ll start some of the other girls presently —it’s just the weather for it，”and she passed out quietly. That schoolmistress w as a woman of penetration.A final “tap-tap”from the kitchen；then a sound like the squawk of a hurt or fri ghtened child, and the faces in the room turned quickly in that direction and bri ghtened. But there came a bang and a sound like“damn！”and hopelessness set tled down.A shout from the outer darkness, and most of the men and some of the girls ros e and hurried out. Fragments of conversation heard in the darkness—“It’s two horses, I tell you！”“It’s three, you—！”“Lay you—！”“Put the stuff up！”A clack of gate thrown open. “Who is it, Tom?”Voices from gatewards, yelling，“Johnny Mears！They’ve got Johnny Mears！”Then rose yells, and a cheer such as is seldom heard in scrub-lands.Out in the kitchen long Dave Regan grabbed, from the far side of the table, whe re he had thrown it, a burst and battered concertina, which he had been for the l ast hour vainly trying to patch and make air-tight；and, holding it out towards t he back-door, between his palms, as a football is held, he let it drop, and fetche d it neatly on the toe of his riding-boot. It was a beautiful kick, the concertina sh ot out into the blackness, from which was projected, in return, frst a short, sudde n howl, then a face with one eye glaring and the other covered by an enormou s brick-coloured hand, and a voice that wanted to know who shot‘that lurid loa f of bread?’But from the schoolroom was heard the loud, free voice of Joe Matthews, M. C.，“take yer partners！Hurry up！Take yer partners！They’ve got Johnn y Mears with his fddle！”。
经典英文短篇小说
A Pair of Silk Stockings Cousin Tribulation's Story How the Camel Got His Hump RegretRikki-Tikki-TaviThe Brave Tin SoldierThe CactusThe Haunted MindThe Story of An HourThe Tale of Peter RabbitA Pair of Silk Stockingsby Kate ChopinLittle Mrs. Sommers one day found herself the unexpected possessor of fifteen dollars. It seemed to her a very large amount of money, and the way in which it stuffed and bulged her worn old porte-monnaie gave her a feeling of importance such as she had not enjoyed for years.The question of investment was one that occupied her greatly. For a day or two she walked about apparently in a dreamy state, but really absorbed in speculation and calculation. She did not wish to act hastily, to do anything she might afterward regret. But it was during the still hours of the night when she lay awake revolving plans in her mind that she seemed to see her way clearly toward a proper and judicious use of the money.A dollar or two should be added to the price usually paid for Janie's shoes, which would insure their lasting an appreciable time longer than they usually did. She would buy so and so many yards of percale for new shirt waists for the boys and Janie and Mag. She had intended to make the old ones do by skilful patching. Mag should have another gown. She had seen some beautiful patterns, veritable bargains in the shop windows. And still there would be left enough for new stockings--two pairs apiece--and what darning that would save for a while! She would get caps for the boys and sailor-hats for the girls. The vision of her little brood looking fresh and dainty and new for once in their lives excited her and made her restless and wakeful with anticipation.The neighbors sometimes talked of certain "better days" that little Mrs. Sommers had known before she had ever thought of being Mrs. Sommers. She herself indulged in no such morbid retrospection. She had no time--no second of time to devote to the past. The needs of the present absorbed her every faculty. A vision of the future like some dim, gaunt monster sometimes appalled her, but luckily tomorrow never comes.Mrs. Sommers was one who knew the value of bargains; who could stand for hours making her way inch by inch toward the desired object that was selling below cost. She could elbow her way if need be; she had learned to clutch a piece of goods and hold it and stick to it with persistence and determination till her turn came to be served, no matter when it came.But that day she was a little faint and tired. She had swallowed a light luncheon--no! when she came to think of it, between getting the children fed and the place righted, and preparing herself for the shopping bout, she had actually forgotten to eat any luncheon at all!She sat herself upon a revolving stool before a counter that was comparatively deserted, trying to gather strength and courage to charge through an eager multitude that was besieging breastworks of shirting and figured lawn. An all-gone limp feeling had come over her and she rested her hand aimlessly upon the counter. She wore no gloves. By degrees she grew aware that her hand had encountered something very soothing, very pleasant to touch. She looked down to see that her hand lay upon a pile of silk stockings. A placard nearby announced that they had been reduced in price from two dollars and fifty cents to one dollar and ninety-eight cents; and a young girl who stood behind the counter asked her if she wished to examine their line of silk hosiery. She smiled, just as if she had been asked to inspect a tiara of diamonds with the ultimate view of purchasing it. But she went on feeling the soft, sheeny luxurious things--with both hands now, holding them up to see them glisten, and to feel them glide serpent-like through her fingers.Two hectic blotches came suddenly into her pale cheeks. She looked up at the girl."Do you think there are any eights-and-a-half among these?"There were any number of eights-and-a-half. In fact, there were more of that size than any other. Here was a light-blue pair; there were some lavender, some all black and various shades of tan and gray. Mrs. Sommers selected a black pair and looked at them very long and closely. She pretended to be examining their texture, which the clerk assured her was excellent."A dollar and ninety-eight cents," she mused aloud. "Well, I'll take this pair." She handed the girl a five-dollar bill and waited for her change and for her parcel. What a very small parcel it was! It seemed lost in the depths of her shabby old shopping-bag.Mrs. Sommers after that did not move in the direction of the bargain counter. She took the elevator, which carried her to an upper floor into the region of the ladies' waiting-rooms. Here, in a retired corner, she exchanged her cotton stockings for the new silk ones which she had just bought. She was not going through any acute mental process or reasoning with herself, nor was she striving to explain to her satisfaction the motive of her action. She was not thinking at all. She seemed for the time to be taking a rest from that laborious and fatiguing function and to have abandoned herself to some mechanical impulse that directed her actions and freed her of responsibility.How good was the touch of the raw silk to her flesh! She felt like lying back in the cushioned chair and revelling for a while in the luxury of it. She did for a little while. Then she replaced her shoes, rolled the cotton stockings together and thrust them into her bag. After doing this she crossed straight over to the shoe department and took her seat to be fitted.She was fastidious. The clerk could not make her out; he could not reconcile her shoes with her stockings, and she was not too easily pleased. She held back her skirts and turned her feet one way and her head another way as she glanced down at the polished, pointed-tipped boots. Her foot and ankle looked very pretty. She could not realize that they belonged to her and were a part of herself. She wanted an excellent and stylish fit, she told the young fellow who served her, and she did not mind the difference of a dollar or two more in the price so long as she got what she desired.It was a long time since Mrs. Sommers had been fitted with gloves. On rare occasions when she had bought a pair they were always "bargains," so cheap that it would have been preposterous and unreasonable to have expected them to be fitted to the hand.Now she rested her elbow on the cushion of the glove counter, and a pretty, pleasant young creature, delicate and deft of touch, drew a long-wristed "kid" over Mrs. Sommers's hand. She smoothed it down over the wrist and buttoned it neatly, and both lost themselves for a second or two in admiring contemplation of the little symmetrical gloved hand. But there were other places where money might be spent.There were books and magazines piled up in the window of a stall a few paces down the street. Mrs. Sommers bought two high-priced magazines such as she had been accustomed to read in the days when she had been accustomed to other pleasant things. She carried them without wrapping. As well as she could she lifted her skirts at the crossings. Her stockings and boots and well fitting gloves had worked marvels in her bearing--had given her a feeling of assurance, a sense of belonging to the well-dressed multitude.She was very hungry. Another time she would have stilled the cravings for food until reaching her own home, where she would have brewed herself a cup of tea and taken a snack of anything that was available. But the impulse that was guiding her would not suffer her to entertain any such thought.There was a restaurant at the corner. She had never entered its doors; from the outside she hadsometimes caught glimpses of spotless damask and shining crystal, and soft-stepping waiters serving people of fashion.When she entered her appearance created no surprise, no consternation, as she had half feared it might. She seated herself at a small table alone, and an attentive waiter at once approached to take her order. She did not want a profusion; she craved a nice and tasty bite--a half dozen blue-points, a plump chop with cress, a something sweet--a creme-frappee, for instance; a glass of Rhine wine, and after all a small cup of black coffee.While waiting to be served she removed her gloves very leisurely and laid them beside her. Then she picked up a magazine and glanced through it, cutting the pages with a blunt edge of her knife. It was all very agreeable. The damask was even more spotless than it had seemed through the window, and the crystal more sparkling. There were quiet ladies and gentlemen, who did not notice her, lunching at the small tables like her own. A soft, pleasing strain of music could be heard, and a gentle breeze, was blowing through the window. She tasted a bite, and she read a word or two, and she sipped the amber wine and wiggled her toes in the silk stockings. The price of it made no difference. She counted the money out to the waiter and left an extra coin on his tray, whereupon he bowed before her as before a princess of royal blood.There was still money in her purse, and her next temptation presented itself in the shape of a matinee poster.It was a little later when she entered the theatre, the play had begun and the house seemed to her to be packed. But there were vacant seats here and there, and into one of them she was ushered, between brilliantly dressed women who had gone there to kill time and eat candy and display their gaudy attire. There were many others who were there solely for the play and acting. It is safe to say there was no one present who bore quite the attitude which Mrs. Sommers did to her surroundings. She gathered in the whole--stage and players and people in one wide impression, and absorbed it and enjoyed it. She laughed at the comedy and wept--she and the gaudy woman next to her wept over the tragedy. And they talked a little together over it. And the gaudy woman wiped her eyes and sniffled on a tiny square of filmy, perfumed lace and passed little Mrs. Sommers her box of candy.The play was over, the music ceased, the crowd filed