原创英文小说
英语自创短篇小说带翻译

Title: A Bittersweet Reunion
It was a warm summer evening when Emily er long-lost childhood friend, Sarah. They had drifted apart after high school, with Emily moving to New York City to pursue her dreams, and Sarah settling down in their small hometown to start a family. Despite the distance between them, Emily still cherished the memories of their carefree days spent together, and she eagerly agreed to meet Sarah for dinner the following weekend.
经典英文短篇小说 (1)

A Christmas Dream, and How It Came to Be Trueby Louisa May Alcott"I'm so tired of Christmas I wish there never would be another one!" exclaimed a discontented-looking little girl, as she sat idly watching her mother arrange a pile of gifts two days before they were to be given."Why, Effie, what a dreadful thing to say! You are as bad as old Scrooge; and I'm afraid something will happen to you, as it did to him, if you don't care for dear Christmas," answered mamma, almost dropping the silver horn she was filling with delicious candies."Who was Scrooge? What happened to him?" asked Effie, with a glimmer of interest in her listless face, as she picked out the sourest lemon-drop she could find; for nothing sweet suited her just then."He was one of Dickens's best people, and you can read the charming story some day. He hated Christmas until a strange dream showed him how dear and beautiful it was, and made a better man of him.""I shall read it; for I like dreams, and have a great many curious ones myself. But they don't keep me from being tired of Christmas," said Effie, poking discontentedly among the sweeties for something worth eating."Why are you tired of what should be the happiest time of all the year?" asked mamma, anxiously."Perhaps I shouldn't be if I had something new. But it is always the same, and there isn't any more surprise about it. I always find heaps of goodies in my stocking. Don't like some of them, and soon get tired of those I do like. We always have a great dinner, and I eat too much, and feel ill next day. Then there is a Christmas tree somewhere, with a doll on top, or a stupid old Santa Claus, and children dancing and screaming over bonbons and toys that break, and shiny things that are of no use. Really, mamma, I've had so many Christmases all alike that I don't think I can bear another one." And Effie laid herself flat on the sofa, as if the mere idea was too much for her.Her mother laughed at her despair, but was sorry to see her little girl so discontented, when she had everything to make her happy, and had known but ten Christmas days."Suppose we don't give you any presents at all,--how would that suit you?" asked mamma, anxious to please her spoiled child."I should like one large and splendid one, and one dear little one, to remember some very nice person by," said Effie, who was a fanciful little body, full of odd whims and notions, which her friends loved to gratify, regardless of time, trouble, or money; for she was the last of three little girls, and very dear to all the family."Well, my darling, I will see what I can do to please you, and not say a word until all is ready. If I could only get a new idea to start with!" And mamma went on tying up her pretty bundles with a thoughtful face, while Effie strolled to the window to watch the rain that kept her in-doors and made her dismal."Seems to me poor children have better times than rich ones. I can't go out, and there is a girl about my age splashing along, without any maid to fuss about rubbers and cloaks and umbrellas and colds. I wish I was a beggar-girl.""Would you like to be hungry, cold, and ragged, to beg all day, and sleep on an ash-heap at night?" asked mamma, wondering what would come next."Cinderella did, and had a nice time in the end. This girl out here has a basket of scraps on her arm, and a big old shawl all round her, and doesn't seem to care a bit, though the water runs out of the toes of her boots. She goes paddling along, laughing at the rain, and eating a cold potato as if it tasted nicer than the chicken and ice-cream I had for dinner. Yes, I do think poor children are happier than rich ones.""So do I, sometimes. At the Orphan Asylum today I saw two dozen merry little souls who have no parents, no home, and no hope of Christmas beyond a stick of candy or a cake. I wish you had been there to see how happy they were, playing with the old toys some richer children had sent them.""You may give them all mine; I'm so tired of them I never want to see them again," said Effie, turning from the window to the pretty baby-house full of everything a child's heart could desire."I will, and let you begin again with something you will not tire of, if I can only find it." And mamma knit her brows trying to discover some grand surprise for this child who didn't care for Christmas.Nothing more was said then; and wandering off to the library, Effie found "A Christmas Carol," and curling herself up in the sofa corner, read it all before tea. Some of it she did not understand; but she laughed and cried over many parts of the charming story, and felt better without knowing why.All the evening she thought of poor Tiny Tim, Mrs. Cratchit with the pudding, and the stout old gentleman who danced so gayly that "his legs twinkled in the air." Presently bedtime arrived."Come, now, and toast your feet," said Effie's nurse, "while I do your pretty hair and tell stories." "I'll have a fairy tale to-night, a very interesting one," commanded Effie, as she put on her blue silk wrapper and little fur-lined slippers to sit before the fire and have her long curls brushed.So Nursey told her best tales; and when at last the child lay down under her lace curtains, her head was full of a curious jumble of Christmas elves, poor children, snow-storms, sugarplums, and surprises. So it is no wonder that shedreamed all night; and this was the dream, which she never quite forgot.She found herself sitting on a stone, in the middle of a great field, all alone. The snow was falling fast, a bitter wind whistled by, and night was coming on. She felt hungry, cold, and tired, and did not know where to go nor what to do."I wanted to be a beggar-girl, and now I am one; but I don't like it, and wish somebody would come and take care of me. I don't know who I am, and I think I must be lost," thought Effie, with the curious interest one takes in one's self in dreams. But the more she thought about it, the more bewildered she felt. Faster fell the snow, colder blew the wind, darker grew the night; and poor Effie made up her mind that she was quite forgotten and left to freeze alone. The tears were chilled on her cheeks, her feet felt like icicles, and her heart died within her, so hungry, frightened, and forlorn was she. Laying her head on her knees, she gave herself up for lost, and sat there with the great flakes fast turning her to a little white mound, when suddenly the sound of music reached her, and starting up, she looked and listened with all her eyes and ears.Far away a dim light shone, and a voice was heard singing. She tried to run toward the welcome glimmer, but could not stir, and stood like a small statue of expectation while the light drew nearer, and the sweet words of the song grew clearer.From our happy homeThrough the world we roamOne week in all the year,Making winter springWith the joy we bring,For Christmas-tide is here.Now the eastern starShines from afarTo light the poorest home;Hearts warmer grow,Gifts freely flow,For Christmas-tide has come.Now gay trees riseBefore young eyes,Abloom with tempting cheer;Blithe voices sing,And blithe bells ring,For Christmas-tide is here.Oh, happy chime,Oh, blessed time,That draws us all so near!"Welcome, dear day,"All creatures say,For Christmas-tide is here.A child's voice sang, a child's hand carried the little candle; and in the circle of soft