姐,51。。。
轻松的小说阅读环境
Site Manager
双城记英文版 - Part 1 Chapter II. THE MAIL
繁体
恢复默认
返回目录【键盘操作】左右光标键:上下章节;回车键:目录;双击鼠标:停止/启动自动滚动;滚动时上下光标键调节滚动速度。
  It was the Dover road that lay, on a Friday night late in November, before the first of the persons with whom this history has business. The Dover road lay, as to him, beyond the Dover mail, as it lumbered up Shooter’s Hill. He walked uphill in the mire by the side of the mail, as the rest of the passengers did; not because they had the least relish for walking exercise, under the circumstances, but because the hill, and the harness, and the mud, and the mail, were all so heavy, that the horses had three times already come to a stop, besides once drawing the coach across the road, with the mutinous intent of taking it back to Blackheath. Reins and whip and coachman and guard, however, in combination, had read that article of war which forbade a purpose otherwise strongly in favour of the argument, that some brute animals are endued with Reason; and the team had capitulated and returned to their duty.With drooping heads and tremulous tails, they mashed their way through the thick mud, floundering and stumbling between whiles, as if they were falling to pieces at the larger joints. As often as the driver rested them and brought them to a stand, with a wary “Wo-ho! So-ho then!” the near leader violently shook his head and everything upon it—like an unusually emphatic horse, denying that the coach could be got up the hill. Whenever the leader made this rattle, the passenger started, as a nervous passenger might, and was disturbed in mind.There was a steaming mist in all the hollows, and it had roamed in its forlornness up the hill, like an evil spirit, seeking rest and finding none. A clammy and intensely cold mist, it made its slow way through the air in ripples that visibly followed and overspread one another, as the waves of an unwholesome sea might do. It was dense enough to shut out everything from the light of the coach- lamps but these its own workings and a few yards of road; and the reek of the labouring horses steamed into it, as if they had made it all.Two other passengers, besides the one, were plodding up the hill by the side of the mail. All three were wrapped to the cheekbones and over the ears, and wore jack-boots. Not one of the three could have said, from anything he saw, what either of the other two was like; and each was hidden under almost as many wrappers from the eyes of the mind, as from the eyes of the body, of his two companions. In those days, travellers were very shy of being confidential on a short notice, for anybody on the road might be a robber or in league with robbers. As to the latter, when every posting-house and ale-house could produce somebody in “the Captain’s” pay, ranging from the landlord to the lowest stable nondescript, it was the likeliest thing upon the cards. So the guard of the Dover mail thought to himself, that Friday night in November, one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five, lumbering up Shooter’s Hill, as he stood on his own particular perch behind the mail, beating his feet, and keeping an eye and a hand on the arm-chest before him, where a loaded blunderbuss lay at the top of six or eight loaded horse-pistols, deposited on a substratum of cutlass.The Dover mail was in its usual genial position that the guard suspected the passengers, the passengers suspected one another and the guard, they all suspected everybody else, and the coachman was sure of nothing but the horses; as to which cattle he could with a clear conscience have taken his oath on the two Testaments that they were not fit for the journey.