out. It was like a dream ended. People scattered in all directions. Mrs. Sommers went to the corner and waited for the cable car.A man with keen eyes, who sat opposite to her, seemed to like the study of her small, pale face. It puzzled him to decipher what he saw there. In truth, he saw nothing-unless he were wizard enough to detect a poignant wish, a powerful longing that the cable car would never stop anywhere, but go on and on with her forever.Cousin Tribulation's Storyby Louisa May AlcottDear Merrys:--As a subject appropriate to the season, I want to tell you about a New Year's breakfast which I had when I was a little girl. What do you think it was? A slice of dry bread and an apple. This is how it happened, and it is a true story, every word.As we came down to breakfast that morning, with very shiny faces and spandy clean aprons, we found father alone in the dining-room."Happy New Year, papa! Where is mother?" we cried."A little boy came begging and said they were starving at home, so your mother went to see and--ah, here she is."As papa spoke, in came mamma, looking very cold, rather sad, and very much excited."Children, don't begin till you hear what I have to say," she cried; and we sat staring at her, with the breakfast untouched before us."Not far away from here, lies a poor woman with a little new-born baby. Six children are huddled into one bed to keep from freezing, for they have no fire. There is nothing to eat over there; and the oldest boy came here to tell me they were starving this bitter cold day. My little girls, will you give them your breakfast, as a New Year's gift?"We sat silent a minute, and looked at the nice, hot porridge, creamy milk, and good bread and butter; for we were brought up like English children, and never drank tea or coffee, or ate anything but porridge for our breakfast."I wish we'd eaten it up," thought I, for I was rather a selfish child, and very hungry."I'm so glad you come before we began," said Nan, cheerfully."May I go and help carry it to the poor, little children?" asked Beth, who had the tenderest heart that ever beat under a pinafore."I can carry the lassy pot," said little May, proudly giving the thing she loved best."And I shall take all the porridge," I burst in, heartily ashamed of my first feeling."You shall put on your things and help me, and when we come back, we'll get something to eat," said mother, beginning to pile the bread and butter into a big basket.We were soon ready, and the procession set out. First, papa, with a basket of wood on one arm and coal on the other; mamma next, with a bundle of warm things and the teapot; Nan and I carried a pail of hot porridge between us, and each a pitcher of milk; Beth brought some cold meat, May the "lassy pot," and her old hood and boots; and Betsey, the girl, brought up the rear with a bag of potatoes and some meal.Fortunately it was early, and we went along back streets, so few people saw us, and no one laughed at the funny party.What a poor, bare, miserable place it was, to be sure,--broken windows, no fire, ragged clothes, wailing baby, sick mother, and a pile of pale, hungry children cuddled under one quilt, trying to keep warm. How the big eyes stared and the blue lips smiled as we came in!"Ah, mein Gott! it is the good angels that come to us!" cried the poor woman, with tears of joy."Funny angels, in woollen hoods and red mittens," said I; and they all laughed.Then we fell to work, and in fifteen minutes, it really did seem as if fairies had been at work there. Papa made a splendid fire in the old fireplace and stopped up the broken window with hisown hat and coat. Mamma set the shivering children round the fire, and wrapped the poor woman in warm things. Betsey and the rest of us spread the table, and fed the starving little ones."Das ist gute!" "Oh, nice!" "Der angel--Kinder!" cried the poor things as they ate and smiled and basked in the warm blaze. We had never been called "angel-children" before, and we thought it very charming, especially I who had often been told I was "a regular Sancho." What fun it was! Papa, with a towel for an apron, fed the smallest child; mamma dressed the poor little new-born baby as tenderly as if it had been her own. Betsey gave the mother gruel and tea, and comforted her with assurance of better days for all. Nan, Lu, Beth, and May flew about among the seven children, talking and laughing and trying to understand their funny, broken English. It was a very happy breakfast, though we didn't get any of it; and when we came away, leaving them all so comfortable, and promising to bring clothes and food by and by, I think there were not in all the hungry little girls who gave away their breakfast, and contented themselves with a bit of bread and an apple of New Year's day.How the Camel Got His Humpby Rudyard KiplingNOW this is the next tale, and it tells how the Camel got his big hump.In the beginning of years, when the world was so new and all, and the Animals were just beginning to work for Man, there was a Camel, and he lived in the middle of a Howling Desert because he did not want to work; and besides, he was a Howler himself. So he ate sticks and thorns and tamarisks and milkweed and prickles, most 'scruciating idle; and when anybody spoke to him he said 'Humph!' Just 'Humph!' and no more.Presently the Horse came to him on Monday morning, with a saddle on his back and a bit in his mouth, and said, 'Camel, O Camel, come out and trot like the rest of us.''Humph!' said the Camel; and the Horse went away and told the Man.Presently the Dog came to him, with a stick in his mouth, and said, 'Camel, O Camel, come and fetch and carry like the rest of us.''Humph!' said the Camel; and the Dog went away and told the Man.Presently the Ox came to him, with the yoke on his neck and said, 'Camel, O Camel, come and plough like the rest of us.''Humph!' said the Camel; and the Ox went away and told the Man.At the end of the day the Man called the Horse and the Dog and the Ox together, and said, 'Three, O Three, I'm very sorry for you (with the world so new-and-all); but that Humph-thing in the Desert can't work, or he would have been here by now, so I am going to leave him alone, and you must work double-time to make up for it.'That made the Three very angry (with the world so new-and-all), and they held a palaver, and an indaba, and a punchayet, and a pow-wow on the edge of the Desert; and the Camel came chewing on milkweed most 'scruciating idle, and laughed at them. Then he said 'Humph!' and went away again.Presently there came along the Djinn in charge of All Deserts, rolling in a cloud of dust (Djinns always travel that way because it is Magic), and he stopped to palaver and pow-pow with the Three.'Djinn of All Deserts,' said the Horse, 'is it right for any one to be idle, with the world so new-and-all?''Certainly not,' said the Djinn.'Well,' said the Horse, 'there's a thing in the middle of your Howling Desert (and he's a Howler himself) with a long neck and long legs, and he hasn't done a stroke of work since Monday morning. He won't trot.''Whew!' said the Djinn, whistling, 'that's my Camel, for all the gold in Arabia! What does he say about it?''He says "Humph!"' said the Dog; 'and he won't fetch and carry.''Does he say anything else?''Only "Humph!"; and he won't plough,' said the Ox.'Very good,' said the Djinn. 'I'll humph him if you will kindly wait a minute.'The Djinn rolled himself up in his dust-cloak, and took a bearing across the desert, and found the Camel most 'scruciatingly idle, looking at his own reflection in a pool of water.'My long and bubbling friend,' said the Djinn, 'what's this I hear of your doing no work, with theworld so new-and-all?''Humph!' said the Camel.The Djinn sat down, with his chin in his hand, and began to think a Great Magic, while the Camel looked at his own reflection in the pool of water.'You've given the Three extra work ever since Monday morning, all on account of your 'scruciating idleness,' said the Djinn; and he went on thinking Magics, with his chin in his hand.'Humph!' said the Camel.'I shouldn't say that again if I were you,' said the Djinn; you might say it once too often. Bubbles, I want you to work.'And the Camel said 'Humph!' again; but no sooner had he said it than he saw his back, that he was so proud of, puffing up and puffing up into a great big lolloping humph.'Do you see that?' said the Djinn. 'That's your very own humph that you've brought upon your very own self by not working. To-day is Thursday, and you've done no work since Monday, when the work began. Now you are going to work.''How can I,' said the Camel, 'with this humph on my back?''That's made a-purpose,' said the Djinn, 'all because you missed those three days. You will be able to work now for three days without eating, because you can live on your humph; and don't you ever say I never did anything for you. Come out of the Desert and go to the Three, and behave. Humph yourself!'And the Camel humphed himself, humph and all, and went away to join the Three. And from that day to this the Camel always wears a humph (we call it 'hump' now, not to hurt his feelings); but he has never yet caught up with the three days that he missed at the beginning of the world, and he has never yet learned how to behave.Regretby Kate ChopinMAMZELLE AURLIE possessed a good strong figure, ruddy cheeks, hair that was changing from brown to gray, and a determined eye. She wore a man's hat about the farm, and an old blue army overcoat when it was cold, and sometimes top-boots.Mamzelle Aurlie had never thought of marrying. She had never been in love. At the age of twenty she had received a proposal, which she had promptly declined, and at the age of fifty she had not yet lived to regret it.So she was quite alone in the world, except for her dog Ponto, and the negroes who lived in her cabins and worked her crops, and the fowls, a few cows, a couple of mules, her gun (with which she shot chicken-hawks), and her religion.One morning Mamzelle Aurlie stood upon her gallery, contemplating, with arms akimbo, a small band of very small children who, to all intents and purposes, might have fallen from the clouds, so unexpected and bewildering was their coming, and so unwelcome. They were the children of her nearest neighbor, Odile, who was not such a near neighbor, after all.The young woman had appeared but five minutes before, accompanied by these four children. In her arms she carried little Lodie; she dragged Ti Nomme by an unwilling hand; while Marcline and Marclette followed with irresolute steps.Her face was red and disfigured from tears and excitement. She had been summoned to a neighboring parish by the dangerous illness of her mother; her husband was away in Texas -- it seemed to her a million miles away; and Valsin was waiting with the mule-cart to drive her to the station."It's no question, Mamzelle Aurlie; you jus' got to keep those youngsters fo' me tell I come back. Dieu sait, I wouldn' botha you with 'em if it was any otha way to do! Make 'em mine you, Mamzelle Aurlie; don' spare 'em. Me, there, I'm half crazy between the chil'ren, an' Lon not home, an' maybe not even to fine po' maman alive encore!" -- a harrowing possibility which drove Odile to take a final hasty and convulsive leave of her disconsolate family.She left them crowded into the narrow strip of shade on the porch of the long, low house; the white sunlight was beating in on the white old boards; some chickens were scratching in the grass at the foot of the steps, and one had boldly mounted, and was stepping heavily, solemnly, and aimlessly across the gallery. There was a pleasant odor of pinks in the air, and the sound of negroes' laughter was coming across the flowering cotton-field.Mamzelle Aurlie stood contemplating the children. She