light it shed, Effie saw a pretty child coming to her through the night and snow.A rosy, smiling creature, wrapped in white fur, with a wreath of green and scarlet holly on its shining hair, the magic candle in one hand, and the other outstretched as if to shower gifts and warmly press all other hands.Effie forgot to speak as this bright vision came nearer, leaving no trace of footsteps in the snow, only lighting the way with its little candle, and filling the air with the music of its song."Dear child, you are lost, and I have come to find you," said the stranger, taking Effie's cold hands in his, with a smile like sunshine, while every holly berry glowed like a little fire."Do you know me?" asked Effie, feeling no fear, but a great gladness, at his coming."I know all children, and go to find them; for this is my holiday, and I gather them from all parts of the world to be merry with me once a year.""Are you an angel?" asked Effie, looking for the wings."No; I am a Christmas spirit, and live with my mates in a pleasant place, getting ready for our holiday, when we are let out to roam about the world, helping make this a happy time for all who will let us in. Will you come and see how we work?" "I will go anywhere with you. Don't leave me again," cried Effie, gladly."First I will make you comfortable. That is what we love to do. You are cold, and you shall be warm, hungry, and I will feed you; sorrowful, and I will make you gay."With a wave of his candle all three miracles were wrought,--for the snow- flakes turned to a white fur cloak and hood on Effie's head and shoulders, a bowl of hot soup came sailing to her lips, and vanished when she had eagerly drunk the last drop; and suddenly the dismal field changed to a new world so full of wonders that all her troubles were forgotten in a minute. Bells were ringing so merrily that it was hard to keep from dancing. Green garlands hung on the walls, and every tree was a Christmas tree full of toys, and blazing with candles that never went out.In one place many little spirits sewed like mad on warm clothes, turning off work faster than any sewing-machine ever invented, and great piles were made ready to be sent to poor people. Other busy creatures packed money into purses, and wrote checks which they sent flying away on the wind,--a lovely kind of snow-storm to fall into a world below full of poverty. Older and graver spirits werelooking over piles of little books, in which the records of the past year were kept, telling how different people had spent it, and what sort of gifts they deserved. Some got peace, some disappointment, some remorse and sorrow, some great joy and hope. The rich had generous thoughts sent them; the poor, gratitude and contentment. Children had more love and duty to parents; and parents renewed patience, wisdom, and satisfaction for and in their children. No one was forgotten."Please tell me what splendid place this is?" asked Effie, as soon as she could collect her wits after the first look at all these astonishing things."This is the Christmas world; and here we work all the year round, never tired of getting ready for the happy day. See, these are the saints just setting off; for some have far to go, and the children must not be disappointed."As he spoke the spirit pointed to four gates, out of which four great sleighs were just driving, laden with toys, while a jolly old Santa Claus sat in the middle of each, drawing on his mittens and tucking up his wraps for a long cold drive. "Why, I thought there was only one Santa Claus, and even he was a humbug," cried Effie, astonished at the sight. "Never give up your faith in the sweet old stones, even after you come to see that they are only the pleasant shadow of a lovely truth."Just then the sleighs went off with a great jingling of bells and pattering of reindeer hoofs, while all the spirits gave a cheer that was heard in the lower world, where people said, "Hear the stars sing.""I never will say there isn't any Santa Claus again. Now, show me more.""You will like to see this place, I think, and may learn something here perhaps."The spirit smiled as he led the way to a little door, through which Effie peeped into a world of dolls. Baby-houses were in full blast, with dolls of all sorts going on like live people. Waxen ladies sat in their parlors elegantly dressed; black dolls cooked in the kitchens; nurses walked out with the bits of dollies; and the streets were full of tin soldiers marching, wooden horses prancing, express wagons rumbling, and little men hurrying to and fro. Shops were there, and tiny people buying legs of mutton, pounds of tea, mites of clothes, and everything dolls use or wear or want.But presently she saw that in some ways the dolls improved upon the manners and customs of human beings, and she watched eagerly to learn why they did these things. A fine Paris doll driving in her carriage took up a black worsted Dinah who was hobbling along with a basket of clean clothes, and carried her to her journey's end, as if it were the proper thing to do. Another interesting china lady took off her comfortable red cloak and put it round a poor wooden creature done up in a paper shift, and so badly painted that its face would have sent some babies into fits."Seems to me I once knew a rich girl who didn't give her things to poor girls. Iwish I could remember who she was, and tell her to be as kind as that china doll," said Effie, much touched at the sweet way the pretty creature wrapped up the poor fright, and then ran off in her little gray gown to buy a shiny fowl stuck on a wooden platter for her invalid mother's dinner."We recall these things to people's minds by dreams. I think the girl you speak of won't forget this one." And the spirit smiled, as if he enjoyed some joke which she did not see.A little bell rang as she looked, and away scampered the children into the red-and-green school-house with the roof that lifted up, so one could see how nicely they sat at their desks with mites of books, or drew on the inch-square blackboards with crumbs of chalk."They know their lessons very well, and are as still as mice. We make a great racket at our school, and get bad marks every day. I shall tell the girls they had better mind what they do, or their dolls will be better scholars than they are," said Effie, much impressed, as she peeped in and saw no rod in the hand of the little mistress, who looked up and shook her head at the intruder, as if begging her to go away before the order of the school was disturbed.Effie retired at once, but could not resist one look in at the window of a fine mansion, where the family were at dinner, the children behaved so well at table, and never grumbled a bit when their mamma said they could not have any more fruit. "Now, show me something else," she said, as they came again to the low door that led out of Doll-land. "You have seen how we prepare for Christmas; let me show you where we love best to send our good and happy gifts," answered the spirit, giving her his hand again."I know. I've seen ever so many," began Effie, thinking of her own Christmases."No, you have never seen what I will show you. Come away, and remember what you see to-night."Like a flash that bright world vanished, and Effie found herself in a part of the city she had never seen before. It was far away from the gayer places, where every store was brilliant with lights and full of pretty things, and every house wore a festival air, while people hurried to and fro with merry greetings. It was down among the dingy streets where the poor lived, and where there was no making ready for Christmas.Hungry women looked in at the shabby shops, longing to buy meat and bread, but empty pockets forbade. Tipsy men drank up their wages in the bar- rooms; and in many cold dark chambers little children huddled