讀點(diǎn)好英文:Sons and Lovers 兒子與情人

Sons and Lovers 兒子與情人

[英]戴維·赫伯特·勞倫斯（D.H.Lawrence）

《兒子與情人》是一部帶有自傳性質(zhì)的長篇小說。莫爾太太把兒子當(dāng)作自己理想中的愛人，她照顧他，撫養(yǎng)他，她做的一切，都超出了一位母親所能做的。她對兒子的這種愛，不是單純的親情之愛，更大程度上來說是一種愛情的體現(xiàn)。而保羅，也在心目中把自己的母親當(dāng)作了自己的愛人，以至于他覺得，只要他母親在，他在此生就不可能找到自己的愛人。因為這個愛人就在他身邊，那就是他的母親。

When he was twenty-three years old Paul sent in a landscape to the winter exhibition at Nottingham Castle. Miss Jordan had taken a good deal of interest in him, had invited him to her house, where he met other artists.He was beginning to grow ambitious.

One morning the postman came just as he was washing in the scullery. Suddenly he heard a wild noise from his mother.Rushing into the kitchen, he found her standing on the hearthrug wildly waving a letter and crying“Hurra h!”as if she had gone mad.He was shocked and frightened.

“Why, mothe r!”he exclaimed.

She flew to him, flung her arms round him for a moment, then waved the letter, crying:

“Hurrah, my bo y!I knew we should do i t!”

He was afraid of her—the small, severe woman with greying hair suddenly bursting out in such frenzy. The postman came running back, afraid something had happened.They saw his tipped cap over the short curtains.Mrs.morel rushed to the door.

“His picture's got first prize, Fred,”she cried,“and is sold for twenty guineas.”

“My word, that's something lik e!”said the young postman, whom they had known all his life.

“And Major Moreton has bought i t!”she cried.

“It looks like meanin'something, that does, Mrs. Morel,”said the postman, his blue eyes bright.He was glad to have brought such a lucky letter.Mrs.Morel went indoors and sat down, trembling.Paul was afraid lest she might have misread the letter, and might be disappointed after all.He scrutinized it once, twice.Yes, he became convinced it was true.Then he sat down, his heart beating with joy.

“Mothe r!”he exclaimed.

“Didn't I say we should do i t!”she said, pretending she was not crying.

He took the kettle off the fire and mashed the tea.

“You didn't think, mother—”he began tentatively.

“No, my son—not so much—but I expected a good deal.”

“But not so much,”he said.

“No—no—but I knew we should do it.”

And then she recovered her composure, apparently at least. He sat with his shirt turned back, showing his young throat almost like a girl's, and the towel in his hand, his hair sticking up wet.

“Twenty guineas, mothe r!That's just what you wanted to buy Arthur out. Now you needn't borrow any.It'll just do.”

“Indeed, I shan't take it all,”she said.

“But why?”

“Because I shan't.”

“Well—you have twelve pounds, I'll have nine.”

They cavilled about sharing the twenty guineas. She wanted to take only the five pounds she needed.He would not hear of it.So they got over the stress of emotion by quarreling.

Morel came home at night from the pit, saying:

“They tell me Paul's got first prize for his picture, and sold it to Lord Henry Bentley for fifty pound.”

“Oh, what stories people do tel l!”she cried.

“H a!”he answered.“I said I wor sure it wor a lie. But they said tha'd told Fred hodgkisson.”

“As if I would tell him such stuf f!”

H a!assented the miner.

But he was disappointed nevertheless.

“It's true he has got the first prize,”said Mrs. Morel.

The miner sat heavily in his chair.

“Has he, begu y!”he exclaimed.

He stared across the room fixedly.

“But as for fifty pounds—such nonsens e!”she was silent awhile.“Major Moreton bought it for twenty guineas, that's true.”

“Twenty guinea s!Tha niver say s!”exclaimed Morel.

“Yes, and it was worth it.”