“Wo-ho!” said the coachman. “So, then! One more pull and you’re at the top and be damned to you, for I have had trouble enough to get you to it!—Joe!”“Halloa!” the guard replied.“What o’clock do you make it, Joe?”“Ten minutes, good, past eleven.”“My blood!” ejaculated the vexed coachman, “and not atop of Shooter’s yet! Tst! Yah! Get on with you!”The emphatic horse, cut short by the whip in a most decided negative, made a decided scramble for it, and the three other horses followed suit. Once more, the Dover mail struggled on, with the jack-boots of its passengers squashing along by its side. They had stopped when the coach stopped, and they kept close company with it. If any one of the three had had the hardihood to propose to another to walk on a little ahead into the mist and darkness, he would have put himself in a fair way of getting shot instantly as a highwayman.The last burst carried the mail to the summit of the hill. The horses stopped to breathe again, and the guard got down to skid the wheel for the descent, and open the coach-door to let the passengers in.“Tst! Joe!” cried the coachman in a warning voice, looking down from his box.“What do you say, Tom?”They both listened.“I say a horse at a canter coming up, Joe.”“I say a horse at a gallop, Tom,” returned the guard, leaving his hold of the door, and mounting nimbly to his place. “Gentlemen! In the King’s name, all of you!”With this hurried adjuration, he cocked his blunderbuss, and stood on the offensive.The passenger booked by this history, was on the coachstep, getting in; the other two passengers were close behind him, and about to follow. He remained on the step, half in the coach and half out of it; they remained in the road below him. They all looked from the coachman to the guard, and from the guard to the coachman, and listened. The coachman looked back and the guard looked back, and even the emphatic leader pricked up his ears and looked back, without contradicting.The stillness consequent on the cessation of the rumbling and labouring of the coach, added to the stillness of the night, made it very quiet indeed. The panting of the horses communicated a tremulous motion to the coach, as if it were in a state of agitation. The hearts of the passengers beat loud enough perhaps to be heard; but at any rate, the quiet pause was audibly expressive of people out of breath, and holding the breath, and having the pulses quickened by expectation.The sound of a horse at a gallop came fast and furiously up the hill.“So-ho!” the guard sang out, as loud as he could roar. “Yo there! Stand! I shall fire!”The pace was suddenly checked, and, with much splashing and floundering, a man’s voice called from the mist, “Is that the Dover mail?”“Never you mind what it is,” the guard retorted. “What are you?”“Is that the Dover mail?”“Why do you want to know?”“I want a passenger, if it is.”“What passenger?”“Mr. Jarvis Lorry.”Our booked passenger showed in a moment that it was his name. The guard, the coachman, and the two other passengers eyed him distrustfully.