第一篇：现代大学精读英语4 lesson five课文(外语教学出版社)
Lesson 5 Man of the moment Alan Ayckboun
V-Vick Parks D-Douglas Beechey N-Nerys T-Trudy S-Sharon
(The scene is set at the Spanish holiday villa of VIC PARKS.He is sitting in the garden with DOUGLAS, waiting for the television interview.There are two other people in the garden-the gardener and VIC’s manager.Presently SHARON returns from the swimming pool, carring an armful of the children’s toys)
V: Hey, Sharon…
S: Yes, Mr.Parks?
V: Where are the children?
S: They’re having their tea in the kitchen, Mr.Parks.V: Sit down, then.S: I’ve got to go and-
V: Sit down.S: Yes, Mr.Parks.(SHARON sits.she is hot and slightly breathless.)
V: Get your breath back.S: Thank you.V: Look at her.Puffing like a whale, aren’t you?
S: Yes, Mr.Parks.V(To the others): Have you ever seen anyone sweating like that? I bet it’s running off you underneath there, isn’t it, eh? Eh?(SHARON doesn’t reply.)Running down your arms? Trickling down your legs? If there’s one thing I hate, it’s to see a woman sweating like that.It’s bad enough on a man, it’s obscene on a woman, don’t you agree? Why you’re sitting there like a great bowl of pork dripping? Do you know the reason why you’re sitting there like a great bowl of pork dripping? Because you are fat.D: I don’t think that’s fair, she’s just…
V: Here, let her tell you something, just a second.Sharon…
S: Yes, Mr.Parks.V: Tell them what you ate on your last birthday, Sharon.Tell them.S(muttering): Twelve rum babas.V: Come on, say it louder…
S(loudly): Twelve rum babas, Mr.Parks.V: Twelve rum babas.Can you imagine that? Still, we’re working on you, aren’t we, Sharon? We’re slowly melting you down, aren’t we?
(SHARON suddenly starts to cry very quietly.)
D: Look, I really don’t think you should go on tormenting this girl simply because-
V: You mind your own business-
D(undaunted):-simply because she’s a shade overweight.It is cruel and it is-
V(suddenly yelling at him): I said mind your own bloody business.(A silence.SHARON gets up and runs into the house.She passes TRUDY who is coming out.TRUDY looks at the men and appears to sum up the scene.)
(To DOUGLAS, softly)I hope I don’t have to remind you again that are a guest in this house.And the way I choose to treat my staff is entirely my concern.Ok?
(Douglas is silent.)
T: They were nearly ready.V: I’ve been waiting here.Patiently.T(bright to DOUGLAS): I wondered if you wanted to take up my offer and stroll down to the beach, Douglas? While they’re doing their interview?
D: Oh, lovely, yes.Thank you very much.V(sourly): Yes, you take him down the beach, good idea.T(faintly sarcastic): Oh, dear.You haven’t been disagreeing with my husband, have you? I hope not.D: No I –
T: You mustn’t do that, you know.He only likes people who agree with him all the time.It comes of being surrounded by people who nod at him all day at work.He prefers us all to nod at home, too…
V(innocently): What did I do, eh? What am I meant to have done, now?
(DOUGLAS and TRUDY have just returned from their walk along the beach.They begin to discuss what happened in the bank raid seventeen years ago.)
T: You really don’t bear any resentment for what he did? To you? To your wife? It’s like it never mattered to you at all?
D: Oh, it mattered.Of course it did.Only –well, it wasn’t as straightforward as that.Let me try and explain, then.It’s difficult.(Pause.)Working with me in this bank-I was twenty-five at the time-was the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my life, anywhere.Before or since.Her name was Nerys Mills.And I was madly in love with her.Some days I couldn’t look at her at all.My hands would shake and my voice used to crack then I spoke and I’d feel sick in my stomach.Anyway, needless to say-Nerys didn’t take notice of me.No, that’s not exactly true.She was generally of the reserves as far as she was concerned.She was actually unofficially engaged to this other man-(darkly.)I forget his name now.T: Did he work in the bank as well?
D: No, no.He was a salesman.There’s an amusing story to that, I’ll come back to that.Anyway, I sat there and –longed for her-day after day, month after month-fantasized about her a little-nothing unpleasant, you know…
T: No, no.D: And some mornings she’d have chat with me between customers.And then the sun would shine all day, you know…
(He smiles.)
T(smiling): Yes…
D: And other mornings, she’d come in like thunder-something obviously had gone wrong the
night before with her and that man… And then, of course, you never got a smile…
T(sadly): Ah…
D: And as time went by, I was just resigning myself to life without her-when the bank raid occurred.And that did change everything.There’s no doubt about it.I don’t know why I did what I did.Your husband was right, it was madness.It just seemed the only thing to do at the time, that’s all.There was this stranger threatening the woman that I cared more than own life for… I couldn’t help myself, you see?
T:(engrossed)No, I see.I see.D: Afterwards, I went to see her a lot in hospital.Partly through guilt.Only partly.But, you see, if I hadn’t run at Vic like that, she might never have-Not that she’s ever blamed me.She’s never once, ever-never.Anyway, I went to see her, as soon as they’d let us in to visit.I imagined there’d be so many people round the bed she’d never see me, anyway.And there were, to start with.I was just there waving my daffodils at her from the back of the crowd.And then slowly they all drifted away.Stopped coming to see her.T: How rotten.Aren’t people rotten, sometimes?
D: Yes, I thought that at first.Then I realized later, of course.She’d been sending them all away.A beautiful woman like she’d been, she couldn’t bear to be seen like-that.She couldn’t stand it.I mean, she wasn’t vain.Not really.But if you’re used all your life to people taking pleasure in looking at you, then it must be very hurtful when they suddenly start instinctively looking away from you.T: But you didn’t? Look away from her?
D: Well, I think I probably did, yes.But, you see, if I looked away from her, it didn’t matter quite so much because she’d never valued my opinion of her anyway.So it never worried her.And there I was, with her all to myself.Visiting every day.Cheering her up.And over the weeks we got very friendly.T: And did she fall in love with you?
