Unit 15A - A Drink in the Passage
A Drink in the Passage
Alan Paton
In the year 1960 the Union of South Africa celebrated its Golden Jubilee, and there was a nationwide sensation when the one-thousand-pound prize for the finest piece of sculpture was won by a black man, Edward Simelane. His work, African Mother and Child, not only excited the admiration, but touched the conscience or heart or whatever it was that responded, of white South Africa, and seemed likely to make him famous in other countries.
It was by an oversight that his work was accepted, for it was the policy of the government that all the celebrations and competitions should be strictly segregated. The committee of the sculpture section received a private reprimand for having been so careless as to omit the words "for whites only" from the conditions, but was told, by a very high personage, it is said, that if Simelane's work "was indisputably the best," it should receive the award. The committee then decided that this prize must be given along with the others, at the public ceremony which would bring this particular part of the celebrations to a close.
For this decision it received a surprising amount of support from the white public; but in certain powerful quarters, there was an outcry against any departure from the "traditional policies" of the country, and a threat that many white prize-winners would renounce their prizes. However, a crisis was averted, because the sculptor was "unfortunately unable to attend the ceremony."
I wasn't feeling up to it, Simelane said mischievously to me. "My parents, and my wife's parents, and our priest, decided that I wasn't feeling up to it. And finally I decided so too. Of course Majosi and Sola and the others wanted me to go and get my prize personally, but I said, 'boys, I'm a sculptor, not a demonstrator."'
This cognac is wonderful, he said, "especially in these big glasses. It's the first time I've had such a glass. It's also the first time I've drunk a brandy so slowly. In Orlando you develop a throat of iron, and you just put back your head and put it down, in case the police should arrive."
He said to me, "This is the second cognac I've had in my life. Would you like to hear the story of how I had my first?"
You know the Alabaster Bookshop in Von Brandis Street? Well, after the competition they asked me if they could exhibit my African Mother and Child. They gave a whole window to it, with a white velvet backdrop, if there is anything called white velvet, and some complimentary words.
Well somehow I could never go and look in that window. On my way from the station to the Herald office, I sometimes went past there, and I felt good when I saw all the people standing there; but I would only squint at it out of the corner of my eye.
Then one night I was working late at the Herald, and when I came out there was hardly anyone in the streets, so I thought I'd go and see the window, and indulge certain pleasurable human feelings. I must have got a little lost in the contemplation of my own genius, because suddenly there was a young white man standing next to me.
He said to me, "What do you think of that, mate?" And you know, one doesn't get called "mate" every day.
I'm looking at it, I said."
I come and look at it nearly every night, he said. "You know it's by one of your own boys, don't you?"
Yea, I know.
It's beautiful, he said. "Look at that mother's head. She's loving that child, but she's somehow watching too. Like someone guarding. She knows it won't be an easy life."
Then he said confidentially, "Mate, would you like a drink?"
Well honestly I didn't feel like a drink at that time of night, with a white stranger and all, and a train still to catch to Orlando.
You know we black people must be out of the city by eleven, I said.
It won't take long. My flat's just round the corner. Do you speak Afrikaans?
Since I was a child, I said in Afrikaans.
We'll speak Afrikaans then. My English isn't too wonderful. I'm van Rensburg. And you?
I couldn't have told him my name. I said I was Vakalisa, living in Orlando.
By this time he had started off, and I was following, but not willingly. We didn't exactly walk abreast, but he didn't exactly walk in front of me. He didn't look constrained. He wasn't looking round to see if anyone might be watching.
He said to me, "Do you know what I wanted to do?"
No, I said.
I wanted a bookshop, like that one there. I always wanted that, ever since I can remember. But I had bad luck. My parents died before I could finish school.
Then he said to me, "Are you educated?"
I said unwillingly, "Yes." Then I thought to myself, how stupid, for leaving the question open.
And sure enough he asked, "Far?"
And again unwillingly, I said, "Far."
He took a big leap. "Degree?"
Yes.
Literature?
Yes.