looked with a critical eye upon Marcline, who had been left staggering beneath the weight of the chubby Lodie. She surveyed with the same calculating air Marclette mingling her silent tears with the audible grief and rebellion of Ti Nomme. During those few contemplative moments she was collecting herself, determining upon a line of action which should be identical with a line of duty. She began by feeding them.If Mamzelle Aurlie's responsibilities might have begun and ended there, they could easily have been dismissed; for her larder was amply provided against an emergency of this nature. But little children are not little pigs: they require and demand attentions which were wholly unexpected by Mamzelle Aurlie, and which she was ill prepared to give.She was, indeed, very inapt in her management of Odile's children during the first few days.How could she know that Marclette always wept when spoken to in a loud and commanding tone of voice? It was a peculiarity of Marclette's. She became acquainted with Ti Nomme's passion for flowers only when he had plucked all the choicest gardenias and pinks for the apparent purpose of critically studying their botanical construction."'T ain't enough to tell 'im, Mamzelle Aurlie," Marcline instructed her; "you got to tie 'im in a chair. It's w'at maman all time do w'en he's bad: she tie 'im in a chair." The chair in which Mamzelle Aurlie tied Ti Nomme was roomy and comfortable, and he seized the opportunity to take a nap in it, the afternoon being warm.At night, when she ordered them one and all to bed as she would have shooed the chickens into the hen-house, they stayed uncomprehending before her. What about the little white nightgowns that had to be taken from the pillow-slip in which they were brought over, and shaken by some strong hand till they snapped like ox-whips? What about the tub of water which had to be brought and set in the middle of the floor, in which the little tired, dusty, sun-browned feet had every one to be washed sweet and clean? And it made Marcline and Marclette laugh merrily -- the idea that Mamzelle Aurlie should for a moment have believed that Ti Nomme could fall asleep without being told the story of Croque-mitaine or Loup-garou, or both; or that lodie could fall asleep at all without being rocked and sung to."I tell you, Aunt Ruby," Mamzelle Aurlie informed her cook in confidence; "me, I'd rather manage a dozen plantation' than fo' chil'ren. It's terrassent! Bont! don't talk to me about chil'ren!""T ain' ispected sich as you would know airy thing 'bout 'em, Mamzelle Aurlie. I see dat plainly yistiddy w'en I spy dat li'le chile playin' wid yo' baskit o' keys. You don' know dat makes chillun grow up hard-headed, to play wid keys? Des like it make 'em teeth hard to look in a lookin'-glass. Them's the things you got to know in the raisin' an' manigement o' chillun."Mamzelle Aurlie certainly did not pretend or aspire to such subtle and far-reaching knowledge on the subject as Aunt Ruby possessed, who had "raised five an' buried six" in her day. She was glad enough to learn a few little mother-tricks to serve the moment's need.Ti Nomme's sticky fingers compelled her to unearth white aprons that she had not worn for years, and she had to accustom herself to his moist kisses -- the expressions of an affectionate and exuberant nature. She got down her sewing-basket, which she seldom used, from the top shelf of the armoire, and placed it within the ready and easy reach which torn slips and buttonless waists demanded. It took her some days to become accustomed to the laughing, the crying, the chattering that echoed through the house and around it all day long. And it was not the first or the second night that she could sleep comfortably with little Lodie's hot, plump body pressed close against her, and the little one's warm breath beating her cheek like the fanning of a bird's wing.But at the end of two weeks Mamzelle Aurlie had grown quite used to these things, and she no longer complained.It was also at the end of two weeks that Mamzelle Aurlie, one evening, looking away toward the crib where the cattle were being fed, saw Valsin's blue cart turning the bend of the road. Odile sat beside the mulatto, upright and alert. As they drew near, the young woman's beaming face indicated that her home-coming was a happy one.But this coming, unannounced and unexpected, threw Mamzelle Aurlie into a flutter that was almost agitation. The children had to be gathered. Where was Ti Nomme? Yonder in the shed, putting an edge on his knife at the grindstone. And Marcline and Marclette? Cutting and fashioning doll-rags in the corner of the gallery. As for Lodie, she was safe enough in Mamzelle Aurlie's arms;。
(完整word版)英语短篇小说TheSwingByMaryGavell
The SwingBy Mary GavellAs she grew old, she began to dream again. She had not dreamed much in her middle years; or, if she had , the busyness of her days, converging on her the moment she awoke, had pushed her dreams right out of her head, and any fragments that remained were as busy and prosaic as the day itself. She had only the one son, James, but she had also mothered her younger sister after their parents died, and she had done all of the office work during the years when her husband’s small engineering firm was getting on its feet. And Julius’s health had not been too good, even then; it was she who had mowed the lawn and had helped Jamie to learn to ride his bicycle and pitched balls to him in the backyard until he learned to hit them.But she was dreaming again now, as she had when she was a child. Oh, not the lovely foolish dreams of finding oneself alone in a candy store, or the horrible dreams of being pursued through endless corridors without doors by nameless terrors. But as her days grew in quietness and solitude – for James was grown and gone, and Julius was drawing in upon himself, becoming every day more small and chill and dim –color and life and drama were returning to her dreams.But on that first night when she heard the creak of the swing, she did not think that she was dreaming at all. She had been lying in bed quite awake, she thought, in the little room that used to be Jamie’s –for nowadays her reading in bed, and afterward her tossing and turning, disturbed Julius. The swing was not an ordinary one. Julius had put it up, in one of the few flashes of poetry in all his worrisome, hardworking life, when Jamie was only a baby and nowhere near old enough to swing in it. The ladder Julius had was not tall enough, and he had to buy a new one, for the tree was tremendous and the branch on which he proposed to hang the swing arched a full forty feet from the ground, and much thought and consideration and care were given to the chain, and the hooks, and the seat. The swing was suspended from so high, and its arc was so wide, that riding in it was like sailing through the air with the leisurely swoop of a wheeling bird. One seemed to travel from one horizon to the other. And how proud Julius had been of it when Jamie was old enough to swing in it, and the neighborhood children had stood around to admire and be given a turn, for there was no other swing like it.The swing was hardly ever used now; it was only a treat, once in a while, for a visiting child, and occasionally when she was outside working in her flower border she would sit and rest in it for a moment or two, idling, pushing herself a little with a toe. But the rhythmic creak of the chains was so familiar that she could not mistake it, she thought. Could the wind be strong enough to move it, if it came from the right angle? She finally gave up thinking about it and went to sleep.Nor did she think of it the next day, for they were due for Sunday dinner at James’s house. He lived in a suburb on the opposite side of the city – just the right distance away, she often thought, far enough so that aging parents could not meddleand embarrass and interfere, but near enough so that she could see him fairly often. She loved him with all her heart, her dear, her only son. She was enormously proud of him, too; he was a highly paid mathematician in a research foundation, and expert in a field so esoteric that she had given up trying to grasp its point. But secretly she took some credit, for it was she – who had kept the engineering firm’s books balanced and done the income tax – who had played little mathematical games with him before he had ever gone to school and had sat cross-legged with him on the floor tossing coins to test the law of probability. Oh, they had had fun together in all sorts of ways; they had done crossword puzzles together, and studied the stars together, and read books together that were over his head and sometimes over hers too. And he had turned out well; he was a scholar, and a success, and a worthy citizen, and he had a pretty wife, a charming home, and two handsome children. She could not have asked for more. He was the light and the warmth of her life, and her heart beat fast on the way to his house.She drove. She had always enjoyed driving, and nowadays Julius, who used to insist on doing it himself, let her do it without a word. They drove in silence mostly, but her heart was as light as the wind that blew on her face, and she hummed under her breath, for she was on her way to see James. Julius said querulously, “I could have told you you’d get into a lot of traffic this way and you’d do better to go by the river road, but I knew you wouldn’t listen,”but she was so happy that she forbore to mention that whenever she took the river road he remarked how much longer it was, and only answered, “I expect you’re quite right, Julius. We’ll come back that way.”They did go home by the river road, and it seemed very long; she was a little depressed, as she often was when she returned from James’s house. “I love him with all my heart”– the words walked unbidden into her mind –“but I wish that when I ask him how he is he wouldn’t tell me that there is every likelihood that the Basic Research Division will be merged with the Statistics Division.” He had kissed her on the cheek, and Anne, his wife, had kissed her on the cheek, and the two children had kissed her on the cheek, and he had slipped a footstool under her feet and had seated his father away from drafts, and they had had a fire in the magnificent stone fireplace the architect had dreamed up and the builder added to the cost, and Anne had served them an excellent dinner, and the children had, on request, told her of suitable A’s in English and Boy Scout merit badges. They had asked her how she had been, and she told them, in a burst of confidence, that she had had the ancient piano tuned and had been practicing an hour a day. They looked puzzled. “What are you planning to do with it, Mother?” Anne asked. “Oh, well nothing, really,” she said, embarrassed. She said later on that she had been reading books on China for she was so terribly ignorant about it, and they asked politely how her eyes were holding up, and when she said that she was sick of phlox and was going to dig it all up and try iris, James said mildly, “You really shouldn’t do all that heavy gardening anymore, Mother.”They were loving, they were devoted, and it was the most pleasant of ordinary family Sunday afternoons. James told her that he had another salary increase, and that the paper he had delivered before the Mathematical Research Institute had been, he felt he could say without exaggeration, most well received, and that they were getting a new stationwagon. But what, she wondered, did he feel, what did he love and hate, and what upset him or made him happy, and what did he look forward to? Nonsense, she thought, I can’t expect him to tell me his secret thoughts. People can’t, once they’re grown, to their parents. But the terrible fear