D: I don’t know.T: But did she never say to you…
D: No.And I didn’t ask her.It didn’t matter.She liked me.And more important, she needed me.That’s what mattered.And I loved her.(He smiles)I was going to tell you, you know, when I left the bank, I applied for my present job with this double glazing company.I thought it might-you know-increase my standing with her.Since she seemed to have a liking for double glazing men.Ridiculous.We laughed about that later.Anyway, she came out.And we marred quietly.And we got a joint word, I’m happy to report.(Pause.)So what do I say? I hate you, Vic, because of what you did to the most beautiful woman in the world? Or, thank you very much, Vic, for being instrumental in arranging for me to marry the unattainable girl of my dreams? Difficult to know which to say, isn’t it?(pause.)All right.I know you might well say, what about her? What about poor old Nerys? Well, all I can say is, without prejudice, that man she was engaged to originally was really disgusting.He really was.He treated Nerys like-well, there were times when-not just me, you understand… we all could have done-in that bank.This man-he treated her as only a handsome man can treat a beautiful woman.If you know what I mean.T: Yes, I do.I think I do.(They listen to the music for a moment.)
D(cheerfully): Well, that’s-that’s my wife.Sorry if I bored you.(pause.)this is very pleasant music, isn’t it? Country and western? Am I right?
T(weakly): Yes.Vic likes it.We used to … when we were …(Her voice tails away.)
(DOUGLAS waits for her to finish the sentence.She doesn’t.She is evidently in some distress.She looks at DOUGLAS.Suddenly and unexpectedly, she kisses him on the mouth.Then pulls away and avoids his look.He, after taking a second to recover, avoids her in turn.They sit, pretending, it hasn’t happened.)
D(at length): Yes, I’m very partial to country and western music.They always manage to come up with a good tune, don’t they?
T(in a little voice): I’m sorry.(Then, pulling herself together.)There’s nothing we can do for you, then? Vic and I? Nothing?
D: Do?
T: Well, to help in any way … money or …
D: No, no …
T: it’s just so rare to meet someone who doesn’t want something from us these days … I suppose that’s called being successful.Or is it because it’s us who are offering?
D: No, it’s not that.I just don’t think there’s anything.Thank you very much.Well, I think I must to back to my hotel.They’ll be serving dinner soon …
T: You’re welcome to stop and have supper with us if you-
D: No, that’s very kind of you, but you’ll see quite enough of me again tomorrow.T: Well, wait there a second, I’ll fetch the keys and run you back-
D: No, please.T: It’s no trouble –
D: I’d rather walk, I really would.Really.I don’t get the chance to walk around islands that much.T(reluctantly): Well …
D: Thank you for all your hospitality today.You’ve been very kind.You really have.(He starts to move back towards the gate)Straight down the hill, I take it?
T: Yes.Only when you get to the fork that leads to the sea-the one we took-go right instead of left.D: Simple enough.Well.See you tomorrow, Trudy.T: Goodnight, Douglas.D(turning in the gateway): Er …(smiling.)there’s one thing I wouldn’t have minded, I suppose.Not that you could have given it to me.But since you mentioned wanting thing …
T: what’s that? Anything we –
D: No, I was just thinking.I was a hero, I suppose, for all of a year.People wrote to me.Sent for my photograph.Listened to what I had to say.I think it would have been nice to have been a hero for a bit longer …
T: You still are-to people like Nerys.And I bet there are others who still remember …
D: No, I think I’m best remembered now as the idiot who tackled an armed robber and nearly got someone’s head blown off in the process.I think you ended up with the hero, Trudy, not poor old Nerys.You stick with him.You stick with Vic.If you’re looking for heroes.See you in the morning.(DOUGLAS goes out through the gate.TRUDY stares after him.)
T(faintly): Yes …
(She gets up to go into the house, then she decides that, if she’s going to cry, she’d better cry out here.She sits down again and starts to weep quietly and privately.In a little shile, there is a faint slapping sound from the swimming pool towards the deep end.She carries a weighted diving belt.She is also crying.In fact, she is in a desperate, heart-broken state.)
TRUDY watches her, astonished.SHARON, unaware she is watched, starts to fasten the diving belt about her waist.(cautiously)Sharon? What are you doing there?
S(between sobs): Mrs.Parks …
T(moving to her, alarmed): You are going to what?
S: I’m sorry, Mrs.Parks.I love him so much, and he doesn’t care about me at all.T: Sharon …
S(as in one breath): He just says I’m fat and I’ve got to get thin and I’ve tried to get thin but I can’t get thin whatever I do because when he says he doesn’t love me I just keep eating because I’m so unhappy … and I love him so much, Mrs.Parks, I’m ever so sorry …
T: Yes … I’m sorry, Sharon … I don’t know how it is, believe me I do …
S: No, you don’t-you can’t …
T: Yes, I do.Sharon, I do …
S: Nobody knows –
(The music from the house stops as the record comes to an end.)
T: Sharon, it’s a passing thing, I promise.It’s something we all go through.God help us.It’ll pass …
S: No, it won’t pass.I’ve loved Vic for years …
T: Years? But you’ve only been with us two months …
S: I used to watch him on the telly and I used to write to him and he used to write back to me …
T: Sharon, he gets thousands of letters a week.He doesn’t even read them, let alone write back …
S: He did, he wrote to me and it was in his writing.And then when I got this job working for him I
just thought it was going to be so wonderful, but he’s just been horrible to me … I don’t know what I’ve done … what I have done wrong, Mrs.Parks?
(VIC comes out of the house and listens, unnoticed.)
T(fiercely): The only thing you did wrong, Sharon, was to love him in the first place … because he is not a man to love.Sharon, I promise you.I speak as one who has tried for eight years, Sharon to keep loving him … I swear to God I have tried.And if you are honestly clinging on to life in the hope of getting one tiny scrap of care or consideration back from that self-centred, selfish man, then all I can say is, you’d better jump in there now, Sharon, and cut your losses.(SHARON understandably, is a little shaken by this outburst.She stands indecisively.VIC steps out further.Both women see him for the first time.)
V: Well, well.You know what they say.You never hear good about yourself, do you?
T: Tell her, Vic, for God’s sake.V: Tell her what?
T: I just caught her trying to drown herself …
V(amused): what?
T: Vic, talk to her …
V: What do you want to drown yourself for, Sharon?
T: What do you think … ?
V: I have no idea.I have no idea why this great big girl should want to drown herself …
(SHARON sobs and finishes fastening her belt.)
T: Vic …
V: Why? Just tell me?
