英语小说阅读

更新时间:2023-07-04 01:38:47 阅读: 评论:0

The Luncheon by Somert Maugham (1874-1965)
          The Luncheon  by W. S. Maugham (1874-1965)
不懈
I caught sight of her at the play, and in answer to her beckoning, I went over during the interval and sat down beside her. It was long since I had last en her, and if someone had not mentioned her name I hardly think I would have recognized her.
She addresd me brightly.
  "Well, it's many years since we first met.  How time does fly! We're none of us getting any younger. Do you remember the first time I saw you? You asked me to luncheon.”
  Did I remember?
  It was twenty years ago and I was living in Paris. I had a tiny apartment in the Latin quarter overlooking a cemetery, and I was earning barely enough money to keep body and soul together. She had read a book of mine and had written to me about it. I answered, thanking her, and prently I received from her another letter saying that she was passing through Paris and would like to have a chat with me; but her time was limited, and the only free moment she had was on the following Thursday; she was spending the morning at the Luxembourg and would I give her a little luncheon at Foyot's afterwards? Foyot's is a restaurant at which the French nators eat, and it was so far beyond my means that I had never even thought of going there. But I was flattered, and I was too young to have learned to say no to a woman. (Few men, I may add, learn this until they are too old to make it of any conquence to a woman what they say.) I had eighty francs (gold francs) to last me the rest of the month, and a modest luncheon should not cost more than fifteen. If I cut out coffee for the next two weeks I could manage well enough.
  不可胜数的近义词I answered that I would meet my friend-by correspondence-at Foyot's on Thursday at half-past twelve. She was not so young as I expected and in appearance imposing rather than attractive. She was, in fact, a woman of forty (a charming age, but not one that excites a sudden and devastating passion at first sight), and she gave me the impression of having more teeth, white and large and even, than were necessary for any practical purpo. She was talkative, but since she emed inclined to talk about me I was prepared to be an attentive listener.
  I was startled when the bill of fare was brought, for the prices were a great deal higher than I had anticipated. But she reassured me.
"I never eat anything for luncheon," she said.
"Oh, don't say that!" I answered generously.
"I never eat more than one thing. I think people eat far too much nowadays. A little fish, perhaps. I wonder if they have any salmon."
  Well, it was early in the year for salmon and it was not on the bill of fare, but I asked the waiter if there was any. Yes, a beautiful salmon had just come in, it was the first they had had. I ordered it for my guest. The waiter asked her if she would have something while it was being cooked.
  "No," she answered, "I never eat more than one thing unless you have a little caviare, I never mind caviare."
  My heart sank a little. I knew I could not afford caviare, but I could not very well tell her that. I told the waiter by all means to bring caviare. For mylf I cho the cheapest dish on the menu and that was a mutton chop.
  "I think you are unwi to eat meat," she said. "I don't know how you can expect to work after eating heavy things like chops. I don't believe in overloading my stomach."
  Then came the question of drink.
  "I never drink anything for luncheon," she said.
  "Neither do I," I answered promptly.
  "Except white wine," she proceeded as though I had not spoken.
  "The French white wines are so light. They're wonderful for the digestion."
  "What would you like?" I asked, hospitable still, but not exactly effusive.
  abb式的词语有哪些She gave me a bright and amicable flash of her white teeth.
  "My doctor won't let me drink anything but champagne."
  I fancy I turned a trifle pale. I ordered half a bottle. I mentioned casually that my doctor had absolutely forbidden me to drink champagne.
  "What are you going to drink, then?"
  "Water."
  She ate the caviare and she ate the salmon. She talked gaily of art and literature and music. But I wondered what the bill would come to. When my mutton chop arrived she took me quite riously to task.
  "I e that you're in the habit of eating a heavy luncheon. I'm sure it's a mistake. Why don't you follow my example and just eat one thing? I'm sure you'd feel ever so much better for it."
  "I am only going to eat one thing." I said, as the waiter came again with the bill of fare.
  She waved him aside with an airy gesture.
  "No. no. I never eat anything for luncheon. Just a bite, I never want more than that, and I eat that more as an excu for conversation than anything el. I couldn't possibly eat anything more unless they had some of tho giant asparagus. I should be sorry to leave Paris without having some of them."
My heart sank. I had en them in the shops, and I knew that they were horribly expensive. My mouth had often watered at the sight of them.
  "Madame wants to know if you have any of tho giant asparagus." I asked the waiter.
  I tried with all my might to will him to say no. A happy smile spread over his broad, priest-like face, and he assured me that they had some so large, so splendid, so tender, that it was a marvel.
  "I'm not in the least hungry," my guest sighed, "but if you insist I don't mind having some asparagus."
  I ordered them.
  "Aren't you going to have any?"
  "No, I never eat asparagus."
  "I know there are people who don't like them. The fact is, you ruin your palate by all the meat you eat."
  We waited for the asparagus to be cooked. Panic ized me. It was not a question now of how much money I should have left over for the rest of the month, but whether I had enough to pay the bill. It would be mortifying to find mylf ten francs short and be obliged to borrow from my guest. I could not bring mylf to do that. I knew exactly how much I had, and if the bill came to more I had made up my mind that I would put my hand in my pocket and with a dramatic cry start up and say it had been picked. Of cour, it would be awkward if she had not money enough either to pay the bill. Then the only thing would be to leave my watch and say I would come back and pay later.
  The asparagus appeared. They were enormous, succulent, and appetizing. The smell of the melted butter tickled my nostrils as the nostrils of Jehovah were tickled by the burned offerings of the virtuous Semites. I watched the abandoned woman thrust them down her throat in large voluptuous mouthfuls, and in my polite way I discourd on the condition of the drama in the Balkans. At last she finished.
  "Coffee?" I said.
"Yes, just an ice cream and coffee,” she answered.
I was past caring now. So I ordered coffee for mylf and an ice cream and coffee for her.
  "You know, there's one thing I thoroughly believe in," she said, as she ate the ice cream. "One should always get up from a meal feeling one could eat a little more."
"Are you still hungry?" I asked faintly.
陈杰瑞"Oh, no, I'm not hungry; you e, I don't eat luncheon. I have a cup of coffee in the
morning and then dinner, but I never eat more than one thing for luncheon. I was speaking for you."
  "Oh, I e!"
  Then a terrible thing happened. While we were waiting for the coffee, the head waiter, with an ingratiating smile on his fal face, came up to us bearing a large basket full of huge peaches. They had the blush of an innocent girl; they had the rich tone of an Italian landscape. But surely peaches were not in ason then? Lord knew what they cost. I knew too what they cost-a little later, for my guest, going on with her conversation, abntmindedly took one.
  prevents"You e, you've filled your stomach with a lot of meat"-my one mirable little chop- "and you can't eat any more. But I've just had a snack and I shall enjoy a peach."
  The bill came and when I paid it I found that I had only enough for a quite inadequate tip. Her eyes rested for an instant on the three francs I left for the waiter, and I knew that she thought me mean. But when I walked out of the restaurant I had the whole month before me and not a penny in my pocket.
  "Follow my example," she said as we shook hand, "and never eat more than one thing for luncheon."
  励志文字壁纸"I'll do better than that," I retorted. "I'll eat nothing for dinner to-night."
  "Humorist!" she cried gaily, jumping into a cab, "you're quite a humorist!"
  基金分类But I have had my revenge at last. I do not believe that I am a vindictive man, but when the immortal gods take a hand in the matter it is pardonable to obrve the result with complacency. Today she weighs twenty-one stone*.
(* One stone equals fourteen pounds.)