under the thin blankets, trying to forget their misery in sleep.No nice dinners filled the air with savory smells, no gay trees dropped toys andbonbons into eager hands, no little stockings hung in rows beside the chimney-piece ready to be filled, no happy sounds of music, gay voices, and dancing feet were heard; and there were no signs of Christmas anywhere."Don't they have any in this place?" asked Effie, shivering, as she held fast the spirit's hand, following where he led her. "We come to bring it. Let me show you our best workers." And the spirit pointed to some sweet-faced men and women who came stealing into the poor houses, working such beautiful miracles that Effie could only stand and watch.Some slipped money into the empty pockets, and sent the happy mothers to buy all the comforts they needed; others led the drunken men out of temptation, and took them home to find safer pleasures there. Fires were kindled on cold hearths, tables spread as if by magic, and warm clothes wrapped round shivering limbs. Flowers suddenly bloomed in the chambers of the sick; old people found themselves remembered; sad hearts were consoled by a tender word, and wicked ones softened by the story of Him who forgave all sin.But the sweetest work was for the children; and Effie held her breath to watch these human fairies hang up and fill the little stockings without which a child's Christmas is not perfect, putting in things that once she would have thought very humble presents, but which now seemed beautiful and precious because these poor babies had nothing."That is so beautiful! I wish I could make merry Christmases as these good people do, and be loved and thanked as they are," said Effie, softly, as she watched the busy men and women do their work and steal away without thinking of any reward but their own satisfaction."You can if you will. I have shown you the way. Try it, and see how happy your own holiday will be hereafter."As he spoke, the spirit seemed to put his arms about her, and vanished with a kiss."Oh, stay and show me more!" cried Effie, trying to hold him fast."Darling, wake up, and tell me why you are smiling in your sleep," said a voice in her ear; and opening her eyes, there was mamma bending over her, and morning sunshine streaming into the room."Are they all gone? Did you hear the bells? Wasn't it splendid?" she asked, rubbing her eyes, and looking about her for the pretty child who was so real and sweet."You have been dreaming at a great rate,--talking in your sleep, laughing, and clapping your hands as if you were cheering some one. Tell me what was so splendid," said mamma, smoothing the tumbled hair and lifting up the sleepy head. Then, while she was being dressed, Effie told her dream, and Nursey thought itvery wonderful; but mamma smiled to see how curiously things the child had thought, read, heard, and seen through the day were mixed up in her sleep."The spirit said I could work lovely miracles if I tried; but I don't know how to begin, for I have no magic candle to make feasts appear, and light up groves of Christmas trees, as he did," said Effie, sorrowfully."Yes, you have. We will do it! we will do it!" And clapping her hands, mamma suddenly began to dance all over the room as if she had lost her wits."How? how? You must tell me, mamma," cried Effie, dancing after her, and ready to believe anything possible when she remembered the adventures of the past night."I've got it! I've got it!--the new idea. A splendid one, if I can only carry it out!" And mamma waltzed the little girl round till her curls flew wildly in the air, while Nursey laughed as if she would die."Tell me! tell me!" shrieked Effie. "No, no; it is a surprise,--a grand surprise for Christmas day!" sung mamma, evidently charmed with her happy thought. "Now, come to breakfast; for we must work like bees if we want to play spirits tomorrow. You and Nursey will go out shopping, and get heaps of things, while I arrange matters behind the scenes."They were running downstairs as mamma spoke, and Effie called out breathlessly,--"It won't be a surprise; for I know you are going to ask some poor children here, and have a tree or something. It won't be like my dream; for they had ever so many trees, and more children than we can find anywhere.""There will be no tree, no party, no dinner, in this house at all, and no presents for you. Won't that be a surprise?" And mamma laughed at Effie's bewildered face."Do it. I shall like it, I think; and I won't ask any questions, so it will all burst upon me when the time comes," she said; and she ate her breakfast thoughtfully, for this really would be a new sort of Christmas.All that morning Effie trotted after Nursey in and out of shops, buying dozens of barking dogs, woolly lambs, and squeaking birds; tiny tea-sets, gay picture-books, mittens and hoods, dolls and candy. Parcel after parcel was sent home; but when Effie returned she saw no trace of them, though she peeped everywhere. Nursey chuckled, but wouldn't give a hint, and went out again in the afternoon with a long list of more things to buy; while Effie wandered forlornly about the house, missing the usual merry stir that went before the Christmas dinner and the evening fun.As for mamma, she was quite invisible all day, and came in at night so tired that she could only lie on the sofa to rest, smiling as if some very pleasant thought made her happy in spite of weariness."Is the surprise going on all right?" asked Effie, anxiously; for it seemed an immense time to wait till another evening came."Beautifully! better than I expected; for several of my good friends are helping, or I couldn't have done it as I wish. I know you will like it, dear, and long remember this new way of making Christmas merry."Mamma gave her a very tender kiss, and Effie went to bed.The next day was a very strange one; for when she woke there was no stocking to examine, no pile of gifts under her napkin, no one said "Merry Christmas!" to her, and the dinner was just as usual to her. Mamma vanished again, and Nursey kept wiping her eyes and saying: "The dear things! It's the prettiest idea I ever heard of. No one but your blessed ma could have done it." "Do stop, Nursey, or I shall go crazy because I don't know the secret!" cried Effie, more than once; and she kept her eye on the clock, for at seven in the evening the surprise was to come off.The longed-for hour arrived at last, and the child was too excited to ask questions when Nurse put on her cloak and hood, led her to the carriage, and they drove away, leaving their house the one dark and silent one in the row. "I feel like the girls in the fairy tales who are led off to strange places and see fine things," said Effie, in a whisper, as they jingled through the gay streets."Ah, my deary, it is like a fairy tale, I do assure you, and you will see finer things than most children will tonight. Steady, now, and do just as I tell you, and don't say one word whatever you see," answered Nursey, quite quivering with excitement as she patted a large box in her lap, and nodded and laughed with twinkling eyes.They drove into a dark yard, and Effie was led through a back door to a little room, where Nurse coolly proceeded to take off not only her cloak and hood, but her dress and shoes also. Effie stared and bit her lips, but kept still until out of the box came a little white fur coat and boots, a wreath of holly leaves and berries, and a candle with a frill of gold paper round it. A long "Oh!" escaped her then; and when she was dressed and saw herself in the glass, she started back, exclaiming, "Why, Nursey, I look like the spirit in my dream!""So you do; and that's the part you are to play, my pretty! Now whist, while I blind your eyes and put you in your place.""Shall I be afraid?" whispered Effie, full of wonder; for as they went