T: Because of you’ve said to her.Done to her.V: What?
T: Whatever you said-whatever you did.I don’t know.I don’t want to know …
V: I’ve never laid a finger on her, have I? Sharon, tell her, I’ve never laid a finger on you … have I? Eh?
S(unhappily): No, Mr.Parks …
V: There you are.No.she confirms that …
T(shouting): You know bloody well what you’ve done to her, Vic, now do something about it …
V: I am not being shouting at.Let her jump …
(He turns to move into the house.SHARON prepares to jump into the pool.)
T(yelling): Vic …
(SHARON jumps into the pool.Weighted down by her diver’s belt, she sinks rapidly under the dark water and vanishes in a trail of bubbles.)
T(screaming): Sharon!
V(surprised SHARON has done it): bloody hell!
(Vic moves towards the pool.)
T: Dive in and get her out, for God’s sake …
V: I’m not diving in there.Not in these clothes.T: Vic, the girl is drowning.V: You dive in.T: I can’t get her out, she’s far too big to me.V: We could sprinkle rum babas on the surface.That’ll bring her up …
T: You bastard …(desperately.)Oh, dear god.(Running to the gate and yelling.)Douglas!Douglas!Douglas!He’s gone … If she dies, Vic, if that girl dies …
V: Nobody would miss her except the national union of bakers …
T(running at him in fury): You …God, I hate you!I really so hate you!（She attacks him with both her fists.）
V(amused and fending her off easily): Hey, hey, hery!
T(beating at him): I’d so love to … hurt you … like you … hurt … other people, sometimes …
(She lands a blow that VIC doesn’t care for.He takes her a little more seriously.)
V: Qi!Now, Trudy!That’s enough.You’ve had your fun …
(He starts to pinion her arms to protect himself.TRUDY continues to fight and VIC forced to turn her away from him and grab her neck in the crook of his arm.TRUDY is infuriated by her impotence against his superior strength.Barely have they finished struggling when DOUGLAS runs back into the garden through the gate.He is halfway to the house before he sees VIC and TRUDY.)
D(as he enters): What’s the problem? I –(DOUGLAS stops and stares at them in amazement.)
T(weakly, choking in Vic’s grip): Douglas … please!
V(calmly): Now, it’s all right.Don’t get excited and nobody’ll get hurt, all right?
(DOUGLAS reacts like a charger on hearing the bugle call.He gives a sudden wild yell of fury and rushes at VIC head down.)
D: Aaaaarrrrgggghhhh!
V(startled): Jesus!
(VIC pushes TRUDY to one side in order to defend himself – not for the first time in his life-from DOUGLAS’s sudden wild onslaught.DOUGLAS catches VIC in the chest.VIC grunts with pain.Both men lose their balance.VIC topples into the pool.DOUGLAS is left kneeling on the edge.)
T: Douglas? Are you all right?
D: Yes, I … I’m … I’m sorry, I … where’s Vic?
T: He’s in the …
(As she starts to speak, VIC’s hand grips the edge of the pool.He hauls himself up.He looks very dangerous.)
V(breathless): Right.There is about to be some serious damage done, I can tell you …(pointing at DOUGLAS and TRUDY in turn.)To you.And to you/
(DOUGLAS and TRUDY draw back, nervously.VIC seems about to climb out of the pool.Suddenly the waters part and a large black shape, barely recognizable as SHARON, breaks surface and seizes hold of VIC around the neck from behind.)As soon as I’ve … Uurrgghhh!(He is dragged under the water by SHARON’s sheer weight.)
D(genuinely alarmed): Oh, my goodness, what is it, a whale?
T: No, it’s Sharon …
(There is a great deal of frenzied thrashing about under the water.TRUDY and DOUGLAS watch, unable to do much else.The waters finally still.SHARON comes up for air and props herself against the side of the pool, breathlessly and strangely happy.TRUDY and DOUGLAS approach her cautiously.)
T: Sharon …?
D: Sharon …?
T: Are you all right?
S(gathering enough breath to speak): Yes, thank you, Mrs.Parks …
D(trying to calm her desperate breathing): Easy.Easy now …
T(a sudden thought): Sharon, where’s Mr.Parks?
S(apologetically): I’m standing on him, Mrs.Parks.(TRUDY and DOUGLAS react with alarm.)
D: Sharon, for goodness sake …
T(with DOUGLAS): For God’s sake, get off him …
(Together, they start to haul SHARON out of the water.They land her on the poolside.VIC floats to the surface.SHARON lies panting while TRUDY and DOUGLAS pull VIC floats to the surface.SHARON lies panting while TRUDY and DOUGLAS pull VIC from the water.)
(To DOUGLAS)Turn him over, we must get the water out of him …
D: Right.(They turn VIC over.DOUGLAS and TRUDY try to work on VIC rather ineffectually.)
T: I don’t know what you do.I think you have to pump his ribs somehow …
D: I’m afraid I don’t really have much of an idea …
S(heaving herself up): Here, let me …
T: No, Sharon, I’d rather you …
S: it’s all right, Mrs.Parks, I’ve got my life-saver’s medal.(SHARON takes over from TRUDY and DOUGLAS watch her anxiously.)
T: Anything …?
S: No, I don’t think he’s … responding.T: Oh, God.S: Hang on.(She rolls VIC over and tries the kiss of life a couple of times.There is no response.)
T(anxiously): No?
S: No, I’m sorry, Mrs.Parks, I …(starting to cry as the realization finally hits her.)I’m sorry.I’m ever so sorry …
第二篇：现代大学精读英语4 lesson two课文(外语教学出版社)
Lesson 2 Waiting for the Police
I wonder where Mr Wainwright's gone?' said Mrs Mayton.It didn't matter to her in the least where he had gone.All that mattered was that he paid his three guineas a week regularly for board and lodging.But lifedon't mean...?' he gulped.`That is exactly what I mean,' replied Penbury.There had been,countless silences in Mrs Mayton's drawing-room, but never a silence like this one.Miss Wicks broke it.`Shouldn't the police be sent for?' she suggested.`They already have,' said Penbury.`I phoned the station just before coming into the room.'
`How longwhen do you expect...?' stammered Monty.`The police? I should say in two or three minutes,' responded Penbury.His voice suddenly shed its cynicism and became practical.`Shall we try and make use of these two or three minutes? We shall all be questioned, and perhaps we can clear up a little ground before they arrive.'