rose in her that these were his secret thoughts, and that was all there was.That night she heard the swing again, the gentle, regular creak of the chains. What can be making that noise, she wondered, for it was a still night, with surely not enough wind to stir the swing. She asked Julius the next day if he ever heard a creaking sound at night, a sound like the swing used to make. Julius peered out from his afghan and said deafly, “Hah?” and she answered irritably, “Oh, never mind.” The afghan maddened her. He was always chilly nowadays, and she had knitted the afghan for him for Christmas, working on it in snatches when he was out from under foot for a bit, with a vision of its warming his knees as they sat together in the evenings, companionably watching television, or reading, or chatting. But he sat less and less with her in the evenings; he went to bed very early nowadays, and he had taken to wearing the afghan daytimes around his shoulders like a shawl. She was sorry immediately for her irritation, and she tried to be very thoughtful of him the rest of the day. But he didn’t seem to notice; he noticed so little now.Other things maddened her too. She decided that she should get out more and, heartlessly abandoning Julius, she made a luncheon date with Jessie Carling, who had once been a girl as gay and scatterbrained as a kitten. Jessie spent the entire lunch discussing her digestion and the problem of making the plaids match across the front in a housecoat she was making for herself. A couple of days later, she paid a call on Joyce Simmons, who had trouble with her back and didn’t get out much, and Joyce told her in minute detail about her son, dwelling, in full circumstantial detail, on the virtues of him, his wife, and his children. She held her tongue, though it was hard. My trouble, she thought wryly, is that I think my son is so really superior that a kind of noblesse oblige forces me not to mention it.The next time she heard it was several nights later. She sat up in bed and, half aloud, said, “I’m not dreaming, and it certainly is the swing!” She threw on her robe and her slippers and went downstairs, feeling her way in the dark carefully, for though sounds seemed not to reach Julius, lights did wake him. Softly she unlocked the back door and, stepping out into the moonlight, picked her way through the wet grass and in sight of the big oak, she saw it swooping powerfully through the air in its wide arc, and the shock it gave her told her that she had not really believed it. There was a child in the swing, and she paused with a terrible fear clutching at her. Could it be a sleepwalking child from somewhere in the neighborhood? And would it be dangerous to call out to the child, or would it be better to go up and put out a hand to catch the swing gently and stop it? She walked nearer softly, afraid to startle the child, her heart beating with panicky speed. It seemed to be a little boy and, she noticed, he was dressed in ordinary clothes, not pajamas, as a sleepwalker might be. Nearer she came, still undecided what she should do, shaking with fear and strangeness.She saw then that it was James. “Jamie?’she cried out questioningly, and immediately shrank back, feeling that she must be making some kind of terriblemistake. But he looked and saw her, and, bright in the moonlight, his face lit up, as it had used to do when he saw her, and he answered gaily, “Mommy!”She ran to him and stopped the swing – he had slowed down when he saw her –and knelt on the mossy ground and put her arms around him and he put his arms around her and squeezed tight. “I’m so glad to see you!” she cried. “It’s been such a long time since I’ve seen you!”“I’m glad to see you too,” he cried, grinning, and kissed her teasingly behind the ear, for he knew it gave her goose bumps. “You know,” he said, “I like this airplane, and sometimes I go r-r-r-r- and that’s the engine.”“Well,” she said, “it is sort of like flying. Like an airplane, or maybe like a bird. Do you remember, Jamie, when you use to want to be a bird and would wave your arms and try to fly?”“That was when I was a real little kid,” he said scornfully.She suddenly realized that she didn’t know how old he was. One tooth was out in front; could that have been when he was six? Or seven? Surely not five? One forgot so much. She couldn’t very well ask him; he would think that very odd, for a mother, of all people, should know. She noticed, then, his red checked jacket hanging on the nail on the tree; Julius had given him that jacket for his sixth birthday, she remembered now; he had loved it and had insisted on carrying it with him all the time, even when it was too warm to wear it, and Julius had driven a little nail in the oak tree for him to hang it on while he swung; the nail was till there, old and rusty.“Mommy, how high does an airplane fly?” he asked.“Oh, I don’t know,” she said, “two thousand feet, maybe.”“How much is a foot?”“Oh, about as long as Daddy’s foot – I guess that’s why they call it that.”“Have people always been the same size?”“Well, not exactly. They say people are getting a little bigger, and that most people are a little bigger than their great-granddaddies were.”“Well [she saw the trap too late], then if feet used not to be as big, why did they call it a foot?”“I don’t know. Maybe that isn’t why they call it a foot. We should look it up in the dictionary.”“Does dictionary tell you everything?”“Not everything. Just about words and what they mean and how they started to mean that.”“But if there’s a word for everything, and if a dictionary tells you about every word, then how can it help but tell you about everything?”“Well,” she said, “you’ve got a good point there. I’ll have to think that one over.”Another time he would ask, “Why is it, if the world is turning round all the time, we don’t fall off?”“Gravity. You know what a magnet is. The earth is just like a big magnet.”“But where is the gravity? If you pick up a handful of dirt, it doesn’t have any gravity.”“Well, I don’t know. The center of the earth, I guess. Well, I don’t really know,”she said.She felt as if the wheels of her mind, rusty from disuse, were beginning to turn again, as if she had not engaged in a real conversation, or thought about anything real, in so long that she was like a swimmer out of practice.They talked for an hour, and then he said he had to go, with the conscientious keeping track of time he had used to show when it was time to go to school.“See you later, alligator,” he said, and the answer sprang easily to her lips: “After a while, crocodile.”He came every night or two after that, and she lay in bed in happy anticipation, listening for the creak of the swing. She did not go out in her robe again; she hastily dressed herself properly, and put on her shoes, for she had always felt that a mother should look tidy and proper. There by the swing they sat, and they talked about the stars and where the Big Dipper was, and about what you do about a boy who is sort of mean to you at school all the time, not just now and then, the way most children are to each other, only they don’t especially mean it, and about what you should say in Sunday school when they say the world was made in six days but your mother has explained it differently, and about why the days get shorter in winter and longer in summer.She bloomed; she sang around the house until even Julius noticed it, and said, disapprovingly, “You seem to be awfully frisky lately.”And when Anne phoned apologetically to say that they would have to call off Sunday dinner because James had to attend a committee meeting, she was not only perfectly understanding – as she always tried to be in such instances – but she put down the phone with an utterly light heart, and took up her song where she had left it off.Then one night, after they had talked for an hour, Jamie said, “I have to go now, and I don’t think I can come again, Mommy.”“Okay,”she said, and whatever reserve had supplied the cheerful matter-of-factness with which she had once taken him to the hospital to have his appendix out, when he was four, came to her aid and saw to it that there was not a tremor in her voice or a tear in her eye. She kissed him, and then she sat and watched as he walked down the little back lane that had taken him to school, and off to college, and off to a job, and finally off to be married – and he turned, at the bend in the road, and waved to her, as he always used to do.When he was out of sight, she sat on the soft mossy ground and rested her arms in the swing and buried her face in them and wept. How long she had sat there, she did not know, when a sound made her look up. It was Julius, standing there, frail and stooped, in the moonlight, in his nightshirt with the everlasting afghan hung around his thin old shoulders. She hastily tried to rearrange her attitude, to somehow make it look as if she was doing something quite reasonable, sitting there on the ground with her head pillowed on the swing in the middle of the night. Julius had always felt she was a little foolish and needed a good deal of admonishing, and now he would think she was quite out of her mind and talk very sharply to her.But his cracked old voice spoke mildly. “He went off and left his jacket,” he said.She looked, and there was the little red jacket hanging on the nail.。
短篇小说英文作文带翻译
短篇小说英文作文带翻译Once upon a time, in a small village nestled in the mountains, there lived a young girl named Lily. She had long, flowing golden hair that shimmered in the sunlight. Lily was known for her adventurous spirit and her love for exploring the world around her.One day, while wandering through the forest near her village, Lily stumbled upon a hidden cave. Curiosity got the better of her, and she decided to venture inside. As she entered the dark cave, she felt a sense of excitement and anticipation.Inside the cave, Lily discovered a magical crystal that glowed with a brilliant blue light. She couldn't resist the temptation and reached out to touch it. Suddenly, a burst of energy enveloped her, and she found herself transported to a different world.In this new world, everything was different. The skywas a vibrant shade of purple, and the trees were adazzling array of colors. Lily was amazed by the beautythat surrounded her. She spent hours exploring this enchanting place, meeting new creatures and experiencing thrilling adventures.However, as time passed, Lily began to miss her family and friends back in her own world. She realized that no matter how magical this new world was, it could never replace the love and connection she had with her loved ones.With a heavy heart, Lily made her way back to the cave, holding onto the crystal that had brought her here. As she touched the crystal once again, she felt the familiar burst of energy, and she found herself back in her village.Lily was overjoyed to be reunited with her family and friends. She shared stories of her incredible journey andthe amazing things she had seen. From that day on, Lily cherished every moment she spent with her loved ones, knowing that the real magic in life lies in the bonds we share with others.从前，在一个坐落在山间的小村庄里，住着一个名叫莉莉的小女孩。
短篇英语经典文学作品
短篇英语经典文学作品
以下是几部经典的短篇英语文学作品：
1. "The Tell-Tale Heart" by Edgar Allan Poe：这是一部著名的短篇小说，讲述了一个疯狂的男子声称他能够听到自己心中的声音，最终因此被逮捕并揭示了他的罪行。
2. "The Gift of the Magi" by O. Henry：这是一个温馨的短篇小说，讲述
了一对年轻夫妇在圣诞节前夕为了给对方买礼物而卖掉了自己的珍贵物品，最终领悟到了真正的礼物的意义。
3. "The Metamorphosis" by Franz Kafka：这是一部荒诞的短篇小说，讲述了一个人变成了一只昆虫，并在家中遭到了自己家人和社会的排斥。
4. "Brave New World" by Aldous Huxley：这是一部反乌托邦的短篇小说，讲述了一个未来社会中人们被分为不同阶层，并通过药物和科技手段被控制和洗脑的故事。
5. "The Catcher in the Rye" by Salinger：虽然这不是一部短篇小说，而
是一部长篇小说，但其中的短篇小说部分也非常值得一读，例如《De Daumier-Smith's Blue Period》、《Teddy》和《Franny》等。
这些作品都是经典的短篇小说，涵盖了不同的文学风格和主题，希望您能够从中找到自己喜欢的作品。
英语短篇小说,提供英语短篇小说在线阅读与下载!