“Keep where you are,” the guard called to the voice in the mist, “because, if I should make a mistake, it could never be set right in your lifetime. Gentleman of the name of Lorry answer straight.”“What is the matter?” asked the passenger, then, with mildly quavering speech. “Who wants me? Is it Jerry?”(“I don’t like Jerry’s voice, if it is Jerry,” growled the guard to himself. “He’s hoarser than suits me, is Jerry.”)“Yes, Mr. Lorry.”“What is the matter?”“A despatch sent after you from over yonder. T. and Co.”“I know this messenger, guard,” said Mr. Lorry, getting down into the road, assisted from behind more swiftly than politely by the other two passengers, who immediately scrambled into the coach, shut the door, and pulled up the window. “He may come close; there’s nothing wrong.”“I hope there ain’t, but can’t make so ’Nation sure of that,” said the guard, in gruff soliloquy. “Hallo you!”“Well! And hallo you!” said Jerry, more hoarsely than before.“Come on at a footpace! D’ye mind me? And if you’ve got holsters to that saddle o’ yourn, don’t let me see your hands go nigh ’em. For I’m a devil at a quick mistake, and when I make one it takes the form of Lead. So now let’s look at you.”The figures of a horse and rider came slowly through the eddying mist, and came to the side of the mail, where the passenger stood. The rider stopped, and, casting up his eyes at the guard, handed the passenger a small folded paper. The rider’s horse was blown, and both horse and rider were covered with mud, from the hoofs of the horse to the hat of the man.“Guard!” said the passenger, in a tone of quiet business confidence.The watchful guard, with his right hand at the stock of his raised blunderbuss, his left at the barrel, and his eye on the horseman, answered curtly, “Sir.”“There is nothing to apprehend. I belong to Tellson’s Bank. You must know Tellson’s Bank in London. I am going to Paris on business. A crown to drink. I may read this?”“If so be as you’re quick, sir.”He opened it in the light of the coach-lamp on that side, and read—first to himself and then aloud: “‘Wait at Dover for Mam’selle.’ It’s not long, you see, guard. Jerry, say that my answer was, RECALLED TO LIFE.”Jerry started in his saddle. “That’s a Blazing strange answer, too,” said he, at his hoarsest.“Take that message back, and they will know that I received this, as well as if I wrote. Make the best of your way. Good night.”With those words the passenger opened the coach-door and got in; not at all assisted by his fellow-passengers, who had expeditiously secreted their watches and purses in their boots, and were now making a general pretence of being asleep. With no more definite purpose than to escape the hazard of originating any other kind of action.The coach lumbered on again, with heavier wreaths of mist closing round it as it began the descent. The guard soon replaced his blunderbuss in his arm-chest, and, having looked to the rest of its contents, and having looked to the supplementary pistols that he wore in his belt, looked to a smaller chest beneath his seat, in which there were a few smith’s tools, a couple of torches, and a tinderbox. For he was furnished with that completeness that if the coach-lamps had been blown and stormed out, which did occasionally happen, he had only to shut himself up inside, keep the flint and steel sparks well off the straw, and get a light with tolerable safety and ease (if he were lucky) in five minutes.