Mr Calthrop looked angry.`But this is nothing to do with any of us, sir!' he exclaimed.`The police will not necessarily accept our word for it,' answered Penbury.`That is why I propose that we consider our alibis in advance.I am not a doctor, but I estimate from my brief examination
of the body that it has not been dead more than an hour.Since it is now ten past nine, and at twenty to eight we saw him leave the dining-room for his bedroom...'
`How do you know he went to his bedroom?' interrupted Miss Wicks.`Because, having a headache, I followed him upstairs to go to mine for some aspirin, and my room is immediately opposite his,' Penbury explained.`Now, if my assumption is correct, he was killed between ten minutes past eight and ten minutes past nine, so anyone who can prove that he or she has remained in this room during all that time should have no worry.'
He looked around inquiringly.`We've all been out of the room,' Miss Wicks announced for the company.`That is unfortunate,' murmured Penbury.`But so have you!' exclaimed Monty, with nervous aggression.`Yes-so I have,' replied Penbury.`Then let me give my alibi first.At twenty minutes to eight I followed Wainwright up to the second floor.Before going into his room he made an odd remark whichnine o'clock.Then I came back.The door you heard closing, Mrs Mayton, was not Wainwright going out.It was me coming in.'
`Wait a moment!' ejaculated Bella.`Yes?'
`How did you know Mrs Mayton heard the front door close? You weren't here!'
Penbury regarded her with interest and respect.`Intelligent,' he murmured.`Now, then, don't take too long thinking of an answer!' glared Mr Calthrop.`I don't need any time at all to think of an answer,' retorted Penbury.`I know because I listened outside the door.But as I say, I came back.I went up to my room.' He paused.`On the floor I found a handkerchief.So I went into his room to ask if the handkerchief was his.I found him lying on the ground near his bed.On his back.Head towards the window.Stabbed through the heart.But no sign of what he'd been stabbed with...It looks to me a small wound, but deep.It
found the spot all right...The window was closed and fastened.Whoever did it entered through the door.I left the room and locked the door.I knew no one should go in again till the police and police doctor turned up.I came down.The telephone, as you know, is in the dining-room.Most inconvenient.It should be in the hall.Passing the door of this room,I listened, to hear what you all were talking about.Then I went into the dining-room and telephoned the police.And then I joined you.'
Flushed and emotional, Mrs Mayton challenged him.`Why did you sit here for three minutes without telling us?' she demanded.`I was watching you,' answered Penbury, coolly.`Well, I call that a rotten alibi!' exclaimed Mr Calthrop.`Who's to prove you were out all that time?'
`At half past eight I had a cup of coffee at the coffee-stall in Junkers Street,' replied Penbury.`That's over a mile away.It's not proof, I admit, but they know me there, you see, and it may help.Well, who's next?'
`I am', said Bella.`I left the room to blow my nose.I went to my room for a handkerchief.And here it is!' she concluded, producing it triumphantly.`How long were you out of the room?' pressed Penbury.`Abour five minutes.'
`A long time to get a handkerchief.'
`Perhaps.But I not only blew my nose, I powdered it.'
`That sounds good enough,' admitted Penbury.`Would you oblige next, Mr Calthrop? We all know you walk in your sleep.A week ago you walked into my room, didn't you.Have you lost a handkerchief?'
Mr Calthrop glared.`What the devil are you implying?' he exclaimed.`Has Mr Calthrop dozed during the past hour?' pressed Penbury.`Suppose I have?' he cried.`What damned rubbish!Did I leave this room without knowing it, and kill Wainwright for-for no reason at all ?' He swallowed, and calmed down.`I left the room,sir, about twenty minutes ago to fetch the evening paper from the dining-room to do the crossword
puzzle!' He tapped it viciously.`Here it is!'
Penbury shrugged his shoulders.`I should be the last person to refute such an emphatic statement,' he said, `but let me suggest that you give the statement to the police with slightly less emphasis, Mr Smith?'
Monty Smith had followed the conversation anxiously, and he had his story ready.`This is why I left the room.I suddenly remembered that I'd forgotten to return Mr Wainwright's latchkey.Then I met Mrs Mayton, who asked me to help her with the curtain of the landing window.It had come off some of its hooks.I did so and then returned to the drawing-room with her.You'll remember, all of you, that we returned together.'
`That's right,' nodded Mrs Mayton.`And the reason I went out was to fix the curtain.'
Penbury looked at Monty hard.`What about that latchkey?' he demanded.`Eh? Oh, of course,' jerked Monty.`The curtain put it out of my mind.I came down with it still in my pocket.'
`And you didn't go up to his room?'
`No!I've just said so, haven't I?'
Penbury shrugged his shoulders again.He did not seem satisfied.But he turned now to Miss Wicks, and the old lady inquired, while her needles moved busily.`My turn?'
`If you'll be so good,' answered Penbury.`Just as a matter of form.'
`Yes, I quite understand,' she replied, smiling.`There's no need to apologize.Well, I left the drawing-room to fetch some knitting-needles.The steel ones I'm using now.My room, as of course you know, is also on the second floor and after I'd got the needles I was just about to come down when I heard Mr Wainwright's cough...`What time was that?' interrupted Penbury.`Just before nine, I think it was,' said Miss Wicks.`Oh, that irritating cough!How it gets on one's nerves, doesn't it? Or I should say, how it did get on one's nerves.Morning, noon and night.And he wouldn't do anything for it.Enough to send one mad.'
She paused.The tense atmosphere grew suddenly tenser.`Go on,' murmured Penbury.`Well,' continued Miss Wicks.` Your door was open, Mr Penbury, and I went in to ask if we couldn't do something about it.But you were out.And suddenly, when I heard Mr Wainwright coughing again across the passage ,well, I felt I couldn't stand it any more, and I was knocking at his door almost before I knew it.It was my handkerchief you found in your room, Mr Penbury.I must have dropped it there.'
She paused again.Again Penbury murmured, `Go on.'
