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时间：2020-11-30 21:00:43 作者：菲警察被公鸡杀死 浏览量：48968
The father of the novelist was a man out of the common. A contemporary of his, Le Poitevin Saint-Alme, relates that he united in himself the Roman, the Gaul, and the Goth, and possessed the attributes of these three races — boldness, patience, and health. He avowed himself a disciple of Jean-Jacques Rousseau, considering a return to nature to be the main condition of happiness. He shunned doctors, advocated exercise, long walks, woollen garments for every season, and a more scientific propagation of his species. His daughter — afterwards Madame Surville — says of him in the short biography she wrote of her brother: “My father often railed at mankind, whom he accused of unceasingly contributing to their own misfortune. He could never meet an ill-formed fellow-creature without fulminating against parents and governments, who were less careful to improve the human race than that of animals.”
Oswald did his best to lure Troop from his administrative preoccupations into general topics. But apparently some one whom Troop respected had warned him against general topics. Oswald lugged and pushed the talk towards religion, Aunt Phyllis helping, but they came up against a stone wall. ??My people are Church of England,?? said Troop, intimating thereby that his opinions were banked with the proper authorities. It was not for him to state them. And in regard to politics, ??All my people are Conservative.?? One evening Oswald showed him a portfolio of drawings from various Indian temples, and suggested something of the complex symbolism of the figures. Troop thought it was ??rather unhealthy.?? But??turning from these monstrosities??he had hopes for India. ??My cousin tells me, sir, that cricket and polo are spreading very rapidly there.?? ??Polo,?? said Oswald, ??is an Indian game. They have played it for centuries. It came from Persia originally.?? But Troop was unable to imagine Indians riding horses; he had the common British delusion that the horse and the ship were both invented in our islands and that all foreign peoples are necessarily amateurs at such things. ??I thought they rode elephants,?? said Troop with quiet conviction....
....months ...."As John Smith died in June, 1631, in his fifty-second year, thisstone is clearly not in his honor: and if his dust rests in thischurch, the fire of 1666 made it probably a labor of wasted love tolook hereabouts for any monument of him.
"Oh, he's all right. He's one of the Spanish legation. This is just the place for counts. I shouldn't wonder, Maria, if you'd like to be a countess. We can afford it--the Countess Jeremiah, eh?" and Uncle Jerry's eyes twinkled.
“Very well,” said Diamond; and getting out of bed, he jumped into North Wind’s arms. Sure enough, the moment he felt her arms fold about him, he began to feel better. It was a moonless night and very dark, with glimpses of stars when the clouds parted.
“May I come too, and see the peacock, Sir Geoffry? I’ll wait here, though, if Mr. Duffham thinks I ought.”
November 11, 1848.
“No,” cried Miss Miniver, almost vehemently. “You are wrong! I did not think you thought such things. Bodies! Bodies! Horrible things! We are souls. Love lives on a higher plane. We are not animals. If ever I did meet a man I could love, I should love him”— her voice dropped again —“platonically.”
“But you will give me the tooth-ache. Mother has it already.”
1.The other day, reading the paper, I came upon a half-column that interested me. It was headed: “Slimness-While-You-Wait,” and a sub-heading ran: “The ‘Boiled Cyclist’ Treatment.” Who could resist such invitations as these! Not I.
2.Light-hearted, and free from care, they had met to pass the evening hours, with songs and wondrous tales.>
The question did not come as a surprise to Polly; she had already put it to herself. After the affair with Sara she awaited her new visitor in fear and trembling. Sara had at least stood in awe of Richard and held her tongue before him; Mrs. Beamish prided herself on being afraid of nobody, and on always speaking her mind. And yet, even while agreeing that it would be well to put “mother” off, Polly drooped her wings. At a time like this a woman was a woman. It seemed as if even the best of husbands did not quite understand.
Babbitt was an average father. He was affectionate, bullying, opinionated, ignorant, and rather wistful. Like most parents, he enjoyed the game of waiting till the victim was clearly wrong, then virtuously pouncing. He justified himself by croaking, “Well, Ted’s mother spoils him. Got to be somebody who tells him what’s what, and me, I’m elected the goat. Because I try to bring him up to be a real, decent, human being and not one of these sapheads and lounge-lizards, of course they all call me a grouch!”