“A y!”he said.“I don't misdoubt it. But twenty guineas for a bit of a paintin'as he knocked off in an hour or tw o!”

He was silent with conceit of his son. Mrs.Morel sniffed, as if it were nothing.

“And when does he handle th'money?”asked the collier.

“That I couldn't tell you when the picture is sent home, I suppose.”

There was silence. Morel stared at the sugar-basin instead of eating his dinner.His black arm, with the hand all gnarled with work, lay on the table.His wife pretended not to see him rub the back of his hand across his eyes, nor the smear in the coal-dust on his black face.

“Yes, an'that other lad'ud'a done as much if they hadna ha'killed'im,”he said quietly.

The thought of William went through Mrs. Morel like a cold blade.It left her feeling she was tired, and wanted rest.

Paul was invited to dinner at Mr Jordan's. Afterwards he said:

“Mother, I want an evening suit.”

“Yes, I was afraid you would,”she said. She was glad.There was a moment or two of silence,“There's that one of William's,”she continued,“that I know cost four pounds ten and which he'd only worn three times.”

“Should you like me to wear it, mother?”he asked.

“Yes, I think it would fit you—at least the coat The trousers would want shortening.”

He went upstairs and put on the coat and vest. Coming down, he looked strange in a flannel collar and a flannel shirt-front, with an evening coat and vest.It was rather large.

“The tailor can make it right,”she said, smoothing her hand over his shoulder,“It's beautiful stuff. I never could find in my heart to let your father wear the trousers, and very glad I am now.”

And as she smoothed her hand over the silk collar she thought of her eldest son. But this son was living enough inside the clothes.She passed her hand down his back to feel him.He was alive and hers.The other was dead.

He went out to dinner several times in his evening suit that had been William's. Each time his mother's heart was firm with pride and joy.He was started now.The studs she and the children had bought for William were in his shirt-front;he wore one of William's dress shirts.But he had an elegant figure.His face was rough, but warm-looking and rather pleasing.He did not look particularly a gentleman, but she thought he looked quite a man.

He told her everything that took place, everything that was said. It was as if she had been there.And he was dying to introduce her to these new friends who had dinner at seven-thirty in the evening.

“Go along with yo u!”she said.“What do they want to know me for?”

“They d o!”he cried indignantly.“If they want to know me—and they say they do—then they want to know you, because you are quite as clever as I am.”

“Go along with you, chil d!”she laughed.

But she began to spare her hands. They, too, were work-gnarled now.The skin was shiny with so much hot water, the knuckles rather swollen.But she began to be careful to keep them out of soda.She regretted what they had been—so small and exquisite.And when Annie insisted on her having more stylish blouses to suit her age, she submitted.She even went so far as to allow a black velvet bow to be placed on her hair.Then she sniffed in her sarcastic manner, and was sure she looked a sight.But she looked a lady, Paul declared, as much as Mrs.Major Moreton, and far, far nicer.The family was coming on.Only Morel remained unchanged, or rather, lapsed slowly.

Paul and his mother now had long discussions about life. Religion was fading into the background.He had shoveled away all the beliefs that would hamper him, had cleared the ground, and come more or less to the bedrock of belief that one should feel inside oneself for right and wrong, and should have the patience to gradually realize one's God.Now life interested him more.

“You know,”he said to his mother,“I don't want to belong to the well-to-do middle class. I like my common people best.I belong to the common people.”

“But if anyone else said so, my son, wouldn't you be in a tear. You know you consider yourself equal to any gentleman.”

“In myself,”he answered,“not in my class or my education or my manners. But in myself I am.”

“Very well, then. Then why talk about the common people?”

“Because—the difference between people isn't in their class, but in themselves. Only from the middle classes one gets ideas, and from the common people—life itself, warmth.You feel their hates and loves.”

“It's all very well, my boy. But, then, why don't you go and talk to your father's pals?”

“But they're rather different.”