She turned on him with sudden ferocity.`Will you stop interrupting?' shouted the old woman.Penbury moistened his lips.For a few moments Miss Wicks knitted rapidly, the steel points of the needles making the only sound in the room.Then she continued, in a queer hard voice.“Come in,” called Mr Wainwright.“I'm coming in,” I called back.And I went in.And there he stood smiling at me.“You haven't come to complain of my cough again, have you?” he asked.“No,” I answered.“I've come to cure it.” And I plunged a steel knitting-needle into his heart-like this!'
She stretched out a bony hand, and, with amazing strength, stabbed a cushion.The next instant there came a knocking on the front door.`The police!' gasped Mr Calthrop.But no one moved.With tense ears they listened to the maid ascending from the basement, they heard the front door open, they heard footsteps entering...A moment later they heard Mr Wainwright's cough.`Yes, and I heard it when he went out ten minutes ago,' smiled Miss Wicks.`But thank you very much indeed, Mr Penbury.I was as bored as the rest of them.'
第三篇：现代大学精读英语4 lesson eight课文(外语教学出版社)
Lesson 8 Globalization’s Dual Power
At the edge of a new century, globalization is a double-edged sword: a powerful vehicle that raises economic growth, spreads new technology and increases living standards in rich and poor countries alike, but also an immensely controversial process that assaults national sovereignty, erodes local culture and tradition and threatens economic and social instability.A daunting question of the 21st century is whether nations will control this great upheaval or whether it will come to control them.In some respects globalization is merely a trendy word for an old process.What we call the market is simply the joining of buyers and sellers, producers and consumers and savers and investors.Economic history consists largely of the story of the market's expansion: from farm to town, from region to nation and from nation to nation.In the 20th century, the Depression and two world wars retarded the market's growth.But after World War II ended, it reaccelerated, driven by political pressures and better technology.The Cold War, from the late 1940s through the 1980s, caused the United States to champion trade liberalization and economic growth as a way of combating communism.A succession of major trade negotiations reduced average tariffs in industrialized countries to about 5 percent in 1990 from about 40 percent in 1946.After two world wars, Europeans saw economic unification as an antidote to deadly nationalism.Technology complemented politics.Even before the Internet, declining costs for communication and transportation — from jet planes, better undersea telephone cables and satellites — favored more global commerce.By the early 1990s, world exports(after adjusting for inflation)were nearly 10 times higher than they had been four decades earlier.Globalization continues this process but also departs from it in at least one critical respect.Until recently, countries were viewed as distinct economic entities, connected mainly by trade.Now, this is becoming less true.Companies and financial markets increasingly disregard national borders when making production, marketing and investment decisions.As recently as 1990, governments — either individually or through such multilateral institutions as the World Bank — provided half the loans and credits to 29 major developing countries(including Brazil, China, India, South Korea and Mexico), according to the Institute for International Finance, a banking industry research group in Washington.A decade later, even after Asia's 1997-98 financial crisis, private capital flows dwarf governmental flows.In 1999, private flows(bank loans, bond financing, equity investment in local stock markets and direct investment by multinational companies)totaled an estimated $136 billion to these 29 countries, compared with government capital flows of $22 billion, according to the institute.Meanwhile, multinational companies have gone on an international acquisition binge.In the first half of 1999 alone, the value of new cross-border mergers and acquisitions passed $500 billion in both advanced and developing countries.The total roughly matched the amount for all 1998($544 billion)and was almost seven times larger than the 1991 levels($85 billion), according to the World Investment Report by the United Nations.The recent takeover struggle between British and German wireless giants — Vodafone AirTouch PLC and Mannesmann AG — is exceptional only for its size and bitterness.Behind the merger boom lies the growing corporate conviction that many markets have become truly global.By trying to maximize their presence in as many nations as possible, companies seek to achieve economies of scale — that is, to lower costs through higher sales and production volumes — and to stay abreast of technological changes that can now occur almost anywhere.In addition, companies increasingly organize production globally, dividing product design, component manufacturing and final assembly among many countries.But it is not just multinational companies, seeking bigger sales and profits, that drive globalization.Governments do, too.In Europe, the relentless pursuit of the “single market” is one indicator.This reflects a widespread recognition that European companies will be hard-pressed to compete in global markets if their local operations are hamstrung by fragmented national markets.Among poorer countries, the best sign of support is the clamor to get into the World Trade Organization.Since 1995, seven countries — Bulgaria, Ecuador, Estonia, Kyrgyzstan, Latvia, Mongolia and Panama — have joined.And 32(the largest being China)are seeking membership.There is a belief that global trade and investment can aid economic development by providing new products, technologies and management skills.It's no myth.Countries succeed or fail mainly based on their own workers, investment and government policies.But engaging the wider world economy can help.Consider Asia.Despite its financial crisis, rapid trade expansion and economic growth sharply cut the number of the desperately poor.From 1987 to 1998, those in the region, including China, with incomes of $1 or less a day dropped to 15 percent from 27 percent of the population, the World Bank estimates.Meanwhile, Latin America and sub-Saharan Africa — whose embrace of the world economy has been late or limited — fared much less well.In Africa, for example, the World Bank reckons that 46 percent of the population lived on less than $1 a day in 1998, exactly what the percentage was in 1987.Well, if globalization is so good, why is it also so risky? The answer is that two problems could neutralize its potential benefits.The first is economic instability.The global economy may be prone to harsher boom-bust cycles than national economies individually.The theory that international trade and investment raise living standards works only if investment funds are well used and if trade flows do not become too lopsided.The Asian financial crisis raised questions on both counts.In the early 1990s, most of Asia thrived because it received vast flows of foreign capital as bank loans, direct investment in factories or stock-market investment in local companies.The ensuing spending boom in turn aided Europe, Japan and the United States by increasing imports from them.Then the boom abruptly halted in mid-1997 when it became apparent that as a result of “crony capitalism,” inept government investment policies and excess optimism, much of the investment had been wasted on unneeded factories, office buildings and apartments.What prevented the Asian crisis from becoming a full-scale global economic downturn has been the astonishing U.S.economy.Its relentless growth helped the rest of the world by purchasing more and more of their exports.Since 1996, the U.S.current-account deficit in its balance of payments — the broadest measure of the country's international trade — has more than doubled, from $129 billion to an estimated total of $330 billion in 1999.The world economy, as Treasury Secretary Lawrence Summers has repeatedly said, has been flying on one engine.The trouble is, as Mr.Summers has also warned, this