英语短篇小说,提供英语短篇小说在线阅读与下载!篇一：英文小说推荐篇目英语小说阅读推荐篇目：（女生）短篇或中篇《格林·盖布尔斯来的安妮》又称《绿山墙的安妮》——喜欢《鬼妈妈》——其实不恐怖，喜欢《爱丽丝漫游仙境》——我第一部看的英文版小说《绿野仙踪》《简爱》——必读，简单的可以去读牛津书虫版，要提高的选择其他更详细的吧《小王子》《小公子》《孤女努力记》——喜欢《阿拉丁和神灯》《长腿叔叔》——喜欢《麦琪的礼物》《警察与赞美诗》《欧也妮·葛朗台》长篇《小公主》——我小时候最喜欢的《傲慢与偏见》——女生都应该读的，个人认为女主与男主的结局在那个年代不太可能《童年·在人间·我的大学》《魔法灰姑娘》——挺有趣的《蓝色海豚岛》——讲的是印第安女生在岛上独自生活的故事，较喜欢，也不长，但没耐心看生活类故事的同学请放弃《鲁滨逊漂流记》——同上《小妇人》《悲惨世界》——我较喜欢的，个人觉得比《巴黎圣母院》好看（男生）《在月亮下面》《世界上最冷的地方》《彼得·潘》《水孩子》《麦琪的礼物》《警察与赞美诗》《童年·在人间·我的大学》《小王子》《基督山伯爵》——有必要的《哈利波特全集》《悲惨世界》——我较喜欢的，个人觉得比《巴黎圣母院》好看《蓝色海豚岛》——讲的是印第安女生在岛上独自生活的故事，较喜欢，也不长，但没耐心看生活类故事的同学请放弃《鲁滨逊漂流记》——同上/《指环王》《欧也妮·葛朗台》/《高老头》PS：男生的小说，我看的不多，（以上小说我看的大部分也只是中文版的）男女生间的阅读差别没有那么大，以上所列均可读。
英文版可先选择牛津书虫版的看（基本上都有，若没有也请选择自己能接受的、能读懂的英文版，否则很难坚持下去），读完后请写读后感一篇（英文）。
最后加一部老师推的《歌剧魅影》篇二：英文短篇小说The Nightingale and theRose2. The Nightingale and the Rose(by Oscar Wilde)"She said that she would dance with me if I brought her red roses," cried the young Student; "but in all my garden there is no red rose."From her nest in the holm-oak tree the Nightingale heard him, and she looked out through the leaves, and wondered."No red rose in all my garden!" he cried, and his beautiful eyes filled with tears. "Ah, on what little things does happiness depend! I have read all that the wise men have written, and all the secrets of philosophy are mine, yet for want of a red rose is my life made wretched.""Here at last is a true lover," said the Nightingale. "Night after night have I sung of him, though I knew him not: night after night have I told his story to the stars, and now I see him. His hair is dark as the hyacinth-blossom, and his lips are red as the rose of his desire; but passion has made his face like pale ivory, and sorrow has set her seal upon his brow.""The Prince gives a ball tomorrow night," murmured the young Student, "and my love will be of the company. If I bring her a red rose she will dance with me till dawn. If I bring her a red rose, I shall hold her in my arms, and she will lean her head upon my shoulder, and her hand will be clasped in mine. But there is no red rose in my garden, so I shall sit lonely, and she will pass me by. She will have no heed of me, and my heart will break.""Here indeed is the true lover," said the Nightingale. "What I sing of, he suffers - what is joy to me, to him is pain. Surely Love is a wonderful thing. It is more precious than emeralds, and dearer than fine opals. Pearls and pomegranates cannot buy it, nor is it set forth in the marketplace. It may not be purchased of the merchants, nor can it be weighed out in the balance for gold.""The musicians will sit in their gallery," said the young Student, "and play upon their stringed instruments, and my love will dance to the sound of the harp and the violin. She will dance so lightly that her feet will not touch the floor, and the courtiers in their gay dresses will throng round her. But with me she will not dance, for I have no red rose to give her"; and he flung himself down on the grass, and buried his face in his hands, and wept."Why is he weeping?" asked a little Green Lizard, as he ran past him with his tail in the air."Why, indeed?" said a Butterfly, who was fluttering about after a sunbeam. "Why, indeed?" whispered a Daisy to his neighbour, in a soft, low voice. "He is weeping for a red rose," said the Nightingale."For a red rose?" they cried; "how very ridiculous!" and the little Lizard, who was something of a cynic, laughed outright.But the Nightingale understood the secret of the Student's sorrow, and she sat silent in the oak-tree, and thought about the mystery of Love.Suddenly she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air. She passed through the grove like a shadow, and like a shadow she sailed across the garden.In the centre of the grass-plot was standing a beautiful Rose-tree, and when she saw it she flew over to it, and lit upon a spray."Give me a red rose," she cried, "and I will sing you my sweetest song." But the Tree shook its head."My roses are white," it answered; "as white as the foam of the sea, and whiter than the snow upon the mountain. But go to my brother who grows round the old sundial, and perhaps he will give you what you want."So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing round the old sundial."Give me a red rose," she cried, "and I will sing you my sweetest song." But the Tree shook its head."My roses are yellow," it answered; "as yellow as the hair of the mermaiden who sits upon an amber throne, and yellower than the daffodil that blooms in the meadow before the mower comes with his scythe. But go to my brother who grows beneath the Student's window, and perhaps he will give you what you want."So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing beneath the Student's window."Give me a red rose," she cried, "and I will sing you my sweetest song." But the Tree shook its head."My roses are red," it answered, "as red as the feet of the dove, and redder than the great fans of coral that wave and wave in the ocean-cavern. But the winter has chilled my veins, and the frost has nipped my buds, and the storm has broken my branches, and I shall have no roses at all this year.""One red rose is all I want," cried the Nightingale, "only one red rose! Is there no way by which I can get it?""There is away," answered the Tree; "but it is so terrible that I dare not tell it to you.""Tell it to me," said the Nightingale, "I am not afraid.""If you want a red rose," said the Tree, "you must build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with your own heart'sblood. You must sing to me with your breast against a thorn. All night long you must sing to me, and the thorn must pierce your heart, and your life-blood mustflow into my veins, and become mine.""Death is a great price to pay for a red rose," cried the Nightingale, "and Life is very dear to all. It is pleasant to sit in the green wood, and to watch the Sun inhis chariot of gold, and the Moon in her chariot of pearl. Sweet is the scent of the hawthorn, and sweet are the bluebells that hide in the valley, and the heather that blows on the hill. Yet Love is better than Life, and what is the heart of a bird compared to the heart of a man?"So she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air. She swept over the garden like a shadow, and like a shadow she sailed through the grove.The young Student was still lying on the grass, where she had left him, and the tears were not yet dry in his beautiful eyes."Be happy," cried the Nightingale, "be happy; you shall have your red rose. I will build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with my own heart's-blood. All that I ask of you in return is that you will be a true lover, for Love is wiser than Philosophy, though she is wise, and mightier than Power, though he is mighty. Flame- coloured are his wings, and coloured like flame is his body. His lips are sweet as honey, and his breath is like frankincense."The Student looked up from the grass, and listened, but he could not understand what the Nightingale was saying to him, for he only knew the things that are written down in books.But the Oak-tree understood, and felt sad, for he was very fond of the little Nightingale who had built her nest in his branches."Sing me one last song," he whispered; "I shall feel very lonely when you are gone."So the Nightingale sang to the Oak-tree, and her voice was like water bubbling from a silver jar.When she had finished her song the Student got up, and pulled a note-book and a lead-pencil out of his pocket."She has form," he said to himself, as he walked away through the grove - "that cannot be denied to her; but has she got feeling? I am afraid not. In fact,she is like most artists; she is all style, without any sincerity. She would not sacrifice herself for others. She thinks merely of music, and everybody knows that the arts are selfish. Still, it must be admitted that she has some beautiful notes in her voice. What a pity it is that they do not mean anything, or do any practical good." And he went into his room, and lay down on his little pallet-bed, and began to think of his love; and, after a time, he fell asleep.And when the Moon shone in the heavens the Nightingale flew to the Rose-tree, and set her breast against the thorn. All night long she sang with her breast against the thorn, and the cold crystal Moon leaned down and listened. All night long she sang, and the thorn went deeper and deeper into her breast, and her life-blood ebbed away from her.She sang first of the birth of love in the heart of a boy and a girl. And on the top-most spray of the Rose-tree there blossomed a marvellous rose, petal following petal, as song followed song. Pale was it, at first, as the mist that hangs over the river - pale as the feet of the morning, and silver as the wings of the dawn. As the shadow of a rose in a mirror of silver, as the shadow of arose in a water-pool, so was the rose that blossomed on the topmost spray of the Tree.But the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the thorn. "Press closer, little Nightingale," cried the Tree, "or the Day will come before the rose is finished."So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and louder and louder grew her song, for she sang of the birth of passion in the soul of a man and a maid.And a delicate flush of pink came into the leaves of the rose, like the flush in the face of the bridegroom when he kisses the lips of the bride. But the thorn had not yet reached her heart, so the rose's heart remained white, for only a Nightingale's heart's-blood can crimson the heart of a rose.