He expelled his breath, and gave a long "ah." We had reached his building, Majorca Mansions, not one of those luxurious places. I was glad to see that the entrance lobby was deserted. I wasn't at my ease. The lift was at ground level, marked Whites Only. Van Rensburg opened the door and waved me in. While I was waiting for him to press the button, so that we could get moving and away from that ground floor, he stood with his finger suspended over it, and looked at me with a kind of honest, unselfish envy.
You were lucky, he said. "Literature，that's what I wanted to do."
He shook his head and pressed the button, and he didn't speak again until we stopped high up. But before we got out he said suddenly, "If I had had a bookshop, I'd have given that boy a window too."
We got out and walked along one of those polished concrete passageways. On the one side was a wall, and plenty of fresh air, and far down below Von Brandis Street. On the other side were the doors, impersonal doors. Van Rensburg stopped at one of the doors, and said to me, "I won't be a minute."
Then he went in, leaving the door open, and inside I could hear voices. Then after a minute or so, he came back to the door, holding two glasses of red wine. He was warm and smiling.
Sorry there's no brandy, he said. "Only wine. Here's happiness."
Now I certainly had not expected that I would have my drink in the passage. I wasn't only feeling what you may be thinking, I was thinking that one of the impersonal doors might open at any moment, and someone might see me in a "white" building, and see me and van Rensburg breaking the liquor laws of the country. Anger could have saved me from the whole embarrassing situation, but you know I can't easily be angry. Even if I could have been, I might have found it hard to be angry with this particular man. But I wanted to get away from there, and I couldn't.
Van Rensburg said to me, "Don't you know this fellow Simelane?"
I've heard of him, I said.
I'd like to meet him, he said. "I'd like to talk to him." He added in explanation, "You know, talk out my heart to him."
A woman of about fifty years of age came from the room beyond, bringing a plate of biscuits. She smiled and bowed to me. I took one of the biscuits, but not for all the money in the world could I have said to her dankie, my nooi or that disgusting dankie, misses, nor did I want to speak to her in English because her language was Afrikaans, so I took the risk of it and used the word mevrou, for the politeness of which some Afrikaners would knock a black man down, and I said, in high Afrikaans, with a smile and a bow too, "Ek is u dankbaar, Mevrou."
But nobody knocked me down. The woman smiled and bowed, and van Rensburg, in a strained voice that suddenly came out of nowhere, said, "Our land is beautiful. But it breaks my heart."
The woman put her hand on his arm, and said, "Jannie, Jannie."
Then another woman and a man, all about the same age, came up and stood behind van Rensburg.
He's a B.A., van Rensburg told them.
The first woman smiled and bowed to me again, and van Rensburg said, as though it were a matter for grief, "I wanted to give him brandy, but there's only wine."
The second woman said, "I remember, Jannie. Come with me."
She went back into the room, and he followed her. The first woman said to me, "Jannie's a good man. Strange, but good."
And I thought the whole thing was mad, and getting beyond me, with me a black stranger being shown a testimonial for the son of the house, with these white strangers standing and looking at me in the passage, as though they wanted for God's sake to touch me somewhere and didn't know how, but I saw the earnestness of the woman who had smiled and bowed to me, and I said to her, "I can see that, Mevrou."
He goes down every night to look at the statue, she said. "He says only God could make something so beautiful, therefore God must be in the man who made it, and he wants to meet him and talk out his heart to him."
She looked back at the room, and then she dropped her voice a little, and said to me, "Can't you see, it's somehow because it's a black woman and a black child?"
And I said to her, "I can see that, Mevrou."
She turned to the man and said of me, "He’s a good boy."
Then the other woman returned with van Rensburg, and van Rensburg had a bottle of brandy. He was smiling and pleased, and he said to me, "This isn't ordinary brandy, it's French."
He showed me the bottle, and I, wanting to get the hell out of that place, looked at it and saw it was cognac. He turned to the man and said, "Uncle，you remember? The man at the bottle-store said this was the best brandy in the world."
I must go, I said. "I must catch that train."
I'll take you to the station, he said. "Don't you worry about that."