cannot go on forever.The great danger is that the world has become too dependent on American prosperity and that a slowdown or recession — reflecting a decline in the stock market, a loss of consumer confidence or higher interest rates — might snowball into a international slump.By economic forecasts, Europe and Japan are going to do better.In 2000, the European Union's gross domestic product will grow 2.8 percent, up from 2.1 percent in 1999, according to projections by the Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development in Paris.Japan is projected to grow 1.4 percent, the same as the OECD is predicting for 1999 but a big improvement from the 2.8 percent drop in 1998.If the forecasts materialize— and the OECD's growth estimates for Japan exceed most private forecasts — they will restore some balance to the world economy and relieve fears of a global recession.Asia and Latin America can continue to recover without relying solely on exports to the United States.But until that happens, no one can be certain that Asia's financial crisis has truly ended.It remains possible that abrupt surges of global capital, first moving into Asia and then out, will have caused, with some delay, a larger instability.Globalization's other problem is political, cultural and social.People feel threatened by any kind
of economic change — and change from abroad naturally seems especially alien and menacing.The street protesters at the Seattle meeting of the World Trade Organization in early December may have lacked a common agenda or even a coherent case against trade.But they accurately reflected the anxiety and anger that globalization often inspires.So do European fears of genetically modified food or nationalistic opposition to cross-border mergers.What is local and familiar is suddenly being replaced or assaulted by something that is foreign and unfamiliar.And even if trade helps most people, it will usually create some losers.In the United States, workers in some high-cost industries — steel and autos, most conspicuously — suffered from intensified import competition.Just because globalization is largely spontaneous — propelled by better communications and transportation — does not mean that it is inevitable or completely irreversible.Governments can, in subtle and not-so-subtle ways, shield local industries and workers against imports or discriminate against foreign investors.If only a few countries do, their actions will not matter much.Global capital and trade will go where they are most welcome and productive.Indeed, it is precisely this logic that has persuaded so many countries to accept globalization.If they don't, someone else will.Judged by their behavior, most governments believe they have more to gain than to lose.But this does not mean that a powerful popular backlash, with unpredictable consequences, is not possible.In a global recession, too many sellers will be chasing too few buyers.A plausible presumption is that practical politicians would try to protect their constituents from global gluts.If too many countries did, globalization could implode.It's a scary prospect.Economic interdependence cuts both ways.Under favorable conditions, it helps everyone;under unfavorable conditions, it hurts everyone.Globalization's promise may exceed its peril — but the peril is still real.Both await the new century.One of the great dramas will be to see which prevails.
第四篇：现代大学精读英语4 lesson ten课文(外语教学出版社)
Lesson ten
The Telephone
When I was growing up in Magdaluna, a small Lebanese village in the terraced, rocky mountains east of Sidon, time didn't mean much to anybody, except maybe to those who were dying.In those days, there was no real need for a calendar or a watch to keep track of the hours, days, mouths, and years.We knew what to do and when to do it, just as the Iraqi geese knew when to fly north, driven by the hot wind that blew in from the desert.The only timepiece we had need of then was the sun.It rose and set, and the seasons rolled by and we sowed seed and harvested and ate and played and married our cousins and had babies who got whooping cough and chickenpox—and those children who survived grew up and married their cousins and had babies who got whooping cough and chickenpox.We lived and loved and toiled and died without ever needing to know what year it was, or even the time of day.It wasn't that we had no system for keeping track of time and of the important events in our lives.But ours was a natural or, rather, a divine calendar, because it was framed by acts of God: earthquakes and droughts and floods and locusts and pestilences.Simple as our calendar was, it worked just fine for us.Take, for example, the birth date of Teta Im Khalil, the oldest woman in Magdaluna and all the surrounding villages.When I asked Grandma, “How old is Teta Im Khalil?”
Grandma had to think for a moment;then she said, “I've been told that Teta was born shortly after the big snow that caused the roof on the mayor's house to cave in.”
“And when was that?” I asked.“Oh, about the time we had the big earthquake that cracked the wall in the east room.”
Well, that was enough for me.You couldn't be more accurate than that, now, could you?
And that's the way it was in your little village for as far back as anybody could remember.One of the most unusual of the dates was when a whirlwind struck during which fish and oranges fell from the sky.Incredible as it may sound, the story of the fish and oranges was true, because men who would not lie even to save their own souls told and retold that story until it was incorporated into Magdaluna's calendar.The year of the fish-bearing whirlwind was not the last remarkable year.Many others followed in which strange and wonderful things happened.There was, for instance, the year of the drought, when the heavens were shut for months and the spring from which the entire village got its drinking water slowed to a trickle.The spring was about a mile from the village, in a ravine that opened at one end into a small, flat clearing covered with fine gray dust and hard, marble-sized goat droppings.In the year of the drought, that little clearing was always packed full of noisy kids with big brown eyes and sticky hands, and their mothers—sinewy, oberworked young women
with cracked, brown heels.The children ran around playinh tag or hide-and-seek while the women taked, shooed flied, and awaited their turns to fill up their jars with drinking water to bring home to their napping men and wet babies.There were days when we had to wait from sunup until late afternoon just to fill a small clay jar with precious, cool water.Sometimes, amid the long wait and the heat and the flies and the smell of goat dung, tempers flared, and the young women, anxious about their babies, argued over whose turn it was to fill up her jar.And sometimes the arguments escalated into full-blown, knockdown-dragout fights;the women would grab each other by the hair and curse and scream and spit and call each other names that made my ears tingle.We little brown boys who went with our mothers to fetch water loved these fights, because we got to see the women’s legs and their colored panties as they grappled and rolled around in the dust.Once in a while, we got lucky and saw much more, because some of the women wore nothing at all under their long dresses.God, how I used to look forward to those fights.I remember the rush, the excitement, the sun dancing on the dust clouds as a dress ripped and a young white breast was revealed, then quickly hidden.In my calendar, that year of drought will always be one of the best years of my childhood.But, in another way, the year of the drought was also one of the worst of my life, because that was the year that Abu Raja, the retired cook, decided it was time Magdaluna got its own telephone.Every civilized village needed a telephone, he said, and Magdaluna was not going to get anywhere until it had one.A telephone would link us with the outside world.A few men —like the retired Turkish-army drill sergeant, and the vineyard keeper—did all they could to talk Abu Raja out of having a telephone brought to the village.But they were outshouted and ignored and finally shunned by the other villagers for resisting progress and trying to keep a good thing from coming to Magdaluna.One warm day in early fall, many of the villagers were out in their fields repairing walls or gathering wood for the winter when the shout went out that the telephone-company truck had arrived at Abu Raja’s dikkan, or country store.When the truck came into view, everybody dropped what they were doing and ran to Abu Raja’s house to see what was happening.It did not take long for the whole village to assemble at Abu Raja’s dikkan.Some of the rich villagers walked right into the store and stood at the elbows of the two important-looking men from the telephone company, who proceeded with utmost gravity, like priests at Communion, to wire up the telephone.The poorer villagers stood outside and listened carefully to the details relayed to them by the not-so-poor people who stood in the doorway and could see inside.