篇三：短篇小说-pute短篇小说：谁才是偷饼干的人？The Cookie Thief饼干小偷A woman was waiting at an airport one night, with several long hours before her flight. She hunted for a book in the airport shops, bought a bag of cookies and found a place to sit.She was engrossed in her book but happened to see that the man sitting beside her, as bold as he could be, grabbed a cookie or two from the bag in between them. She tried to ignore it to avoid a scene, so she munched some cookies and watched the clock, as the gutsy cookie thief kept eating.She was getting more irritated as the minutes ticked by, thinking, “If I weren’t so nice, I would blacken his eyes.” With each cookie she took, he took one, too; when only one was left, she wondered what he would do.With a smile on his face, and a nervous laugh, he took the last cookie and broke it in half. He offered her a half, and ate the other. She snatched it from him and thought, “Oooh, brother. This guy has some nerve and he’s so rude! Why he didn’t even show any gratitude !”She had never known when she had been so angry, and sighed with relief when her flight was called. She gathered her belongings and headed to the gate, refusing to look back at the rude thief. She boarded the plane, sank in her seat, and looked for herbook, which was almost complete.As she reached in her baggage, she gasped with surprise—there was her bag of cookies,in front of her eyes. “If mine is here,” she moaned in despair, “the others were his, and he tried to share!”Too late to apologize, she realized with grief, that she was the rude one, the thief. 词汇:engross:使全神贯注；grab: 抓取，攫取。
短篇小说英文作文带翻译
Once upon a time in a small village, there was a young boy named Sam. He was full of life, always running around and playing with his friends. Sam’s childhood was filled with joy and laughter, and he cherished every moment of it.
Translation:
标题：一则短篇小说：失落的Fra bibliotek年从前，在一个小村庄里，有一个叫萨姆的小男孩。他生机勃勃，总是到处跑来跑去，和朋友们一起玩耍。萨姆的童年充满了快乐和笑声，他珍惜着每一个时刻。
然而，有一天，悲剧发生了。萨姆的父母在一场车祸中去世了。萨姆成了孤儿，并被迫搬到城里和他的远房亲戚们一起生活。
As time passed, Sam’s love for books grew, and he began to write stories of his own. He poured his heart and soul into his writing, creating tales of courage, hope, and resilience. The stories became his way of escape, a way to relive his lost childhood and create new memories.
被书名吸引，萨姆翻开了书并开始阅读。这是一个关于一个失去了一切但通过一系列神奇的冒险发现了幸福真正含义的故事。随着每一页的翻阅，萨姆感到自己心中升起了新的好奇和兴奋之情。
英文短篇小说欣赏：A Goodbye Kiss
英文短篇小说欣赏：A Goodbye KissThe Board Meeting had come to an end. Bob starred to stand up and jostled the table, spilling his coffee over his notes. "How embarrassing. I am getting so clumsy in my old age."董事会议结束了，鲍勃站起身时不当心撞到了桌子，把咖啡洒到了笔记本上。
“真丢脸啊，这把班级了还毛毛糙糙的。
”他不好意思地说。
Everyone had a good laugh, and soon we were all telling stories of our most embarrassing moments. It came around to Frank who sat quietly listening to the others. Someone said," Come on, Frank. Tell us your most embarrassing moment."全部人都哈哈大笑起来，然后我们都开头叙述自己经受的最尴尬的时刻。
一圈过来，轮到始终悄悄坐在那儿听别人讲的弗兰克了。
有人说：“来吧，弗兰克，给大家讲讲你最难为情的时刻。
”Frank began," I grew up in San Pedro. My Dad was a fisherman, and he loved the sea. He had his own boat, but it was hard making a living on the sea. He worked hard and would stay out until he caught enough to feed he family. Not just enough for our family, but also for his Mom and Dad and the other kids that were still and home." He looked at us and said," I wish you could have met my Dad. He was a big man, and he was strongfrom pulling the nets and fighting the seas for his catch. When you got close to him, he smelled the ocean."弗兰克开头了他的叙述。
适合摘抄的英文短篇
适合摘抄的英文短篇当谈及适合摘抄的英文短篇作品时，有许多经典的短篇小说和故事适合提取摘抄。
以下是一些经典英文短篇作品及摘抄：1. 《The Lottery》by Shirley Jackson："Although the villagers had forgotten the ritual and lost the original black box, they still remembered to use stones."2. 《The Gift of the Magi》by O. Henry:"The magi, as you know, were wise men—wonderfully wise men—who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger."3. 《Hills Like White Elephants》by Ernest Hemingway:"The hills across the valley of the Ebro' were long and white."4. 《The Tell-Tale Heart》by Edgar Allan Poe:"It's the beating of his hideous heart!"5. 《To Build a Fire》by Jack London:"The old-timer had been very serious in laying down the law that no man must travel alone in the Klondike after fifty below."6. 《The Necklace》by Guy de Maupassant:"She was one of those pretty and charming girls born, as though fate hadblundered over her, into a family of artisans."这些短篇作品有着丰富的情节、生动的描述和深刻的寓意，适合用来进行摘抄和创作。
优秀英语短篇小说集 10 篇,不看后悔哦~
优秀英语短篇小说集 10 篇，不看后悔哦~以下是一份包含10篇优秀英语短篇小说的精选集。
每个故事都引人入胜，希望你会喜欢！1. "The Secret Room"故事简介：一个年轻的探险家发现了一间隐藏的密室，里面隐藏着惊人的秘密。
2. "The Unexpected Journey"故事简介：一位幸运的旅行者在一次意外中发现了一条通往神秘世界的道路。
3. "Lost in the Woods"故事简介：一群朋友在森林迷路了，他们必须齐心合力才能找到回家的路。
4. "The Haunted House"故事简介：一对夫妇决定住进一座传说中闹鬼的房子，他们面临着各种令人毛骨悚然的事件。
5. "The Magical Necklace"故事简介：一个普通女孩意外发现了一条神奇的项链，她从此踏上了一段令人难以置信的冒险之旅。
6. "The Mysterious Stranger"故事简介：一个神秘的陌生人来到小镇，他的出现改变了所有人的生活。
7. "The Forgotten Diary"故事简介：一个年轻女孩在祖母的旧日记中发现了一个关于家族秘密的惊人发现。
8. "The Lost Treasure"故事简介：一群年轻人决定寻找传说中失落的宝藏，他们将面对许多挑战与危险。
9. "The Enchanted Garden"故事简介：一位女孩探索了她祖母的神奇花园，她发现了一个隐藏的世界。
10. "The Mirror of Truth"故事简介：一面魔镜能够揭示出真相，一位英勇的年轻人利用它来拯救他的国家。
以上是《优秀英语短篇小说集》中的10篇故事简介。
希望你会对这些故事充满兴趣，尽情享受阅读的乐趣！。
英语短篇小说朗诵欣赏
英语短篇小说朗诵欣赏
英语短篇小说是英语研究中提高语感和阅读理解能力的重要途径。
通过朗诵欣赏，我们不仅可以感受到英语语言的韵律和语调，还可以深入理解故事情节和人物性格。
以下是一些推荐的英语短篇小说，可供朗诵欣赏：
1. The Gift of the Magi （《玛吉的礼物》）
这篇小说讲述了一个夫妻为了买对方圣诞礼物而做出的牺牲。
虽然他们最终没有收到自己想要的礼物，但他们的爱情更加坚定。
这是一篇温馨感人的故事。
2. The Necklace （《项链》）
这篇小说揭示了贪婪和虚荣心的危害，让我们深思自己的人生追求。
女主角因为虚荣而借款购买了一条昂贵的项链，却最终失去了它。
这个故事提醒我们要珍惜眼前的幸福，不要被物质追求所迷惑。
3. The Open Window （《敞开的窗户》）
这篇小说讲述了一个小男孩上门拜访一个新认识的女孩时所经
历的离奇经历。
女孩告诉他未婚妻和弟弟的死亡原因，却没有告诉
他实情。
这个故事既神秘又有趣，展示了人类想象力的奇妙之处。
以上三篇小说都极具推荐价值。
通过阅读和朗诵，我们可以加
深对英语文学的认识和理解，同时也能提高自己的表达和欣赏能力。
欢迎大家朗诵欣赏这些经典之作！。
经典英文短篇小说-(50)
The Cop and the Anthem by O.HenryOn his bench in Madison Square Soapy moved uneasily.When wild geese honk high of nights, and when women without sealskin coats grow kind to their husbands, and when Soapy moves uneasily on his bench in the park, you may know that winter is near at hand.A dead leaf fell in Soapy's lap.That was Jack Frost's card.Jack is kind to the regular denizens of Madison Square, and gives fair warning of his annual call.At the corners of four streets he hands his pasteboard to the North Wind, footman of the mansion of All Outdoors, so that the inhabitants thereof may make ready.Soapy's mind became cognisant of the fact that the time had come for him to resolve himself into a singular Committee of Ways and Means to provide against the coming rigour.And therefore he moved uneasily on his bench.The hibernatorial ambitions of Soapy were not of the highest.In them there were no considerations of Mediterranean cruises, of soporific Southern skies drifting in the Vesuvian Bay.Three months on the Island was what his soul craved.Three months of assured board and bed and congenial company, safe from Boreas and bluecoats, seemed to Soapy the essence of things desirable.For years the hospitable Blackwell's had been his winter quarters.Just as his more fortunate fellow New Yorkers had bought their tickets to Palm Beach and the Riviera each winter, so Soapy had made his humble arrangements for his annual hegira to the Island.And now the time was come.On the previous night three Sabbath newspapers, distributed beneath his coat, about his ankles and over his lap, had failed to repulse the cold as he slept on his bench near the spurting fountain in the ancient square.So the Island loomed big and timely in Soapy's mind.He scorned the provisions made in the name of charity for the city's dependents.In Soapy's opinion the Law was more benign than Philanthropy.There was an endless round of institutions, municipal and eleemosynary, on which he might set out and receive lodging and food accordant with the simple life.But to one of Soapy's proud spirit the gifts of charity are encumbered.If not in coin you must pay in humiliation of spirit for every benefit received at the hands of philanthropy.As Caesar had his Brutus, every bed of charity must have its toll of a bath, every loaf of bread its compensation of a private and personal inquisition.Wherefore it is better to be a guest of the law, which though conducted by rules, does not meddle unduly with a gentleman's