out she heard the sound of many voices, the tramp of many feet, and, in spite of the bandage, was sure a great light shone upon her when she stopped."You needn't be; I shall stand close by, and your ma will be there."After the handkerchief was tied about her eyes, Nurse led Effie up some steps, and placed her on a high platform, where something like leaves touched her head,and the soft snap of lamps seemed to fill the air. Music began as soon as Nurse clapped her hands, the voices outside sounded nearer, and the tramp was evidently coming up the stairs."Now, my precious, look and see how you and your dear ma have made a merry Christmas for them that needed it!"Off went the bandage; and for a minute Effie really did think she was asleep again, for she actually stood in "a grove of Christmas trees," all gay and shining as in her vision. Twelve on a side, in two rows down the room, stood the little pines, each on its low table; and behind Effie a taller one rose to the roof, hung with wreaths of popcorn, apples, oranges, horns of candy, and cakes of all sorts, from sugary hearts to gingerbread Jumbos. On the smaller trees she saw many of her own discarded toys and those Nursey bought, as well as heaps that seemed to have rained down straight from that delightful Christmas country where she felt as if she was again."How splendid! Who is it for? What is that noise? Where is mamma?" cried Effie, pale with pleasure and surprise, as she stood looking down the brilliant little street from her high place.Before Nurse could answer, the doors at the lower end flew open, and in marched twenty-four little blue-gowned orphan girls, singing sweetly, until amazement changed the song to cries of joy and wonder as the shining spectacle appeared. While they stood staring with round eyes at the wilderness of pretty things about them, mamma stepped up beside Effie, and holding her hand fast to give her courage, told the story of the dream in a few simple words, ending in this way:--"So my little girl wanted to be a Christmas spirit too, and make this a happy day for those who had not as many pleasures and comforts as she has. She likes surprises, and we planned this for you all. She shall play the good fairy, and give each of you something from this tree, after which every one will find her own name on a small tree, and can go to enjoy it in her own way. March by, my dears, and let us fill your hands."Nobody told them to do it, but all the hands were clapped heartily before a single child stirred; then one by one they came to look up wonderingly at the pretty giver of the feast as she leaned down to offer them great yellow oranges, red apples, bunches of grapes, bonbons, and cakes, till all were gone, and a double row of smiling faces turned toward her as the children filed back to their places in the orderly way they had been taught.Then each was led to her own tree by the good ladies who had helped mamma with all their hearts; and the happy hubbub that arose would have satisfied even Santa Claus himself,--shrieks of joy, dances of delight, laughter and tears (for sometender little things could not bear so much pleasure at once, and sobbed with mouths full of candy and hands full of toys). How they ran to show one another the new treasures! how they peeped and tasted, pulled and pinched, until the air was full of queer noises, the floor covered with papers, and the little trees left bare of all but candles!"I don't think heaven can be any gooder than this," sighed one small girl, as she looked about her in a blissful maze, holding her full apron with one hand, while she luxuriously carried sugar-plums to her mouth with the other."Is that a truly angel up there?" asked another, fascinated by the little white figure with the wreath on its shining hair, who in some mysterious way had been the cause of all this merry-making."I wish I dared to go and kiss her for this splendid party," said a lame child, leaning on her crutch, as she stood near the steps, wondering how it seemed to sit in a mother's lap, as Effie was doing, while she watched the happy scene before her. Effie heard her, and remembering Tiny Tim, ran down and put her arms about the pale child, kissing the wistful face, as she said sweetly, "You may; but mamma deserves the thanks. She did it all; I only dreamed about it."Lame Katy felt as if "a truly angel" was embracing her, and could only stammer out her thanks, while the other children ran to see the pretty spirit, and touch her soft dress, until she stood in a crowd of blue gowns laughing as they held up their gifts for her to see and admire.Mamma leaned down and whispered one word to the older girls; and suddenly they all took hands to dance round Effie, singing as they skipped.It was a pretty sight, and the ladies found it hard to break up the happy revel; but it was late for small people, and too much fun is a mistake. So the girls fell into line, and marched before Effie and mamma again, to say goodnight with such grateful little faces that the eyes of those who looked grew dim with tears. Mamma kissed every one; and many a hungry childish heart felt as if the touch of those tender lips was their best gift. Effie shook so many small hands that her own tingled; and when Katy came she pressed a small doll into Effie's hand, whispering, "You didn't have a single present, and we had lots. Do keep that; it's the prettiest thing I got.""I will," answered Effie, and held it fast until the last smiling face was gone, the surprise all over, and she safe in her own bed, too tired and happy for anything but sleep."Mamma, it was a beautiful surprise, and I thank you so much! I don't see how you did it; but I like it best of all the Christmases I ever had, and mean to make one every year. I had my splendid big present, and here is the dear little one to keep for love of poor Katy; so even that part of my wish came true."。
英语短篇小说 My Daughter, the Fox---Jackie Kay

My Daughter, The FoxBy Jackie KayWe had a night of it, my daughter and I, with the foxes screaming outside. I had to stroke her fur and hold her close all night. She snuggled up, her wet nose against my neck. Every time they howled, she’d startle and raise her ears. I could feel the pulse of her heart beat on my chest, strong and fast. Strange how eerie the foxes sounded to me; I didn’t compare my daughter’s noises to theirs. Moonlight came in through our bedroom window; the night outside seemed still and slow, except for the cries of the foxes. It must have been at least three in the morning before we both fell into a deep sleep, her paw resting gently on my shoulder. In my dream I dreamt of being a fox myself, of the two of us running through the forest, our red bushy tails flickering through the dark trees, our noses sniffing rain in the autumn air.In the morning I sat her in her wooden high chair and she watched me busy myself around the kitchen. I gave her a fresh bowl of water and a raw egg. She cracked the shell herself and slurped the yellow yoke in one gulp. I could tell she was still a little drowsy. She was breathing peacefully and slowly, her little red chest rising and falling. Her eyes literally followed me from counter to counter to cupboard, out into the hall to pick up the post from the raffia mat and back again. I poured her a bowl of muesli and put some fresh blueberries in it. She enjoys that. Nobody tells you how flattering it is, how loved you feel, your child following your every move like that. Her beady eyes watched me open my post as if it was the most interesting thing anybody could do. The post was dull asusual, a gas bill and junk. I sighed, went to the kitchen bin and threw everything in but the bill. When I turned back around, there she still was, smiling at me, her fur curling around her mouth. Her eyes lit up, fierce with love. When she looked at me from those deep dark eyes of hers, straight at me and through me, I felt more understood than I have ever felt from any look by anybody.Nobody says much and nothing prepares you. I’ve often wondered why women don’t warn each other properly about the horrors of childbirth. There is something medieval about the pain, the howling, the push-push-pushing. In the birthing room next door, the November night my daughter was born, I heard a woman scream, ‘Kill me! Just kill me!’That was just after my waters had broken. An hour later I heard her growl in a deep animal voice, ‘Fucking shoot me!’ I tried to imagine the midwife’s black face. We were sharing her and she was running back and forth between stations. She held my head and said, ‘You’re in control of this!’ But I felt as if my body was exploding. I felt as if I should descend down into the bowels of the earth and scrape and claw. Nothing prepares you for the power of the contractions, how they rip through your body like a tornado or an earthquake. Then the beautiful, spacey peace between contractions where you float and dream away out at sea.Many of my friends were mothers. I’d asked some, ‘Will it hurt?’ and they’d all smiled and said, ‘A bit.’ A bit! Holy Mary Mother of God. I was as surprised as the Jamaican midwife when my daughter the fox came out. I should have known really. Her father was a foxy man, sly and devious and, I found out later, was already seeing two other womenwhen he got me pregnant, that night under the full moon. On our way up north for that weekend, I saw a dead fox on the hard shoulder. It was lying, curled, and the red of the blood was much darker than the red of the fur. When we made love in the small double bed in Room 2 at the Bed and Breakfast place by Coniston Water, I could still see it, the dead fox at the side of the road. It haunted me all the way through my pregnancy. I knew the minute I was pregnant almost the second the seed had found its way up. I could smell everything differently. I smelt an orange so strongly I almost vomited.When the little blue mark came, of course it couldn’t tell me I was carrying a fox, just that I was pregnant. And even the scans didn’t seem to pick anything up, except they couldn’t agree whether or not I was carrying a girl or a boy. One hospital person seemed sure I was carrying a son. It all falls into place now of course, because that would have been her tail. Once they told me the heart was beating fine and the baby seemed to be progressing, but that there was something they couldn’t pick up. She was born on the stroke of midnight, a midnight baby. When she came out, the stern Jamaican midwife, who had been calm and in control all during the contractions, saying ‘Push now, that’s it and again,’ let out a blood-curdling scream. I thought my baby was dead. But no, midwives don’t scream when babies are still-born. They are serious, they whisper. They scream when foxes come out a woman’s cunt though, that’s for sure. My poor daughter was terrified. I could tell straight away. She gave a sharp bark and I pulled her to my breast and let her suckle.It’s something I’ve learnt about mothers: when we are loved we are not choosy. I knew she was devoted to me from the start. It was strange; so much of her love was loyalty. I knew that the only thing she shared with her father was red hair. Apart from that, she was mine. I swear I could see my own likeness, in her pointed chin, in her high cheeks, in her black eyes. I’d hold her up in front of me; her front paws framing her red face, and say,‘Who is mummy’s girl then?’I was crying when she was first born. I’d heard that many mothers do that – cry straight from the beginning. Not because she wasn’t what I was expecting, I was crying because I felt at peace at last, because I felt loved and even because I felt understood. I didn’t get any understanding from the staff at the hospital. They told me I had to leave straight away; the fox was a hazard. It was awful to hear about my daughter being spoken of in this way, as if she hadn’t just been born, as if she didn’t deserve the same consideration as the others. They were all quaking and shaking like it was the most disgusting thing they had ever seen. She wasn’t even given one of those little ankle-bracelet name-tags I’d been so looking forward to keeping all her life. I whispered her name into her alert ear.‘Anya,’ I said. ‘I’ll call you Anya.’ It was the name I’d chosen if I had a girl and seemed to suit her perfectly. She was blind when she was born. I knew she couldn’t yet see me, but she recognised my voice; she was comforted by my smell. It was a week before her sight came.They called an ambulance to take me home at three in the morning. It was a clear, crisp winter’s night. The driver put on the sirens and raced through the dark streets screaming.I had to cover my daughter’s ears. She has trembled whenever she’s heard a siren ever since. When we arrived at my house in the dark, one of the men carried my overnight bag along the path and left it at my wooden front door. ‘You’ll be all right from here?’ he said, peering at my daughter, who was wrapped in her very first baby blanket. ‘Fine,’ I said, breathing in the fresh night air. I saw him give the driver an odd look, and then they left, driving the ambulance slowly up my street and off. The moon shone still, and the stars sparkled and fizzed in the sky. It wasn’t what I’d imagined, arriving home from hospital in the dark, yet still I couldn’t contain my excitement, carrying her soft warm shape over my door step and into my home.When I first placed her gently in the little crib that had been sitting empty for months, I got so much pleasure. Day after endless day, as my big tight round belly got bigger and tighter, I’d stared into that crib hardly able to believe I’d ever have a baby to put in it. And now at last I did, I lay her down and covered her with the baby blanket, then I got into bed myself. I rocked the crib with my foot. I was exhausted, so bone tired, I hardly knew if I really existed or not. Not more than half an hour passed before she started to whine and cry. I brought her into bed with me and she’s never been in the crib since. She needs me. Why fight about these things? Life is too short. I know her life will be shorter than mine will. That’s the hardest thing about being the mother of a fox. The second hardest thing is not having anyone around who has had the same experience. I would so love to swap notes on the colour of her shit. Sometimes it seems a worrying greenish colour.I’ll never forget the look on my mother’s face when she first arrived, with flowers and baby-grows and teddy bears. I’d told her on the phone that the birth had been fine, and that my daughter weighed three pounds, which was true. ‘Won’t she be needing the incubator, being that small?’ she’d asked, worried. ‘No,’ I’d said. ‘They think she’s fine.’I hadn’t said any more, my mother wasn’t good on the phone. I opened the front door and she said, ‘Where is she, where is she?’ her eyes wild with excitement. My daughter is my mother’s first grandchild. I said, ‘Ssssh’ she’s sleeping. ‘Just have a wee peek.’ I felt convinced that as soon as she saw her, it wouldn’t matter and she would love her like I did.How could anybody not see Anya’s beauty? She had lovely dark red fur, thick and vivid, alive. She was white under her throat. At the end of her long bushy tail, she had a perfect white tail-tip. Her tail was practically a third of the length of her body. On her legs were white stockings. She was shy, slightly nervous of strangers, secretive, and highly intelligent. She moved with such haughty grace and elegance that at times she appeared feline. From the minute I gave birth to my daughter the fox, I could see that no other baby could be more beautiful. I hoped my mother would see her the same way.We tip-toed into my bedroom where Anya was sleeping in her crib for her daytime nap. My mother was already saying ‘Awwww,’ as she approached the crib. She looked in, went white as a sheet, and then gripped my arm. ‘What’s going on?’ she whispered, her voice just about giving out. ‘Is this some kind of a joke?’It was the same look on people’s faces when I took Anya out in her pram. I’d bought a great big Silver Cross pram with a navy hood. I always kept the hood up to keep the sun or the rain out. People could never resist sneaking a look at a baby in a pram. I doubt that many had ever seen daughters like mine before. One old friend, shocked and fumbling for something to say, said ‘She looks so like you.’ I glowed with pride. ‘Do you think so?’ I said, squeaking with pleasure. She did look beautiful, my daughter in her Silvercross pram, the white of her blanket against the red of her cheeks. I always made her wear a nappy when I took her out in the pram though she loathed nappies.It hurt me that her father never came to see her, never took the slightest bit of interest in her. When I told him that on the stroke of midnight, I’d given birth to a baby fox, he actually denied being her father. He thought I was lying, that I’d done something with our real daughter and got Anya in her place. ‘I always thought you were off your fucking rocker. This proves it! You’re barking! Barking! ’ He screamed down the phone. He wouldn’t pay a penny towards her keep. I should have had him DNA tested, but I didn’t want to put myself through it. Nobody was as sympathetic to me as I thought they might be. It never occurred to me to dump Anya or disown her or pretend she hadn’t come from me.But when the baby-stage passed, everything changed. My daughter didn’t like being carried around in the pouch, pushed in the pram or sat in her high chair. She didn’t like staying in my one-bedroom ground floor flat in Tottenham either. She was constantly sitting by the front door waiting for me to open it to take her out to Clissold Park, orFinsbury Park or Downhills Park. But I had to be careful during the day. Once a little child came running up to us with an icecream in her hand, and I stroked the little girl’s hair. Anya was so jealous she growled at her and actually bared her teeth.Soon she didn’t want me to be close to anyone else. I had to call friends up before they came around to tell them for god’s sake not to hug me in front of Anya or she would go for them. She’d went for my old friend, Adam, the night he raised his arms to embrace me as he came in our front door. Anya rushed straight along the hall and knocked him right over. She had him on his back with her mouth snarling over his face. Adam was so shaken up I had to pour him a malt. He drank it neat and left, I haven’t seen or heard of him since.Friends would use these incidents to argue with me. ‘You can’t keep her here forever,’they’d say. ‘You shouldn’t be in a city for a start.’‘You’ll have to release her.’They couldn’t imagine how absurd they sounded to me.London was full of foxes roaming the streets at night. I was always losing sleep listening to the howls and the screams of my daughter’s kind. What mother gives her daughter to the wilds? Aileen offered to drive us both to the north of Scotland and release her intoGlen Strathfarrar where she was convinced Anya would be safe and happy - the red deer and the red fox and the red hills.But I couldn’t bring myself to even think of parting with my daughter. At night, it seemed we slept even closer, her fur keeping me warm. She slept now with her head on the pillow, her paw on my shoulder. She liked to get right under the covers with me. It was strange. Part of her wanted to do everything the same way I did: sleep under covers, eat what I ate, go where I went, run when I ran, walk when I walked; and part of her wanted to do everything her way. Eat from whatever she could snatch in the street or in the woods. She was lazy; she never really put herself out to hunt for food. She scavenged what came her way out of a love of scavenging, I think. It certainly wasn’t genuine hunger, she was well fed. I had to stop her going through my neighbour’s bin for the remains of their Sunday dinner. Things like that would embarrass me more than anything.I didn’t mind her eating a worm from our garden, or a beetle. Once she spotted the tiny movement of a wild rabbit’s ear twitching in our garden. That was enough for Anya. She chased the rabbit, killed it, brought it back and buried it, saving it for a hungry day. It thrilled me when she was a fox like other foxes, when I could see her origins so clearly. Anya had more in common with a coyote or a grey wolf or a wild dog than she had with me. The day she buried the rabbit was one of the proudest moments in my life.But I had never had company like her my whole life long. With Anya, I felt like there were two lives now: the one before I had her and the one after, and they seemed barely to connect. I didn’t feel like the same person even. I was forty when I had Anya, so I’dalready lived a lot of my life. All sorts of things that had mattered before I had her didn’t matter any more. I wasn’t so interested in my hair, my weight, clothes. Going out to parties, plays, restaurants, pubs didn’t bother me. I didn’t feel like I was missing anything. Nor did I feel ambitious anymore. It all seemed stupid wanting to be better than the others in the same ring, shallow, pointless. I called in at work and extended my maternity leave for an extra three months. The thought of the office bored me rigid. It was Anya who held all of my interest.At home, alone, I’d play my favourite pieces of music to her and dance round the room. I’d play her Mozart’s piano concertos, I’d play her Chopin, I’d play Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong. Joni Mitchell was Anya’s favourite. I’d hold her close and dance, ‘Do you want to dance with me baby, well come on.’ Anya’s eyes would light up and she’d lick my face. ‘All I really, really want our love to do is to bring out the best in me and in you too.’ I sang along. I had a high voice and Anya loved it when I sang, especially folk songs. Sometimes I’d sing her to sleep. Other times I’d read her stories. I’d been collecting stories about foxes. My best friend, Aileen, had bought Anya Brer Rabbit. No fox ever came off too well in the tales or stories. ‘Oh your kind are a deceptive and devious lot,’ I’d say, stroking her puffed out chest and reading her another Brer Rabbit tale. She loved her chest being stroked. She’d roll on her back and put both sets of paws in the air.But then I finally did have to go back to work. I left Anya alone in the house while I sat at my computer answering emails, sipping coffee. When I came home the first time, thewooden legs of the kitchen chairs were chewed right through; the paint on the kitchen door was striped with claw marks. I had to empty the room of everything that could be damaged, carrying the chairs through to the living room, moving the wooden table, putting my chewed cookery books in the hall. I put newspapers on the floor. I left Anya an old shoe to chew. I knew that no nursery would take her, no childminder. I couldn’t bring myself to find a dog-walker: Anya was not a dog! It seemed so unfair. I was left to cope with all the problems completely on my own. I had to use my own resources, my own imagination. I left her an old jumper of mine for the comfort of my smell while I was out working, knowing that it would be chewed and shredded by the time I came home. When I tried to tell my colleagues about Anya’s antics, they would clam up and look uncomfortable, exchanging awkward looks with each other when they thought I wasn’t looking. It made me angry, lonely.Sometimes it felt as if there was only Anya and me in the world, nobody