He poured me a drink and one for himself.
Uncle, he said, "what about one for yourself?"
The older man said, "I don't mind if I do," and he went inside to get himself a glass.
Van Rensburg said, "Happiness," and lifted his glass to me. It was good brandy, the best I've ever tasted. But I wanted to get the hell out of there. Then Uncle came back with his glass, and van Rensburg poured him a brandy, and Uncle raised his glass to me too.
All of us were full of goodwill, but I was waiting for the opening of one of those impersonal doors. Perhaps they were too, I don't know. Perhaps when you want so badly to touch someone, you don't care. I was drinking my brandy almost as fast as I would have drunk it in Orlando.
I must go, I said.
Van Rensburg said, "I'll take you to the station." He finished his brandy, and I finished mine too. We handed the glasses to Uncle, who said to me, "Good night, my boy." The first woman said, "May God bless you," and the other woman bowed and smiled. Then van Rensburg and I went down in the lift to the basement, and got into his car.
I told you I'd take you to the station, he said. "I'd take you home, but I'm frightened of Orlando at night."
We drove up Eloff Street, and he said, "Did you know what I meant?" I wanted to answer him, but I couldn't，because I didn't know what that something was. He couldn't be talking about being frightened of Orlando at night, because what more could one mean than just that?
By what? I asked.
You know, he said, "about our land being beautiful?"
Yes, I knew what he meant, and I knew that for God's sake he wanted to touch me too and he couldn't; for his eyes had been blinded by years in the dark. And I thought it was a pity he was blind, for if men never touch each other, they'll hurt each other one day.
And it was a pity he was blind, and couldn't touch me, for black men don't touch white men any more; only by accident, when they make something like Mother and Child.