private affairs.Soapy, having decided to go to the Island, at once set about accomplishing his desire.There were many easy ways of doing this.The pleasantest was to dine luxuriously at some expensive restaurant; and then, after declaring insolvency, be handed over quietly and without uproar to a policeman.An accommodating magistrate would do the rest.Soapy left his bench and strolled out of the square and across the level sea of asphalt, where Broadway and Fifth Avenue flow together.Up Broadway he turned, and halted at a glittering cafe, where are gathered together nightly the choicest products of the grape, the silkworm and the protoplasm.Soapy had confidence in himself from the lowest button of his vest upward.He was shaven, and his coat was decent and his neat black, ready-tied four-in-hand had been presented to him by a lady missionary on Thanksgiving Day.If he could reach a table in the restaurant unsuspected success would be his.The portion of him that would show above the table would raise no doubt in the waiter's mind.A roasted mallard duck, thought Soapy, would be about the thing--with a bottle of Chablis, and then Camembert, a demi-tasse and a cigar.One dollar for the cigar would be enough.The total would not be so high as to call forth any supreme manifestation of revenge from the cafe management; and yet the meat would leave him filled and happy for the journey to his winter refuge.But as Soapy set foot inside the restaurant door the head waiter's eye fell upon his frayed trousers and decadent shoes.Strong and ready hands turned him about and conveyed him in silence and haste to the sidewalk and averted the ignoble fate of the menaced mallard.Soapy turned off Broadway.It seemed that his route to the coveted island was not to be an epicurean one.Some other way of entering limbo must be thought of.At a corner of Sixth Avenue electric lights and cunningly displayed wares behind plate-glass made a shop window conspicuous.Soapy took a cobblestone and dashed it through the glass.People came running around the corner, a policeman in the lead.Soapy stood still, with his hands in his pockets, and smiled at the sight of brass buttons."Where's the man that done that?" inquired the officer excitedly."Don't you figure out that I might have had something to do with it?" said Soapy, not without sarcasm, but friendly, as one greets good fortune.The policeman's mind refused to accept Soapy even as a clue.Men who smash windows do not remain to parley with the law's minions.They take to their heels.The policeman saw a man half way down the block running to catch a car.With drawn club he joined in the pursuit.Soapy, with disgust in his heart, loafed along, twice unsuccessful.On the opposite side of the street was a restaurant of no great pretensions.Itcatered to large appetites and modest purses.Its crockery and atmosphere were thick; its soup and napery thin.Into this place Soapy took his accusive shoes and telltale trousers without challenge.At a table he sat and consumed beefsteak, flapjacks, doughnuts and pie.And then to the waiter be betrayed the fact that the minutest coin and himself were strangers."Now, get busy and call a cop," said Soapy."And don't keep a gentleman waiting.""No cop for youse," said the waiter, with a voice like butter cakes and an eye like the cherry in a Manhattan cocktail."Hey, Con!"Neatly upon his left ear on the callous pavement two waiters pitched Soapy.He arose, joint by joint, as a carpenter's rule opens, and beat the dust from his clothes.Arrest seemed but a rosy dream.The Island seemed very far away.A policeman who stood before a drug store two doors away laughed and walked down the street.Five blocks Soapy travelled before his courage permitted him to woo capture again.This time the opportunity presented what he fatuously termed to himself a "cinch." A young woman of a modest and pleasing guise was standing before a show window gazing with sprightly interest at its display of shaving mugs and inkstands, and two yards from the window a large policeman of severe demeanour leaned against a water plug.It was Soapy's design to assume the role of the despicable and execrated "masher." The refined and elegant appearance of his victim and the contiguity of the conscientious cop encouraged him to believe that he would soon feel the pleasant official clutch upon his arm that would insure his winter quarters on the right little, tight little isle.Soapy straightened the lady missionary's readymade tie, dragged his shrinking cuffs into the open, set his hat at a killing cant and sidled toward the young woman.He made eyes at her, was taken with sudden coughs and "hems," smiled, smirked and went brazenly through the impudent and contemptible litany of the "masher." With half an eye Soapy saw that the policeman was watching him fixedly.The young woman moved away a few steps, and again bestowed her absorbed attention upon the shaving mugs.Soapy followed, boldly stepping to her side, raised his hat and said:"Ah there, Bedelia! Don't you want to come and play in my yard?"The policeman was still looking.The persecuted young woman had but to beckon a finger and Soapy would be practically en route for his insular haven.Already he imagined he could feel the cozy warmth of the station-house.The young woman faced him and, stretching out a hand, caught Soapy's coat sleeve."Sure, Mike," she said joyfully, "if you'll blow me to a pail of suds.I'd havespoke to you sooner, but the cop was watching."With the young woman playing the clinging ivy to his oak Soapy walked past the policeman overcome with gloom.He seemed doomed to liberty.At the next corner he shook off his companion and ran.He halted in the district where by night are found the lightest streets, hearts, vows and librettos.Women in furs and men in greatcoats moved gaily in the wintry air.A sudden fear seized Soapy that some dreadful enchantment had rendered him immune to arrest.The thought brought a little of panic upon it, and when he came upon another policeman lounging grandly in front of a transplendent theatre he caught at the immediate straw of "disorderly conduct."On the sidewalk Soapy began to yell drunken gibberish at the top of his harsh voice.He danced, howled, raved and otherwise disturbed the welkin.The policeman twirled his club, turned his back to Soapy and remarked to a citizen."'Tis one of them Yale lads celebratin' the goose egg they give to the Hartford College.Noisy; but no harm.We've instructions to lave them be."Disconsolate, Soapy ceased his unavailing racket.Would never a policeman lay hands on him? In his fancy the Island seemed an unattainable Arcadia.He buttoned his thin coat against the chilling wind.In a cigar store he saw a well-dressed man lighting a cigar at a swinging light.His silk umbrella he had set by the door on entering.Soapy stepped inside, secured the umbrella and sauntered off with it slowly.The man at the cigar light followed hastily."My umbrella," he said, sternly."Oh, is it?" sneered Soapy, adding insult to petit larceny."Well, why don't you call a policeman? I took it.Your umbrella! Why don't you call a cop? There stands one on the corner."The umbrella owner slowed his steps.Soapy did likewise, with a presentiment that luck would again run against him.The policeman looked at the two curiously."Of course," said the umbrella man--"that is--well, you know how these mistakes occur--I--if it's your umbrella I hope you'll excuse me--I picked it up this morning in a restaurant--If you recognise it as yours, why--I hope you'll--""Of course it's mine," said Soapy, viciously.The ex-umbrella man retreated.The policeman hurried to assist a tall blonde in an opera cloak across the street in front of a street car that was approaching two blocks away.Soapy walked eastward through a street damaged by improvements.He hurled the umbrella wrathfully into an excavation.He muttered against the men who wear helmets and carry clubs.Because he wanted to fall into their clutches, they seemedto regard him as a king who could do no wrong.At length Soapy reached one of the avenues to the east where the glitter and turmoil was but faint.He set his face down this toward Madison Square, for the homing instinct survives even when the home is a park bench.But on an unusually quiet corner Soapy came to a standstill.Here was an old church, quaint and rambling and gabled.Through one violet-stained window a soft light glowed, where, no doubt, the organist loitered over the keys, making sure of his mastery of the coming Sabbath anthem.For there drifted out to Soapy's ears sweet music that caught and held him transfixed against the convolutions of the iron fence.The moon was above, lustrous and serene; vehicles and pedestrians were few; sparrows twittered sleepily in the eaves--for a little while the scene might have been a country churchyard.And the anthem that the organist played cemented Soapy to