“Not at all. They're the common people.After all, whom do you mix with now—among the common people?Those that exchange ideas, like the middle classes.The rest don't interest you.”

“But—there's the life—”

“I don't believe there's a lot more life from Miriam than you could get from any educated girl—say Miss Moreton?It is you who are snobbish about class.”

She frankly wanted him to climb into the middle class, a thing not very difficult, she knew. And she wanted him in the end to marry a lady.

Now she began to combat him in his restless fretting. He still kept up his connexion with Miriam, could neither break free nor go the whole length of engagement.And this indecision seemed to bleed him of his energy.Moreover, his mother suspected him of an unrecognized leaning towards Clara, and, since the latter was a married woman, she wished he would fall in love with one of the girls in a better station of life.But he was stupid, and would refuse to love or even to admire a girl much, just because she was his social superior.

“My boy,”said his mother to him,“All your cleverness, your breaking away from old things, and taking life in your own hands, doesn't seem to bring you much happiness.”

“What is happines s!”he cried.“It's nothing to m e!How am I to be happy?”

The plump question disturbed her.

“That's for you to judge, my lad. But if you could meet some good woman who would make you happy—and you began to think of settling your life—when you have the means—so that you could work without all this fretting—it would be much better for you.”

He frowned. His mother caught him on the raw of his wound of Miriam.He pushed the tumbled hair off his forehead, his eyes full of pain and fire.

“You mean easy, mother,”he cried.“That's a woman's whole doctrine for life—ease of soul and physical comfort. And I do despise it.”

“Oh, do yo u!”replied his mother.“And do you call yours a divine discontent?”

“Yes. I don't care about its divinity.But damn your happines s!So long as life's full, it doesn't matter whether it's happy or not.I'm afraid your happiness would bore me.”

“You never give it a chance,”she said. Then suddenly all her passion of grief over him broke out.“But it does matte r!”she cried.“And you ought to be happy, you ought to try to be happy, to live to be happy.How could I bear to think your life wouldn't be a happy on e!”

“Your own's been bad enough, mater, but it hasn't left you so much worse off than the folk who've been happier. I reckon you've done well.And I am the same.Aren't I well enough off?”

“You're not, my son. Battle—battle—and suffer.It's about all you do, as far as I can see.”

“But why not, my dear?I tell you it's the best—”

“It isn't. And one ought to be happy, one ought.”

By this time Mrs. Morel was trembling violently.Struggles of this kind often took place between her and her son, when she seemed to fight for his very life against his own will to die.He took her in his arms.She was ill and pitiful.

“Never mind, Little,”he murmured.“So long as you don't feel life's paltry and a miserable business, the rest doesn't matter, happiness or unhappiness.”

She pressed him to her.

“But I want you to be happy,”she said pathetically.

“Eh, my dear—say rather you want me to live.”

Mrs. Morel felt as if her heart would break for him.At this rate she knew he would not live.He had that poignant careless-ness about himself, his own suffering, his own life, which is a form of slow suicide.It almost broke her heart.With all the passion of her strong nature she hated Miriam for having in this subtle way undermined his joy.It did not matter to her that Miriam could not help it.Miriam did it, and she hated her.

23歲時，保羅送了一幅風(fēng)景畫參加諾丁漢城堡舉辦的冬季畫展。喬登小姐對他非常感興趣，還邀請他去她家里，在那里他見到了其他的藝術(shù)家。他逐漸變得雄心勃勃了。

一天早上，他正在水槽旁洗臉，郵差來了。他突然聽到母親大叫了一聲，他飛快地沖進(jìn)廚房，只見她正站在爐前的地毯上，手里拿著一封信使勁揮舞著大喊：“好哇！”就像發(fā)瘋似的。他被嚇住了。

“你怎么了，媽媽？”他喊道。

她朝他飛跑過來，猛地抱住他，緊緊地抱了一會兒，然后揮舞著信大聲說：

“好哇，我的孩子！我就知道我們能成功！”