He said to me, "What are you thinking?"
I said, "Many things," and my inarticulateness distressed me, for I knew he wanted something from me. I felt him fall back, angry, hurt, desiring, I didn't know. He stopped at the main entrance to the station, but I didn't tell him I couldn't go in there. I got out and said to him, "Thank you for the sociable evening."
They liked having you, he said. "Did you see that?"
I said, "Yes, I saw that."
He sat slumped in his seat, like a man with a burden of incomprehensible, insoluble grief. I wanted to touch him, but I was thinking about the train. He said Good night and I said it too. We each saluted the other. What he was thinking, God knows, but I was thinking he was like a man trying to run a race in iron shoes, and not understanding why he cannot move.
When I got back to Orlando, I told my wife the story, and she wept.
参考译文——走廊里的祝酒
走廊里的祝酒
阿兰·佩顿
在1960年南非联邦50华诞之际，发生了一件轰动全国的事情：奖金为1,000英镑的最佳雕塑作品奖被一个黑人获得，他就是爱德华·西梅拉内。他的作品《非洲母子》不仅赢得了南非白人的赞誉，而且触动了他们的良知、心灵或内心深处的某种东西。看起来这部作品还将使西梅拉内享誉海外。
他的作品能被接受完全是由于一个疏忽，因为政府明文规定：所有庆典和赛事都在严格实行种族隔离。雕塑组委员会曾受到了私下的指责，因为他们竟然粗心地将参赛条件中的“仅限白人”给遗漏了，但据说一位大人物授意组委会：如果西梅拉内的作品“是无可争议的最佳”，那他就应该获此殊荣。因此，组委会决定，这个奖项必须在公开的仪式上同其他奖项一同颁发，以便使庆祝活动中出现的这个特殊事件画上一个句号。
组委会这一决定出乎意料地赢得了白人社会的支持，但在某些有权有势的圈子里，抗议声不绝于耳，他们反对任何偏离国家“传统政策”的情况发生，并威胁说许多白人获奖者将放弃所获奖项。然而，西梅拉内“很不幸不能来参加这次颁奖仪式”’危机就这样被避免了。
“我没精力去领奖，”西梅拉内戏谑地对我说，“我的父母、岳父岳母，以及我们的牧师都认为我没精力去领这个奖。最后，我也决定不去领奖了。当然，马乔希和苏拉及其他人都希望我亲自去领奖，但我说：‘孩子们，我是一个雕塑师，而不是一个示威者。’”
“这种干邑白兰地非常棒，”他说，“尤其是用这种大玻璃杯喝，我还是第一次用这么大的玻璃杯来喝这种酒。这也是我第一次这么慢地喝白兰地。在奥兰多，你得练就一副铁喉咙。一仰头就把酒倒进嘴里了，生怕被警察看见。”
他对我说这是我平生第二次喝干邑白兰地。想不想听我第一次喝白兰地的故事？”
你知道冯布兰达斯大街上的埃勒巴斯特书店吗？嗯，这次比赛之后，他们问我是否可以展出我的《非洲母子》。他们用一整个橱窗摆放这尊雕像，后面衬着白色的天鹅绒——如果有白色天鹅绒这种东西的话，他们还为这尊雕塑配上了一些溢美之辞。
嗯，不知怎么地，我从未能走近橱窗朝里看一看。从火车站到《先驱报》报社，我有时会从那里经过，当我看到人们站在那里驻足观看时，我感觉不错；但我只是用眼角的余光瞟它几眼罢了。
之后，有一天晚上我在《先驱报》报社工作到了很晚，当我从报社出来时，街上几乎空无一人，于是，我想我要去那里看看那个橱窗，来满足一下某种愉快的人类情感。在凝视我自己的天才之作的时候，我一定是有点忘乎所以，因为我突然发现，一位白人青年站在我身旁。