Ripe Figs
by Kate Chopin (1851-1904)
新年板报Maman-Nainaine said that when the figs were ripe Babette might go to visit her cousins down on Bayou-Boeuf, where the sugar cane grows. Not that the ripening of figs had the least thing to do with it, but that is the way Maman-Nainaine was. 
It emed to Babette a very long time to wait; for the leaves upon the trees were tender yet, and the figs were like little hard, green marbles.
But warm rains came along and plenty of strong sunshine; and though Maman-Nainaine was as patient as the statue of la Madone, and Babette as restless as a humming-bird, the first thing they both knew it was hot summer-time. Every day Babette danced out to where the fig-trees were in a long line against the fence. She walked slowly beneath them, carefully peering between the gnarled, spreading branches. But each time she cam
e disconsolate away again. What she saw there finally was something that made her sing and dance the whole day long.
When Maman-Nainaine sat down in her stately way to breakfast, the following morning, her muslin cap standing like an aureole about her white, placid face, Babette approached. She bore a dainty porcelain platter, which she t down before her godmother. It contained a dozen purple figs, fringed around with their rich, green leaves.
"Ah," said Maman-Nainaine, arching her eyebrows, "how early the figs have ripened this year!"
"Oh," said Babette, "I think they have ripened very late."
"Babette," continued Maman-Nainaine, as she peeled the very plumpest figs with her pointed silver fruit-knife, "you will carry my love to them all down on Bayou-Boeuf. And tell your tante Frosine I shall look for her at Toussaint--when the chrysanthemums are in bloom."

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