else mattered really. On Sundays, I’d take her out to Epping Forest and she’d make me run wild with her, in and out of pine trees, jumping over fallen trees, chasing rabbits. The wind flew through my hair and I felt ecstatically happy. I had to curb the impulse to rip off my clothes and run with Anya naked through the woods. My sense of smell grew stronger over those Sundays. I’d stand and sniff where Anya was sniffing, pointing my head in the same direction. I grew to know when a rabbit was near. I never felt closer to her than out in the forest running. But of course, fit as I was, fast I was, I could never be as fast as Anya. She’d stop and look round for me and come running back.I don’t think anybody has ever taught me more about myself than Anya. Once when she growled at the postman, I smacked her wet nose. I felt awful. But five minutes later she jumped right onto my lap and licked my face all over, desperate to be friends again. There’s nothing like forgiveness, it makes you want to weep. I stroked her long, lustrous fur and nuzzled my head against hers and we looked straight into each other’s eyes, knowingly, for the longest time. I knew I wasn’t able to forgive like Anya could. I just couldn’t. I couldn’t move on to the next moment like that. I had to go raking over the past. I couldn’t forgive Anya’s father for denying her, for making promises and breaking them like bones.One morning I woke up and looked out of the window. It was snowing; soft dreamy flakes of snow whirled and spiralled down to the ground. Already the earth was covered white, and the winter rose bushes had snow clinging to the stems. Everything was covered. I got up and went to get the milk. Paw footprints led up to our door. The foxes had been here again in the night. They were driving me mad. I sensed they wanted to claim Anya as one of their own.I fetched my daughter her breakfast, some fruit and some chicken. I could tell she wasn’t herself. Her eyes looked dull and her ears weren’t alert. She gave me a sad look that seemed to last an age. I wasn’t sure what she was trying to tell me. She walked with her elegant beauty to the door and hit it twice with her paw. Then she looked at me again, the saddest look you ever saw. Perhaps she’d had enough. Perhaps she wanted to run off with the dog-fox that so often hung and howled around our house.I couldn’t actually imagine my life without her now, that was the problem. They never tell you about that either. How the hardest thing a mother has to do is give her child up, let them go, watch them run. I found myself in the middle of the night looking through Anya’s baby photograph album. There she was at only a few months with a bottle of milk in her mouth. There she was out in the garden with me holding her in front of the laburnum tree. There was Anya’s sweet red head popping out of the big pram. There was Anya at the back of the garden burying her first rabbit. There was Anya and I looking into each other’s eyes, smiling.Much later that night when we were both in bed, we heard them again; one of the most common sounds in London now, the conversations of the urban fox. Anya got up and stood at my bedroom window. She howled back. Soon four of them were out in the back garden, their bright red fur even more dramatic against the snow. I held my breath in when I looked at them. They looked strange and mysterious, different from Anya. They were stock still, lit up by the moonlight. I stared at them for a long time and they stared back. I walked slowly through to the kitchen in my bare feet. I stood looking at the back door for some minutes. I pulled the top bolt and then the bottom one. I opened the door and I let her out into the night.© Jackie Kay, 2003。
经典英文短篇小说 (50)

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.。
提高英语水平的英语原著小说分享

提高英语水平的英语原著小说分享很多人希望通过阅读英语小说来提高英语水平,这当然是个很不错的想法。
店铺推荐给大家的提高英语水平的英语原著小说分享,欢迎阅读!提高英语水平的英语原著小说分享1、The House on Mango Street《芒果街上的小屋》Sandra Cisneros桑德拉·希斯内罗丝难度:二星蓝思值:870L内容简介|居住在拉美贫民社区芒果街上的女孩埃斯佩朗莎,生就对他人的痛苦具有同情心和对美的感受力,她用清澈的明眸打量周围的世界,用美丽稚嫩的语言讲述成长、讲述沧桑、讲述生命的美好、讲述年轻的热望和梦想。
小编说|诗体小说。
风格有些类似《城南旧事》,都是以小孩子的视角去看这个复杂不公的世界。
语言清新温暖,有许多新奇的譬喻和表达。
本书词汇量不大,句法简单,充满了生活化的气息,可以作为初中级阅读。
2、The Old Man and the Sea《老人与海》Ernest Hemingway欧内斯特·海明威难度:三星蓝思值:940L内容简介|它围绕一位老年古巴渔夫,与一条巨大的马林鱼在离岸很远的湾流中搏斗而展开故事的讲述。
小编说|海明威用词简洁凝练,虽然曾经也因此被嘲笑,不过这本书所描写的硬汉形象确实很给人力量。
书中大段大段的人物描写与动作描写是学习英文写作的极好样本,适合词汇量至少6500的书虫朋友们阅读。
3、Life of Pi《少年派的奇幻漂流》Yann Martel扬·马特尔难度:三星蓝思值:830L内容简介|小说描述了16岁的印度少年和一只孟加拉虎共同在太平洋漂流227天后获得重生的神奇经历。
如真似幻的海上历险与天真、残酷并存的人性矛盾在书中激荡不已。
小编说|这本原著有别于电影的如梦如幻,更多的是如涓涓细流般舒缓、平和。
文中对人、神、兽,对信仰的描述极多,前半部分更是集中在关于哲学宗教的思考上,所以不了解宗教的书虫们可能会有一定的阅读难度,所以更适合作为进阶阅读。
英语微型小说一篇(中英文对照版)

轻松的事儿——杰克.沃尔森(瑞典)告诉我一些轻松的事儿,她说,一些我会忘的东西。
于是我告诉她企鹅是很古老的物种,比恐龙还古老。
我告诉她鲫鱼没有寿命年限,所以理论上说它们可以一直活下去。
我告诉她一个八十年代的研究认为蓝眼睛的人容易让人产生信任感,他们的人际关系也维持得更久;而褐色眼睛的人让人心生尊敬和爱慕也让人感觉疏远。
我没有告诉她我遇到的每个爱蒙事的家伙都有双蓝眼睛;我也没告诉她我的那些有着褐色眼睛的朋友总被指责对他们的伴侣不够坦诚。
我告诉她我的眼睛是绿色的,它们有时看起来像是淡褐色;但我没告诉她其实我眼睛的颜色介于这二者之间。
我告诉她一个来自佐治亚州亚特兰大市的小伙子获得了一笔经费,用来研究人在水中和在麦片粥中游泳的差异。
我告诉她当每个人都知道获得一笔科研经费有多么容易的时候,贫困将不再是困扰我们的问题。
我问她是否听说过“清新梦”。
她摇摇头。
于是我告诉她“清醒梦”是指一个人能对自己梦到什么进行控制。
在白天反复问自己是醒着还是在做梦,训练自己认可怪诞的事情或梦的征兆,通过这些手段你就可以学会做“清醒梦”。
听起来挺无聊的,她说,就像提前知道每部电影怎样开始和收场。
跟我说点其他的,她说。
于是我告诉她四百年前人们看不到今天这样的日落。
造就今天这般壮观的日落和彩虹的主要原因是污染。
我告诉她这对年轻人是不幸中的幸事。
我告诉她科学家们已经研制出了通过遥控来胳肢人的机器人,但人永远也没办法胳肢自己。
我告诉她狮子是色盲。
一只橘黄色的斑马,但只要它身上有波浪般的条纹,就可以借助高高的野草隐蔽自己。
我告诉她喜剧是社会的润滑剂;一部情景喜剧或者一个喜剧演员可以定义一种文化并使一代人彼此认同。
如果这还不够轻松,我又告诉她大多数的电视节目是通过卫星播放的;我们每天通过太空传播的娱乐节目远远多于所有合法的与外星物种交流的尝试,等到外星物种真的发现我们的时候,沟通的方式将不是数字信息,而是俏皮话。
我告诉她基督教科学派信徒相信“恶灵”是被飞船带到地球上来的,在他们看来,这种飞船和道格拉斯DC8s 喷气客机没什么两样。
The playmate英文微型小说

The Playmate"But Mom,I don‘t have anybody to play with. I really need a pet! I promise I‘ll take care of it." "Jamie,we‘ve been through this before! Our apartment is too small. And we‘d have to pay a pet deposit." Jamie‘s mother picked up some socks from the floor. "Jamie,how many times do I have to tell you? Stop throwing your dirty socks on the floor!" She looked up at her son. "And what have you got in that paper bag?" "Oh,nothing." Jamie backed out of the doorway. "Sorry about the socks. I‘ll tr y to remember. I‘ve got to go now,Mom. Bye!" Jamie ran out of the building and down the street. The abandoned buildings there were his playground. His mother had warned him many times that the old buildings were dangerous. But Jamie saw adventure where other people saw danger. Jamie moved a wooden board from the door to one of the buildings. He crawled inside. There was broken glass on the floor. It crunched under his feet. Jamie went down the stairs to the basement. It was even darker down there,and damp. The buildings were near the river. Sometimes water flooded in . Once he‘d found a fish there,but it was dead. He‘d never found anything alive--until he found Sharon. "Sharon,I‘m here!" Jamie called. He held up the paper bag. "I brought a candle,too. I‘m going to light it so I can see you better." Jamie took out a match and lit the candle. A soft circle of light lit up the darkness. "Come over here where I can see you," Jamie said. "Please don‘t be afraid. I‘m not afraid. I told you that" The creature slithered into the light. It was about Jamie size. Its head and body were covered with dark green scales. In the light of the candle,the scales shone like emeralds. The candle started to go out. Jamie made a move to cup it with his hands. The creature‘s e yes glowed red,suddenly,like hot coals. Its nostrils flared,giving off heat. Jamie stared. He thought he had never seen anything so beautiful. That‘s why he‘d decided to call the creature Sharon. He wanted to give a beautiful name to his new pet. "It‘s okay,I‘m not afraid," He said. He took hold of the creature‘s finlike arm. It felt like his father‘s raincoat when it got wet. He held the fin for a moment,then let it drop. A thick green slime covered his hand. He wiped it on his pants. "I‘m trying to g et Mom to let me