他对我说老兄，你觉得它怎么样？”你也知道，一个黑人并不是每天都会有幸被称作“老兄”的。
“我正在看呢，”我说。
“我几乎每天晚上都来看它，”他说，“你知道，这是由你们的一位兄弟创作的，是吧？”
“是的，我知道。”
“太美了，”他说，“看那母亲的脸，她深深地爱着那个孩子，但她也在以某种方式警惕着，像是一位守卫者。她知道生活并不容易。”
然后，他套近乎似地说老兄，想喝一杯吗？”
坦白地说，我不太想在晚上的这个时候喝酒，还是和一个陌生的白人，再说我还要赶火车回奥兰多。
“你知道我们黑人必须在晚上十一点前出城我说。
“不会耽误你很长时间。我的公寓就在不远处。你会说南非荷兰语吗？”
“从小就会说我用南非荷兰语说道。
“那么我们就说南非荷兰语吧。我的英语也不太好。我叫范兰斯堡。你呢？”
我不能告诉他我的名字。因此我说我叫瓦卡利沙，住在奥兰多。
这时他已走开了，我跟在他后面，但并不很情愿。我们没有完全并肩而行，但他也不在我的正前方。他看起来并不拘谨，没有环顾四周看看是否有人在注视我们。
他对我说：“你知道我以前想要做什么吗？”
“不知道我说。
“我想要开家书店，就像那儿的那一家。自我记事起，我就一直有这样的想法。但我运气不好。我还没有上完学我父母就去世了。”
然后他对我说：“你上过学吗？”
我不情愿地说：“上过。”然后我心想，真够傻的，因为我留下了继续谈论这个话题的机会。
果然，他继续问道什么程度？”
再次不情愿地，我说挺高。”
他把话题的深度向前提了一大步。“拿到学位了吗？”
“拿到了。”
“是文学学位吗？”
“是的。”
他呼了口气，同时发出了长长的“啊”。我们已到了他住的楼房，梅杰卡公寓，它并不是那种奢华的处所。我很高兴看到大厅入口没有人。我有点紧张。电梯在一层，门上写着“仅供白人使用”。范兰斯堡打开电梯门，招手让我进去。当我等他按下按钮，以便我们可以离开一楼时，他的手指却停留在了按钮上，他站在那里，带着一种诚实的没有私心的羡慕表情看着我。
“你很幸运。”他说，“文学，那正是我过去想要学的。”
他摇了摇头并按下了按钮。他没有再开口说话，直到电梯升到高处停了下来。但在我们走出电梯之前，他突然说道如果我有一家书店，我也会用一整个橱窗展览那个青年的作品。”
我们走出电梯，沿着一个锃亮的混凝土楼道走着。楼道一面是一堵墙，空气充足而新鲜，楼下便是冯布兰达斯大街。楼道另一面是门，缺少人情味儿的门。范兰斯堡在其中的—扇门前停了下来对我说我马上就出来。”
然后他进去了，但没有关门，我能够听到门里说话的声音。大约一分钟之后，他回到了门口，手里拿着两杯红葡萄酒。他态度热情，面带微笑。
“不好意思，没有白兰地了，”他说，“只有葡萄酒。祝你快乐。”
当时我确实没有料到我会在走廊里喝酒。我当时的感受不仅仅是你可能会想到的那样，我一直在担心其中的一扇没有人情味儿的门会随时打开，有人会看到我在“白人的”楼房里，看到我和范兰斯堡违反了国家的管制酒的法律。如果当时我勃然大怒我就不会让自己陷入这样尴尬的境地，但你知道，我这人不轻易生气。即使我本来是个容易发火的人，但我发现我也很难对这个特别的男子发火。但我想要离开那里，却无法脱身。
范兰斯堡对我说你不认识西梅拉内这个人吗？”
“我听说过他我说。
“我很想认识他，”他说，“我想和他谈谈。”他补充道，“你知道，我想和他说说我的心里话。”
一位大约五十岁的妇女从远处的房间走了过来，手里端着一盘饼干。她微笑着向我点头致意。我拿了一块饼干，但即使给我世界上所有的钱我都不会用南非荷兰语对她说“谢谢太太”或者是那令人讨厌的“谢谢小姐”之类的话，我也不想和她说英语，因为她说的是南非荷兰语。于是出于礼貌——使用这种礼貌的黑人会被一些南非荷兰人打翻在地——我便斗胆用了南非荷兰语“夫人”这个词。
我微笑着欠了欠身，用上等人说的南非荷兰语说：“非常感谢，夫人。”
不过，并没有人将我击倒。这位妇女微笑着点点头。而范兰斯堡突然以很不自然的声音冒出一句：“我们的国家很美丽，但她让我心碎。”
这位妇女将手放在他的手臂上，说杰尼，杰尼。”
之后，又出来一位男子和一位妇女，年龄和前面那位妇女相仿，他们站在了范兰斯堡的身后。
“他是一位文学学士，”范兰斯堡告诉他们说。
第一位妇女再次冲我微笑并点头致意，范兰斯堡说我本想请他喝白兰地，但只有葡萄酒了。”就好像这是一件不幸的事。
另一位妇女说我想起来了，杰尼，跟我来。”
她回到了房间，他跟着她去了。第一位妇女对我说：“杰尼是个好人，有些古怪，但人不错。”