“The bald man is cutting the blue wire, “someone said.“He is sticking the wire into the hole in the bottom of the black box,” someone else added.“The telephone man with the mustache is connecting to pieces of wire.Now he is twisting the ends together, ” a third voice chimed in.Because I was small, I wriggled my way through the dense forest of legs to get a firsthand look at the action.Breathless, I watched s the men in blue put together a black machine that supposedly would make it possible to talk with uncles, aunts, and cousins who lived more than two days’ ride away.It was shortly after sunset when the man with the mustache announced that the telephone was ready to use.He explained that all Abu Raja had to do was lift the receiver, turn the crank on the black box a few times, and wait for an operator to take his call.Abu Raja grabbed the receiver and turned the crank forcefully.Within moments, he was talking with his brother in Beirut.He didn’t even have to raise his voice or shout to be heard.And the telephone, as it turned out, as bad news.With its coming, the face of the village began to charge.One of the first effects was the shifting of the village’s center.Before the telephone’s arrival, the men of the village used to gather regularly at the house of Im Kaleem, a short, middle-aged widow with jet-black hair and a raspy voice that could be hard all over the village, even when she was only whispering.She was a devout Catholic and also the village whore.The men met at her house to argue about politics and drink coffee and play cards or backgammon.Im Kaleem was not a true prostitute, however, because she did not charge for their services—not even for the coffee and tea that she served the men.She did not need the money;her son, who was overseas in Africa, send her money regularly.Im Kaleem loved all the men she entertained, and they loved her, every one of them.in a way, she was married to all the men in the village.Everybody knew it but nobody objected.Actually I suspect the women did not mind their husbands’ visits to Im Kaleem.Oh, they wrung their hands and complained to one another about their men’s unfaithfulness, but secretly they were relieved, because Im Kaleem took some of the pressure off them and kept the men out of their hair while they attended to their endless chores.Im Kaleem was also a kind of confessor and troubleshooter, talking sense to those men who were having family problems, especially the younger ones.Before the telephone came to Magdaluna, Im Kaleems house was bustling at just about any time of day, especially at night, when the loud voices of the men talking, laughing, and arguing could be heard in the street below—a reassuring, homey sound.Her house was an island of comfort, an oasis for the weary village men, exhausted from having so little to do.But it wasn’t long before many of those men—younger ones especially —started spending more of their days and evenings at Abu Raja’s dikkan.There, they would eat and drink and talk and play checkers and backgammon, and then lean their chairs back against the wall—the signal that they were ready to toss back and forth, like a ball, the latest rumors going around the village.And they were always looking up from their games and drinks and talk t glance at the phone in the corner, as if expecting it to ring any minute and bring news that would change their lives and deliver them from their aimless existence.In the meantime, they smoked cheap, hand-rolled cigarettes, dug dirt out from under their fingernails with big pocketknives, and drank lukewarm sodas that they called Kacula, Seffen-Ub, and Bebsi.The telephone was also bad news for me personally.It took away my lucrative business—a source
of much-needed income.Before, I used to hang around Im Kaleem’s courtyard and play marbles with the other kids, waiting for some man to call down from a window and ask me to run to the store for cigarettes or liquor, or to deliver a message to his wife, such as what he wanted for supper.There was always something in it for me: a ten-or even a twenty-five-piaster piece.On a good day, I ran nine or ten of those errands, which assured a steady supply of marbles that I usually lost to other boys.But as the days went by fewer and fewer men came to Im Kaleem’s, and more and more congregated at Abu Raja’s to wait by the telephone.In the evenings, the laughter and noise of the men trailed off and finally stopped.At Abu Raja’s dikkan, the calls did eventually come, as expected, and men and women started leaving the village the way a hailstorm begins: first one, then two, then bunches.The army took them.Jobs in the cities lured them.And ships and airplanes carried them to such faraway places as Australia and Brazil and New Zealand My friend Kameel, his cousin Habeeb, and their cousins and my cousins all went away to become ditch diggers and mechanics and butcher-shop boys and deli owners who wore dirty aprons sixteen hours a day, all looking for a better life than the one they had left behind.Within a year, only the sick, the old, and the maimed were left in the village.Magdaluna became a skeleton of its former self, desolate and forsaken, like the tombs, a place to get away from.Finally, the telephone took my family away, too.My father got a call from an old army buddy who told him that an oil company in southern Lebanon was hiring interpreters and instructors.My father applied for a job and got it, and we moved to Sidon, where I went to a Presbyterian missionary school and graduated in 1962.Three years later, having won a scholarship, I left Lebanon for the United States.Like the others who left Magdaluna before me, I am still looking for that better life.
第五篇：现代大学精读英语4 lesson one课文(外语教学出版社)
Lesson 1 Thinking as a Hobby
William Golding
While I was still a boy, I came to the conclusion that there were three grades of thinking;and that I myself could not think at all.It was the headmaster of my grammar school who first brought the subject of thinkingbefore me.He had somestatuettes in his study.They stood on a high cupboard behind his desk.One was a lady wearing nothing but a bath towel.She seemed frozen in an eternal panic lest the bath towel slip down any farther, and since she had no arms, she was in an unfortunate position to pull the towel up again.Next to her, crouched the statuette of a leopard, ready to spring down at the top drawer of a filing cabinet.Beyond the leopard was a naked, muscular gentleman, who sat, looking down, with his chin on his fist and his elbow on his knee.He seemed utterly miserable.Some time later, I learned about these statuettes.The headmaster had placed them where they would face delinquent children, because they symbolized to him to whole of life.The naked lady was the Venus.She was Love.She was not worried about the towel.She was just busy being beautiful.The leopard was Nature, and he was being natural.The naked, muscular gentleman was not miserable.He was Rodin's Thinker, an image of pure thought.I had better explain that I was a frequent visitor to the headmaster's study, because of the latest thing I had done or left undone.As we now say, I was not integrated.I was, if anything, disintegrated.Whenever Ifound myself in a penal position before the headmaster's desk, I would sink my head, and writhe one shoe over the other.The headmaster would look at me and say，“What are wegoing to do with you?”