bring you home," Jamie told the creature."I know you ‘re not really a pet. You‘re a friend ...sort of. But I can‘t let you stay out here in the cold. Winter‘s coming soon. It gets really cold here then. And sometimes Mom doesn‘t let me go outside when it snows." Jamie watched the creature‘s face. "Gee,Sharon," he said,"I wish you could talk. I don‘t know if you understand me or not. And I‘d really like you to tell me how you got here. Did you float in on the water?" The creature didn‘t an swer. It just looked at Jamie. Its mouth opened slightly and something white gleamed. Jamie thought it was smiling. "Well," said Jamie,"I hope you‘re hungry,anyway. I brought you a chicken sandwich." The creature looked down at the sandwich. It made no move to eat it,"I‘ll just leave the food here for you," Jamie said. He sighed. "I wish I could stay. But I have to go. Mom is on my case right now. I left my socks on the floor again this morning. I thought she was going to blow a fuse! I‘d better go home and help her. I‘ll come back tomorrow after school." Jamie turned to go. He made his way carefully across the slippery basement floor. The creature watched him. When Jamie had disappeared upthe stairs,the creature opened its mouth. A human bone,clean of all flesh,dropped to the floor.The creature slithered back into its corner. Jamie hurried along the street toward his building. When he got home,his mother looked angry. "Where have you been,young man? Every time there‘s work to do,you vanish into thin air! Now,get into that room of yours and clean it up. And another thing. I don‘t want you disappearing like that anymore. If you want to go someplace,tell me. I‘ll take you. There are too many dangers in the street. Why,just last week a little boy disappeared on his way home from school. It wasn‘t very far from here,either." But Jamie wasn‘t really listening. He seemed to be thinking about something else. "Mom,I think I have the answer to our problem." His mother looked surprised. "What problem?". "Well,there are no kids my age in this building. That‘s why I go out so much. If I had a pet to play with,I‘d take care of it,too. I promise. I even have one all picked out,Mom. We wouldn‘t have to shop for one! Oh,please,Mom. Can I have a pet,please." Jamie‘s mother laughed in spite of herself. "Okay,okay," she said smiling. "I guess you do need a playmate. And I can‘t refuse an argument like that. You‘ve probably got some poor animal out there in a box somewhere. I just hope it isn‘t too dirty." Jamie hugged his mother around the waist. "Oh,thanks,Mom. I‘ll go get Sharon right now. I know you‘ll like her!" Jamie ran out the door. "Jamie!" his mother cried. "Where do you think you‘re going! Come back here!" The front door slammed,and she sighed. "That kid," she said to herself,shaking her head. She picked up another of Jamie‘s socks and smiled. "Sharon," she repeated. "What a name for a dog!"。
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!。
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The Gardenia Never Withers“Grandma, where have you been all these years? You will not leave me from now on, will you?” It was the second time that Nancy had talked in her dream like this that week. It seemed that something about her grandmother kept haunting in her mind all the time. Actually, her grandmother had passed away for nearly twelve years and she was not a little girl any longer.Unlike those lucky children, Nancy did not know the name of her own parents, not to mention the possibility of receiving love from her parents. She was abandoned by her parents the first day she was born. When Nancy was very young, she was told by some villagers that she was found by her grandmother under a tree by chance. As an old lady whose age was about sixty years old, her grandmother did not live with her son in the city. Instead, she chose to live in the small village alone and do farmwork. After she found Nancy, she took the poor girl home and treated Nancy as her own child.Time went by quickly and Nancy was four years old then. She could do many things by herself and she was quite a well-behaved girl at that age. Everyday, she would went to field with her grandmother. When there was a hot burning sun in the sky, she would take a big black shabby umbrella with her. When rainy days came, she always put on a straw rain cape which was said to be made by grandfather long long ago. Every time when grandmother was turning over the soil, Nancy would pull the weeds from the land. Though she was much too young, she completely understood how arduous her grandmother was. Consequently, she was always ready to try her best to help grandmother. Life might be not easy for them, but warm and sweet enough to bring them happiness.That was a bright day in an early summer, on which Nancy was talking with grandmother on the way to the field. They talked so happily that even the valley resonated with their laughter. Suddenly, grandmother put down the steps. She stood there for a while as if sniffing something in the air. Then she traced the odour to the roadside with Nancy following behind. “Gardenia, gardenia!”,she shouted withemotion. Nancy asked with a confused look, “Grandma, what kind of flower is it? Why is it so fragrant?” With tears in her eyes, grandmother replied in a shaking voice, “It’s gardenia. It’s your grandfather’s favorite flower. Do you see its colour? Totally white. Your grandfather once compared me to the gardenia. He said that I was as pure as a gardenia.”What grandmother said had touched Nancy deeply. She said to grandmother with a determined look, “Grandma, I will take care of you instead of grandpa from now on. I will love the way as he does!”From that year on, whenever the gardenia came into blossom, Nancy would pick many of them for grandmother no matter how hard it was. For Nancy, the happiest thing in the world is nothing but to make grandmother smile. Despite of being a little girl with a rather thin body, Nancy was far more understanding and strong-willed than she should be.Nancy and her grandmother would have continued leading a happy life if that deadly rain didn’t fall. That day seemed to be an ordinary day as usual when Nancy and her grandmother were climbing a mountain. However, the rain suddenly fell when they were half way up the mountain. Due to the rain, roads became very slippery. Nancy slipped on the mud and fell shortly afterwards. Grandmother hurried to Nancy and pulled her up. Unluckily, grandmother fell down the hill after she pulled Nancy out of the mud. Nancy was frightened to death and she run back to the village to ask for help. Two hours later, grandmother was carried back home by villagers. It was obvious that grandmother was badly hurt. She breathed heavily and tried hard to reach out for Nancy. Nancy held grandmother tightly and choked with sobs. She tried really hard but she just couldn’t stop the tears from falling down. She knew that grandmother had much to say to her, but pitiful grandmother was not able to even make a sound.Grandmother had gone, leaving the little girl she loved dearly alone. Several days after grandmother’s death, Nancy was sent to live with the son of her grandmother in the city. Life in the city meant a huge change for Nancy, but she knew clearly that her deep and strong love for grandmother would never never change.People said that those who liked gardenia must be with a beautiful heart. Grandmother made this saying convincing. For Nancy, grandmother was the eternal sunshine which never set. It was grandmother who taught Nancy how to love and gave Nancy the courage to hold on. Though grandmother was in heaven, Nancy could hear her voice and feel her touch.Once again I heard Nancy murmuring in her dreams, “Grandma, my love for you would never wither. And I would never leave you in such a beautiful season.”。