the iron fence, for he had known it well in the days when his life contained such things as mothers and roses and ambitions and friends and immaculate thoughts and collars.The conjunction of Soapy's receptive state of mind and the influences about the old church wrought a sudden and wonderful change in his soul.He viewed with swift horror the pit into which he had tumbled, the degraded days, unworthy desires, dead hopes, wrecked faculties and base motives that made up his existence.And also in a moment his heart responded thrillingly to this novel mood.An instantaneous and strong impulse moved him to battle with his desperate fate.He would pull himself out of the mire; he would make a man of himself again; he would conquer the evil that had taken possession of him.There was time; he was comparatively young yet; he would resurrect his old eager ambitions and pursue them without faltering.Those solemn but sweet organ notes had set up a revolution in him.To-morrow he would go into the roaring downtown district and find work.A fur importer had once offered him a place as driver.He would find him to-morrow and ask for the position.He would be somebody in the world.He would-- Soapy felt a hand laid on his arm.He looked quickly around into the broad face of a policeman."What are you doin' here?" asked the officer."Nothin'," said Soapy."Then come along," said the policeman."Three months on the Island," said the Magistrate in the Police Court the next morning.。
英文超好看短篇小说作文
英文超好看短篇小说作文1. The sun was shining brightly in the clear blue sky, casting a warm glow over the bustling city streets below. People hurried past, their faces lost in thought or animated in conversation, each with their own destination in mind.2. In a cozy café on the corner, a young couple sat huddled together, lost in their own little world. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, mingling with the sweet scent of pastries and the gentle hum of chatter around them.3. Across the street, a street musician strummed his guitar, his soulful voice filling the air with a haunting melody. Passersby paused for a moment, captivated by the raw emotion in his music, before continuing on their way with a newfound spring in their step.4. As the day turned to dusk, the city lights began totwinkle like a sea of stars against the darkening sky. The streets took on a magical quality, as if anything were possible in the soft glow of the evening.5. In a quiet park nearby, a young girl sat on a bench, lost in her own thoughts. The gentle rustle of leaves inthe breeze and the distant sound of laughter from a nearby playground created a peaceful backdrop to her contemplation.6. As the night deepened, the city came alive with a vibrant energy. Neon lights flickered and danced, music spilled out from bars and clubs, and laughter echoedthrough the streets. It was a symphony of life, acelebration of the endless possibilities that lay ahead.。
短篇小说英文作文范文
短篇小说英文作文范文I woke up to the sound of birds chirping outside my window. The sun was shining, and I could feel the warmth on my face as I stretched in bed. It was going to be abeautiful day.As I walked to the kitchen, the smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the air. I poured myself a cup and took a sip, savoring the rich, bold flavor. It was the perfect way to start the morning.I had no plans for the day, so I decided to take a leisurely stroll through the park. The trees were in full bloom, and the vibrant colors of the flowers caught my eye.I felt at peace surrounded by nature's beauty.Suddenly, I heard the sound of laughter and music coming from a nearby picnic area. I wandered over and saw a group of friends enjoying a lively game of frisbee. Theirjoy was contagious, and I couldn't help but smile as Iwatched them play.After a while, I continued my walk and came across a small pond. The water was calm and clear, and I could see the colorful fish swimming beneath the surface. It was a serene and tranquil spot, and I sat down on a nearby bench to take it all in.As the sun began to set, I made my way back home. Ifelt a sense of contentment and gratitude for the simple pleasures of the day. I realized that sometimes, the most beautiful moments are the ones that unfold without any plan at all.。
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My Financial Careerby Stephen LeacockWhen I go into a bank I get rattled. The clerks rattle me; the wickets rattle me; the sight of the money rattles me; everything rattles me.The moment I cross the threshold of a bank and attempt to transact business there, I become an irresponsible idiot.I knew this beforehand, but my salary had been raised to fifty dollars a month and I felt that the bank was the only place for it.So I shambled in and looked timidly round at the clerks. I had an idea that a person about to open an account must needs consult the manager.I went up to a wicket marked "Accountant." The accountant was a tall, cool devil. The very sight of him rattled me. My voice was sepulchral."Can I see the manager?" I said, and added solemnly, "alone." I don't know why I said "alone.""Certainly," said the accountant, and fetched him.The manager was a grave, calm man. I held my fifty-six dollars clutched in a crumpled ball in my pocket."Are you the manager?" I said. God knows I didn't doubt it."Yes," he said."Can I see you," I asked, "alone?" I didn't want to say "alone" again, but without it the thing seemed self-evident.The manager looked at me in some alarm. He felt that I had an awful secret to reveal."Come in here," he said, and led the way to a private room. He turned the key in the lock."We are safe from interruption here," he said; "sit down."We both sat down and looked at each other. I found no voice to speak."You are one of Pinkerton's men, I presume," he said.He had gathered from my mysterious manner that I was a detective. I knew what he was thinking, and it made me worse."No, not from Pinkerton's," I said, seeming to imply that I came from a rival agency. "To tell the truth," I went on, as if I had been prompted to lie about it, "I am not a detective at all. I have come to open an account. I intend to keep all my money in this bank."The manager looked relieved but still serious; he concluded now that I was a son of Baron Rothschild or a young Gould."A large account, I suppose," he said."Fairly large," I whispered. "I propose to deposit fifty-six dollars now and fifty dollars a month regularly."The manager got up and opened the door. He called to the accountant."Mr. Montgomery," he said unkindly loud, "this gentleman is opening an account, he will deposit fifty-six dollars. Good morning."I rose.A big iron door stood open at the side of the room."Good morning," I said, and stepped into the safe."Come out," said the manager coldly, and showed me the other way.I went up to the accountant's wicket and poked the ball of money at him with a quick convulsive movement as if I were doing a conjuring trick.My face was ghastly pale."Here," I said, "deposit it." The tone of the words seemed to mean, "Let us do this painful thing while the fit is on us."He took the money and gave it to another clerk.He made me write the sum on a slip and sign my name in a book. I no longer knew what I was doing. The bank swam before my eyes."Is it deposited?" I asked in a hollow, vibrating voice."It is," said the accountant."Then I want to draw a cheque."My idea was to draw out six dollars of it for present use. Someone gave me a chequebook through a wicket and someone else began telling me how to write it out. The people in the bank had the impression that I was an invalid millionaire. I wrote something on the cheque and thrust it in at the clerk. He looked at it."What! are you drawing it all out again?" he asked in surprise. Then I realized that I had written fifty-six instead of six. I was too far gone to reason now. I had a feeling that it was impossible to explain the thing. All the clerks had stopped writing to look at me.Reckless with misery, I made a plunge."Yes, the whole thing.""You withdraw your money from the bank?""Every cent of it.""Are you not going to deposit any more?" said the clerk, astonished."Never."An idiot hope struck me that they might think something had insulted me while I was writing the cheque and that I had changed my mind. I made a wretchedattempt to look like a man with a fearfully quick temper.The clerk prepared to pay the money."How will you have it?" he said."What?""How will you have it?""Oh"—I caught his meaning and answered without even trying to think—"in fifties."He gave me a fifty-dollar bill."And the six?" he asked dryly."In sixes," I said.He gave it me and I rushed out.As the big door swung behind me I caught the echo of a roar of laughter that went up to the ceiling of the bank. Since then I bank no more. I keep my money in cash in my trousers pocket and my savings in silver dollars in a sock.。