Well, what were they going to do with me? I would writhe my shoe some more and staredown at the worn rug.“Look up, boy!Can't you look up?”
Then I would look at the cupboard, where the naked lady was frozen in her panic and themuscular gentleman contemplated the hindquarters of the leopard in endless gloom.I had nothing to say to the headmaster.His spectacles caught the light so that you could see nothing human behind them.There was no possibility of communication.“Don't you ever think at all?”
No, I didn't think, wasn't thinking, couldn't thinkhadn't you?“
On one occasion the headmaster leaped to his feet, reached up and put Rodin's masterpiece on the desk before me.”That's what a man looks like when he's really thinking.“
Clearly there was something missing in me.Nature had endowed the rest of the human race with a sixth sense and left me out.But like someone born deaf, but bitterly determined to find out about sound, I watched my teachers to find outabout thought.There was Mr.Houghton.He was always telling me to think.With a modest satisfaction, he would tell that he had thought a bit himself.Then why did he spend so much time drinking? Or was there more sense in drinking than there appeared to be? But if not, and if drinking were in fact ruinous to healthwhy was he always talking about the clean life and the virtues of fresh air?
Sometimes, exalted by his own oratory, he would leap from his desk and hustle usoutside into a hideous wind.”Now, boys!Deep breaths!Feel it right down inside youand I know what I think!“
Mr.Houghton thought with his neck.This was my introduction to the nature of what is commonly called thought.Through them I discovered that thought is often full of unconscious prejudice, ignorance, and hypocrisy.It will lecture on disinterested purity while its neck is being remorselessly twisted toward a skirt.Technically, it is about as proficient as most businessmen's golf, as honest as most politician's intentions, or as coherent as most books that get written.It is what I came to call grade-three thinking, though more properly, it is feeling, rather than thought.True, often there is a kind of innocence in prejudices, but in those days I viewed grade-three thinking with contempt and mockery.I delighted to confront a pious lady who hated the Germans with the proposition that we should love our enemies.She taught me a great truth in dealing with grade-three thinkers;because of her, I no longer dismiss lightly a mental process which for nine-tenths of the population is the nearest they will ever get to thought.They have immense solidarity.We had better respect them, for we are outnumbered and surrounded.A crowd of grade-three thinkers, all shouting the same thing, all warming their hands at the fire of their own prejudices, will not thank you for pointing out the contradictions in their beliefs.Man enjoys agreement as cows will graze all the same way on the side of a hill.Grade-two thinking is the detection of contradictions.Grade-two thinkers do not stampede easily, though often they fal linto the other fault and lag behind.Grade-two thinking is a withdrawal, with eyes and ears open.It destroys without having the power to create.It set me watching the crowds cheering His Majesty the King and asking myself what all the fuss was about, without giving me anything positive to put in the place of that heady patriotism.But there were compensations.To hear people justify their habit of hunting foxes by claiming that the foxes like it.To her our Prime Minister talk about the great benefit we conferred on India by jailing people like Nehru and Gandhi.To hear American politicians talk about peace and refuse to join the League of Nations.Yes, there were moments of delight.But I was growing toward adolescence and had to admit that Mr.Houghton was not the only one with an irresistible spring in his neck.I, too, felt the compulsive hand of nature and began to find that pointing out contradiction could be costly as well as fun.There was Ruth, for example, a serious and attractive girl.I was an atheist at the time.And she was a Methodist.But, alas, instead of relying on the Holy Spirit to convert me, Ruth was foolish enough to open her pretty mouth in argument.She claimed that the Bible was literally inspired.I countered by saying that the Catholics believed in the literal inspiration of Saint Jerome's Vulgate, and the two books were different.Argument flagged.At last she remarked that there were an awful lot of Methodists and they couldn't bewrong, could theynot all those hundreds of millions? An awful flicker of doubt appeared in her eyes.I slid my arm round her waist and murmured that if we were counting heads, the Buddhists were the boys for my money.She fled.The combination of my arm and those countless Buddhists was too much for her.That night her father visited my father and left, red-cheeked and indignant.I was given the third degree to find out what had happened.I lost Ruth and gained an undeserved reputation as a potential libertine.Grade-two thinking, though it filled life with fun and excitement, did not make for content.To find out the deficiencies of our elders satisfies the young ego but does not make for personal security.It took the swimmer some distance from the shore and left him there, out of his depth.A typical grade-two thinker will say, ”What is truth?“ There is still a higher grade of thought which says, ”What is truth?" and sets out to find it.But these grade-one thinkers were few and far between.They did not visit my grammar school in the flesh though they were there in books.I aspired to them, because I now saw my hobby as an unsatisfactory thing if it went no further.If you set out to climb a mountain, however high you climb, you have failed if you cannot reach the top.I therefore decided that I would be a grade-one thinker.I was irrelevant at the best of times.Political and religious systems, social customs, loyalties and traditions, they all came tumbling down like so many rotten apples off a tree.I came up in the end with what mustalways remain the justification for grade-one thinking.I devised a coherent system for living.It was a moral system, which was wholly logical.Of course, as I readily admitted, conversion of the world to my way of thinking might be difficult, since my system did away with a number of trifles, such as big business, centralized government, armies, marriage...It was Ruth all over again.I had some very good friends who stood by me, and still do.But my acquaintances vanished, taking the girls with them.Young people seemed oddly contented with the world as it was.A young navy officer got as red-necked as Mr.Houghton when I proposed a world without any battleships in it.Had the game gone too far? In those prewar days, I stood to lose a great deal, for the sake of a hobby.Now you are expecting me to describe how I saw the folly of my ways and came back to the warm nest, where prejudices are called loyalties, pointless actions are turned into customs by repetition, where we are content to say we think when all we do is feel.But you would be wrong.I dropped my hobby and turned professional.
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