我想这一切都错乱了，真是不可思议：她一个白人妇女向我这个陌生黑人夸耀这个家里的孩子。这些陌生白人都站在走廊里看着我这个陌生的黑人，好像他们真的非常想和我交流，但又不知从哪儿谈起。但我能从那位冲我微笑并点头致意的妇女身上看到她的真诚，于是我对她说我能看得出来，夫人。”
“他每天晚上都去看那座雕塑，”她说，“他说只有上帝才能创造出如此美丽的东西，因此，上帝一定就在创作那座雕塑的人心里，他想见到这个人，和他说说心里话。”
她回头向房间里望了望，然后压低了声音对我说这似乎是因为雕的是一位黑人妇女与一个黑人孩子，你明白吧？”
我对她说我能看出来，夫人。”
她转向那个男人，夸奖我说他是个好小伙。”
这时另一位妇女和范兰斯堡回来了，范兰斯堡拿着一瓶白兰地。他微笑着，很高兴的样子，对我说：“这不是普通的白兰地，这是法国白兰地。”
他举着酒瓶让我看，我看了一眼，发现这是一瓶干邑白兰地。可这时的我真想赶快离开这个地方。他转向另一个男人说叔叔，你还记得吗？店里的那个酒商说这是世界上最好的白兰地。”
“我得走了，”我说，“我必须要赶上那趟火车。”
“我会送你去火车站的，”他说，“别担心。”
他为我倒了一杯酒，也为自己倒了一杯。
“叔叔，”他说，“你也来一杯怎么样？”
这个年长的人说当然可以。”说着他便走进房间去拿杯子了。
范兰斯堡举起酒杯对我说祝你快乐。”这白兰地确实不错，是我喝过的最好的白兰地。但我还是想赶快离开那里。这时，他叔叔拿着酒杯回来了，范兰斯堡为他倒了一杯白兰地，他叔叔也举起酒杯向我祝酒。
我们的内心都充满了善意，但是，我在等待着那些冷漠无情的房门中会有一扇开启。或许他们也在等待，我不知道。也许当你如此迫切地想要与人交流时，你会无所顾忌。我几乎是用我在奥兰多喝酒的速度喝下了这杯白兰地。
“我必须走了，”我说。
范兰斯堡说我送你去火车站。”他喝完了他的白兰地，我也喝完了我的。我们把酒杯递给了他叔叔，他叔叔对我说晚安，我的孩子。”第一位妇女说愿上帝保佑你。”另一位妇女微笑着向我点点头。然后我和范兰斯堡乘电梯到了地下室，上了他的汽车。
“我说过我要送你去火车站的，”他说，“我本想送你回家，但我害怕夜晚的奥兰多。”
我们的车驶上了埃洛夫大街，他说你明白我什么意思吗？”我想回答他的问题，但我回答不上来，因为我不知道他究竟想说什么。他不是在说深夜的奥兰多教人害怕，除此之外，这还能有什么其他意思呢？
“你指什么呢？”我问。
“你知道的，”他说，“我们的国家美丽吗？”
是的，我知道他是什么意思了。我知道看在上帝的份上，他也想要和我进行心灵的沟通，但他却做不到。长期处于黑暗中，他的双眼被蒙蔽了。他看不到我所能看到的，我觉得那真是一个遗憾：因为如果人与人之间不能进行心灵的沟通，他们终有一天会伤害彼此。
他看不到我所能看到的，他无法与我进行心灵的沟通，这令人遗憾，因为黑人再也不能与白人沟通。只有当黑人创作了《非洲母子》之类的东西时，他们才能偶尔与白人有所交流。
他问我，“你在想什么？”
我说在想许多事情。”我为自己不能用语言表达此时的心情感到非常苦恼，因为我知道他想从我这里得到某些东西。我感觉到他退却了，气恼了，受到伤害了，并且在期待什么。我说不清楚。他在火车站的大门前停了下来，但我没有告诉他我不能从那里进去。我下了车，对他说谢谢你让我度过了一个大家能一起交流的夜晚。”
“他们喜欢和你在一起他说，“你看出来了吗？”
我说是的，我看出来了。”
他弯着身子坐在座位上，像一个承受着无法理解又无法消除的痛楚的人。我想要与他沟通，但又怕误了火车。我们各自道了声晚安，互相致意。他在想什么，上帝才知道。但是我在想，他就像一个穿着铁鞋要参加赛跑的人一样，却不明白自己为什么迈不开脚步。
回到奥兰多后，我把这个故事讲给妻子听，她哭了。
Key Words:
celebrated ['selibreitid]
adj. 著名的，声誉卓著的 动词celebrate的过
careless ['kɛəlis]
adj. 粗心的，疏忽的
n. 不关心的，粗心
departure [di'pɑ:tʃə]
n. 离开，出发，分歧
omit [əu'mit]
vt. 省略，删去，遗漏
sculpture ['skʌlptʃə]
n. 雕塑
vt. 雕刻，雕塑
sculptor ['skʌlptə]
n. 雕刻家
strictly ['striktli]
adv. 严格地
touched [tʌtʃt]
adj. 受感动的 adj. 精神失常的
ceremony ['seriməni]
n. 典礼，仪式，礼节，礼仪
decision [di'siʒən]
n. 决定，决策
contemplation [.kɔntem'pleiʃən]
n. 注视，沉思，打算