“Tom!” softly over the coach-roof.“Hallo, Joe.”“Did you hear the message?”“I did, Joe.”“What did you make of it, Tom?”“Nothing at all, Joe.”“That’s a coincidence, too,” the guard mused, “for I made the same of it myself.”Jerry, left alone in the mist and darkness, dismounted meanwhile, not only to ease his spent horse, but to wipe the mud from his face, and shake the wet out of his hat-brim, which might be capable of holding about half a gallon. After standing with the bridle over his heavily-splashed arm, until the wheels of the mail were no longer within hearing and the night was quite still again, he turned to walk down the hill.“After that there gallop from Temple Bar, old lady, I won’t trust your forelegs till I get you on the level,” said this hoarse messenger, glancing at his mare. “‘Recalled to life.’ That’s a Blazing strange message. Much of that wouldn’t do for you, Jerry! I say, Jerry! You’d be in a Blazing bad way, if recalling to life was to come into fashion, Jerry!”
或许您还会喜欢:
一个陌生女人的来信
作者:佚名
章节:34 人气:2
摘要:茨威格(1881-1942),奥地利著名作家、文艺评论家。1881年生于维也纳一一个陌生女人的来信剧照(20张)个富裕的犹太工厂主家庭。青年时代在维也纳和柏林攻读哲学和文学。1904年后任《新自由报》编辑。后去西欧、北非、印度、美洲等地游历。在法国结识维尔哈伦、罗曼·罗兰、罗丹等人,受到他们的影响。第一次世界大战爆发以后,发表反战剧本《耶雷米亚》。 [点击阅读]
七钟面之谜
作者:佚名
章节:34 人气:2
摘要:第一章早起那平易近人的年轻人,杰米·狄西加,每次两级阶梯地跑下“烟囱屋”的宽大楼梯,他下楼的速度如此急速,因而撞上了正端着二壶热咖啡穿过大厅的堂堂主仆崔威尔。由于崔威尔的镇定和敏捷,幸而没有造成任何灾难。 [点击阅读]
万物有灵且美
作者:佚名
章节:15 人气:2
摘要:作者简介JamesHerriot吉米•哈利(1916—1995)(原名JamesAlfredWight)苏格兰人。一个多才多艺的兽医,也是个善于说故事的高手,被英国媒体誉为“其写作天赋足以让很多职业作家羞愧”。平实而不失风趣的文风和朴素的博爱主义打动了千千万万英美读者,并启发了后世的兽医文学。 [点击阅读]
人豹
作者:佚名
章节:39 人气:2
摘要:神谷芳雄还只是一个刚从大学毕业的公司职员。他逍遥自在,只是在父亲担任董事的商事公司的调查科里当个科员,也没有什么固定的工作,所以难怪他忘了不了刚学会的酒的味道和替他端上这酒的美人的勉力,不由得频繁出入那家离京桥不远、坐落在一条小巷里的名叫阿佛洛狄忒的咖啡店。 [点击阅读]
伊迪丝华顿短篇小说
作者:佚名
章节:4 人气:2
摘要:作者:伊迪丝·华顿脱剑鸣译在我还是个小女孩,又回到纽约时,这座古老的都市对我最重要的莫过于我父亲的书屋。这时候。我才第一次能够如饥似渴地读起书来。一旦走出家门,走上那些简陋单调的街道,看不到一处像样的建筑或一座雄伟的教堂或华丽的宫殿,甚至看不到任何足以让人联想到历史的东西,这样的纽约能给一位熟视了无数美丽绝伦的建筑、无数地位显赫的古迹的孩子提供些什么景观呢?在我孩提时代的记忆当中, [点击阅读]
八百万种死法
作者:佚名
章节:34 人气:2
摘要:我看到她进来。想看不到也难。她一头金发近乎银色,要是长在小孩头上,就叫亚麻色。头发编成粗辫子盘在顶上,用发针别住。她前额高而平滑,颧骨突出,嘴巴略大。加上西部风格的靴子,她得有六尺高了。主要是双腿长。她穿着紫色名牌牛仔裤,香槟色皮毛短上衣。雨时断时续下了一整天,但她没带伞,头上也没有任何遮挡。水珠在她的发辫上闪烁着,像钻石。她在门口站了会儿,四下张望。这是周三下午,三点半左右。 [点击阅读]
再次集
作者:佚名
章节:10 人气:2
摘要:昆虫的天地卡弥尼树的枝丫,悬曳着露水打湿的坚韧的蛛丝。花园曲径的两旁,星散着小小的棕色蚁垤。上午,下午,我穿行其间,忽然发现素馨花枝绽开了花苞,达迦尔树缀满了洁白的花朵。地球上,人的家庭看起来很小,其实不然。昆虫的巢穴何尝不是如此哩。它们不易看清,却处于一切创造的中心。世世代代,它们有许多的忧虑,许多的难处,许多的需求——构成了漫长的历史。 [点击阅读]
匹克威克外传
作者:佚名
章节:57 人气:2
摘要:匹克威克派除却疑云,把黑暗化为耀眼的光明,使不朽的匹克威克的光荣事业的早期历史免于湮没,这第一线光辉,是检阅匹克威克社文献中如下的记载得来的;编者把这个记录呈献于读者之前,感到最大的荣幸,这证明了托付给他的浩瀚的文件的时候所具有的小心谨慎、孜孜不倦的勤勉和高超的眼力。一八二七年五月十二日。主席,匹克威克社永任副社长约瑟夫·史密格斯阁下。一致通过如下的决议。 [点击阅读]
变形记
作者:佚名
章节:10 人气:2
摘要:一一天早晨,格里高尔.萨姆沙从不安的睡梦中醒来,发现自己躺在床上变成了一只巨大的甲虫。他仰卧着,那坚硬的像铁甲一般的背贴着床,他稍稍抬了抬头,便看见自己那穹顶似的棕色肚子分成了好多块弧形的硬片,被子几乎盖不住肚子尖,都快滑下来了。比起偌大的身驱来,他那许多只腿真是细得可怜,都在他眼前无可奈何地舞动着。“我出了什么事啦?”他想。这可不是梦。 [点击阅读]
古都
作者:佚名
章节:48 人气:2
摘要:千重子发现老枫树干上的紫花地丁开了花。“啊,今年又开花了。”千重子感受到春光的明媚。在城里狭窄的院落里,这棵枫树可算是大树了。树干比千重子的腰围还粗。当然,它那粗老的树皮,长满青苔的树干,怎能比得上千重子娇嫩的身躯……枫树的树干在千重子腰间一般高的地方,稍向右倾;在比千重子的头部还高的地方,向右倾斜得更厉害了。枝桠从倾斜的地方伸展开去,占据了整个庭院。它那长长的枝梢,也许是负荷太重,有点下垂了。 [点击阅读]
同时代的游戏
作者:佚名
章节:6 人气:2
摘要:1妹妹:我从记事的年代就常常地想,我这辈子总得抽时间把这事写出来。但是一旦动笔写,虽然我相信一定能够按当初确定的写法毫不偏离地写下去,然而回头看看写出来的东西,又踌蹰不前了。所以此刻打算给你写这个信。妹妹,你那下身穿工作裤上身穿红衬衫,衬衫下摆打成结,露出肚子,宽宽的额头也袒露无遗,而且笑容满面的照片,还有那前额头发全用发夹子夹住的彩色幻灯照片,我全看到了。 [点击阅读]
名利场
作者:佚名
章节:75 人气:2
摘要:《名利场》是英国十九世纪小说家萨克雷的成名作品,也是他生平著作里最经得起时间考验的杰作。故事取材于很热闹的英国十九世纪中上层社会。当时国家强盛,工商业发达,由榨压殖民地或剥削劳工而发财的富商大贾正主宰着这个社会,英法两国争权的战争也在这时响起了炮声。 [点击阅读]
Copyright© 2006-2019. All Rights Reserved.