《最后的常春藤叶》英文原版
In a little district west of Washington Square the streets have run crazy and broken themlves into small strips called "places." The "places" make strange angles and curves. One Street cross itlf a time or two. An artist once discovered a valuable possibility in this street. Suppo a collector with a bill for paints, paper and canvas should, in traversing this route, suddenly meet himlf coming back, without a cent having been paid on account!
So, to quaint old Greenwich Village the art people soon came prowling, hunting for north windows and eighteenth-century gables and Dutch attics and low rents. Then they imported some pewter mugs and a chafing dish or two from Sixth Avenue, and became a "colony."
At the top of a squatty, three-story brick Sue and Johnsy had their studio. "Johnsy" was familiar for Joanna. One was from Maine; the other from California. They had met at the table d'hôte of an Eighth Street "Delmonico's," and found their tastes in art, chicory salad
and bishop sleeves so congenial that the joint studio resulted.
That was in May. In November a cold, unen stranger, whom the doctors called Pneumonia, stalked about the colony, touching one here and there with his icy fingers. Over on the east side this ravager strode boldly, smiting his victims by scores, but his feet trod slowly through the maze of the narrow and moss-grown "places."
Mr. Pneumonia was not what you would call a chivalric old gentleman. A mite of a little woman with blood thinned by California zephyrs was hardly fair game for the red-fisted, short-breathed old duffer. But Johnsy he smote; and she lay, scarcely moving, on her painted iron bedstead, looking through the small Dutch window-panes at the blank side of the next brick hou.
One morning the busy doctor invited Sue into the hallway with a shaggy, grey eyebrow.
"She has one chance in - let us say, ten," he said, as he shook down the mercury in his clinical thermometer. " And that chance is for her to want to live. This way people have of
lining-u on the side of the undertaker makes the entire pharmacopoeia look silly. Your little lady has made up her mind that she's not going to get well. Has she anything on her mind?"
"She - she wanted to paint the Bay of Naples some day." said Sue.
下拉菜单英文
"Paint? - bosh! Has she anything on her mind worth thinking twice - a man for instance?"
"A man?" said Sue, with a jew's-harp twang in her voice. "Is a man worth - but, no, doctor; there is nothing of the kind."
"Well, it is the weakness, then," said the doctor. "I will do all that science, so far as it may filter through my efforts, can accomplish. But whenever my patient begins to count the carriages in her funeral procession I subtract 50 per cent from the curative power of medicines. If you will get her to ask one question about the new winter styles in cloak sleeves I will promi you a one-in-five chance for her, instead of one in ten."
After the doctor had gone Sue went into the workroom and cried a Japane napkin to a
pulp. Then she swaggered into Johnsy's room with her drawing board, whistling ragtime.
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my day 英语作文Johnsy lay, scarcely making a ripple under the bedclothes, with her face toward the window. Sue stopped whistling, thinking she was asleep.
平和英语
She arranged her board and began a pen-and-ink drawing to illustrate a magazine story. Young artists must pave their way to Art by drawing pictures for magazine stories that young authors write to pave their way to Literature.
department简写
As Sue was sketching a pair of elegant horshow riding trours and a monocle of the figure of the hero, an Idaho cowboy, she heard a low sound, veral times repeated. She went quickly to the bedside.man in the mirror 歌词
Johnsy's eyes were open wide. She was looking out the window and counting - counting backward.
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"Twelve," she said, and little later "eleven"; and then "ten," and "nine"; and then "eight" and "ven", almost together.打气什么意思
Sue look solicitously out of the window. What was there to count? There was only a bare, dreary yard to be en, and the blank side of the brick hou twenty feet away. An old, old ivy vine, gnarled and decayed at the roots, climbed half way up the brick wall. The cold breath of autumn had stricken its leaves from the vine until its skeleton branches clung, almost bare, to the crumbling bricks.
"What is it, dear?" asked Sue.
"Six," said Johnsy, in almost a whisper. "They're falling faster now. Three days ago there were almost a hundred. It made my head ache to count them. But now it's easy. There goes another one. There are only five left now."luka magnotta
"Five what, dear? Tell your Sudie."
"Leaves. On the ivy vine. When the last one falls I must go, too. I've known that for three days. Didn't the doctor tell you?"
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"Oh, I never heard of such nonn," complained Sue, with magnificent scorn. "What ha
ve old ivy leaves to do with your getting well? And you ud to love that vine so, you naughty girl. Don't be a gooy. Why, the doctor told me this morning that your chances for getting well real soon were - let's e exactly what he said - he said the chances were ten to one! Why, that's almost as good a chance as we have in New York when we ride on the street cars or walk past a new building. Try to take some broth now, and let Sudie go back to her drawing, so she can ll the editor man with it, and buy port wine for her sick child, and pork chops for her greedy lf."