backdrop ['bækdrɔp]
n. 背景幕，背景
complimentary [.kɔmpli'mentəri]
adj. 问候的，称赞的，夸奖的，免费赠送的
exhibit [ig'zibit]
v. 陈列，展览，展示
n. 展品，展览
indulge [in'dʌldʒ]
vt. 纵情于，放任，迁就
vi. 放纵自己于
genius ['dʒi:njəs]
n. 天才，天赋
competition [kɔmpi'tiʃən]
n. 比赛，竞争，竞赛
certain ['sə:tn]
adj. 确定的，必然的，特定的
constrained [kən'streind]
adj. 被强迫的；不舒服的；拘泥的 v. 强迫；驱使；
willingly ['wiliŋli]
adv. 乐意地，心甘情愿地
mate [meit]
n. 伙伴，配偶，同事
vt. 使 ... 配
abreast [ə'brest]
adv. 并肩地，赶得上
unselfish ['ʌn'selfiʃ]
adj. 无私的
suspended
adj. 悬浮的；暂停的，缓期的（宣判）
concrete ['kɔnkri:t]
adj. 具体的，实质性的，混凝土的
n. 水
impersonal [im'pə:sənəl]
adj. 不受个人感情影响的，冷淡的，没有人情味的，非特
deserted [di'zə:tid]
adj. 废弃的，荒芜的，被遗弃的 动词desert的过
unwillingly
adv. 不情愿地；勉强地
luxurious [lʌg'ʒu:riəs]
adj. 奢侈的，豪华的
polished ['pɔliʃt]
adj. 擦亮的；优美的；圆滑的 v. 擦亮
explanation [.eksplə'neiʃən]
n. 解释，说明
impersonal [im'pə:sənəl]
adj. 不受个人感情影响的，冷淡的，没有人情味的，非特
particular [pə'tikjulə]
adj. 特殊的，特别的，特定的，挑剔的
statue ['stætju:]
n. 塑像，雕像
earnestness
n. 认真；诚挚；正经
testimonial [.testi'məunjəl]
n. 证明书，奖状，奖品，表扬信，感谢信 adj. 证明
grief [gri:f]
n. 悲痛，忧伤
bow [bau]
n. 弓
frightened ['fraitnd]
adj. 受惊的，受恐吓的
goodwill ['gud'wil]
n. 善意，亲切，友好; 商誉，信誉。
impersonal [im'pə:sənəl]
adj. 不受个人感情影响的，冷淡的，没有人情味的，非特
basement ['beismənt]
n. 根基，地下室
n.（新英格兰）特别
pity ['piti]
n. 同情，怜悯，遗憾，可惜
insoluble [in'sɔljubl]
adj. [化]不能溶解的，不能解决的
grief [gri:f]
n. 悲痛，忧伤
pity ['piti]
n. 同情，怜悯，遗憾，可惜
参考资料：
- http://www.kekenet.com/daxue/201708/51995shtml
- 现代大学英语精读(第2版)第三册:U15A A Drink in the Passage(2)_大学教材听力 - 可可英语
- 现代大学英语精读(第2版)第三册:U15A A Drink in the Passage(3)_大学教材听力 - 可可英语
- 现代大学英语精读(第2版)第三册:U15A A Drink in the Passage(4)_大学教材听力 - 可可英语
- 现代大学英语精读(第2版)第三册:U15A A Drink in the Passage(5)_大学教材听力 - 可可英语
- 现代大学英语精读(第2版)第三册:U15A A Drink in the Passage(6)_大学教材听力 - 可可英语
- 现代大学英语精读(第2版)第三册:U15A A Drink in the Passage(7)_大学教材听力 - 可可英语
- 现代大学英语精读(第2版)第三册:U15A A Drink in the Passage(8)_大学教材听力 - 可可英语
现代大学英语精读(第2版)第三册:U15A A Drink in the Passage(9)_大学教材听力 - 可可英语
扫一扫
9069
被折叠的 条评论
为什么被折叠?
到【灌水乐园】发言