他心里發(fā)怵——這個身材矮小、神態(tài)嚴(yán)肅、頭發(fā)斑白的女人怎么會突然這樣瘋頭瘋腦。郵差生怕出什么事，又跑了回來。母子倆從短窗簾上看到了他那頂翹著的帽子。莫爾太太就飛奔了過去。

“他的畫得了一等獎，弗雷德，”她大聲叫著說，“還賣了20幾尼?！?/p>

“我的天，真了不起！”這位年輕的郵差說，他從小就認(rèn)識他們。

“莫爾頓少校買下了那幅畫。”她大聲說道。

“看樣子是件大好事，確實是這樣的，莫爾太太。”郵差說道，他那對藍(lán)眼睛也發(fā)亮了。他送來了一份喜報，心里可高興呢。莫爾太太進(jìn)屋坐下來，激動得身體直哆嗦。保羅生怕她看錯信，到頭來落得一場空歡喜。他仔細(xì)地把這封信看了一遍又一遍。沒錯，他現(xiàn)在也相信了這一切是真的。這時他才坐下，興奮不已，心怦怦直跳。

“媽媽！”他歡呼道。

“我以前不就說過我們會成功的嗎！”她說著，不想讓他看出自己在流淚。

他把水壺從爐子上拿下來，泡了杯茶。

“你沒想到過，媽媽——”他試探著說。

“是的，我的兒子——我沒想到——不過我對你期望很高。”

“可是你沒想到。”他說。

“是的，我沒想——真沒想到——但我一直相信我們會成功的?！?/p>

她終于恢復(fù)了平靜，至少看上去是這樣。他敞開襯衫坐著，露出像女孩一般白皙的脖子，手里拿著毛巾，頭發(fā)濕淋淋地豎著。

“20幾尼，媽媽！剛好可以把亞瑟贖出來?，F(xiàn)在你不必去借錢了。這錢夠了?！?/p>

“可是，我不會都拿去的。”她說。

“為什么？”

“因為我不應(yīng)該用?！?/p>

“那好——你拿去12鎊，9鎊我留著。”

為如何分這20幾尼，他們爭論不休。她只想拿5鎊就夠了，可他不聽。因此，他們爭執(zhí)了起來，剛才的激動情緒也平息了。

晚上莫爾從礦井下班回來，說：

“他們告訴我，保羅的畫拿了一等獎，亨利·本特利爵士還用50英鎊把它買下了?！?/p>

“喲，瞧人家編的故事多離奇！”她大聲說。

“哈！”他答道，“我就說他們一定在撒謊?？伤麄冋f那是你告訴弗雷德·霍奇金森的?！?/p>

“真像我會告訴他這番話似的！”

“哈！”這位煤礦工人附和著。

不過他還是有點(diǎn)失望。

“他得了一等獎沒錯?！蹦獱柼f。

莫爾一屁股坐在椅子上。

“是嗎？好小子！”他失聲驚叫道。

他目不轉(zhuǎn)睛地盯著他對面的墻壁。

“但那50英鎊——純屬謠言！”她停了一下，“其實是莫爾頓少校用20幾尼買了它?！?/p>

“20幾尼，真有那么多！”莫爾大聲叫道。

“是的，它值這么多錢?！?/p>

“哎！”他說，“我就是不信，人們竟然花20幾尼買他用一兩個小時畫出的小玩意兒！”

他為兒子暗暗感到自豪。莫爾太太若無其事地哼了一聲。

“他什么時候能拿到錢？”礦工問。

“那我可說不上。我想，要在畫送到以后吧?！?/p>

大家都沉默著。莫爾沒在吃飯，兩眼盯著糖罐看。他那黝黑的胳膊擱放在桌子上，那雙手因勞動而粗糙不堪。他用手背擦了一下眼睛，在黑黑的臉上留下了一抹煤灰，他妻子假裝沒看見。

“是的，要是他們沒把老大整死，他也能賺這么多?！彼止局?/p>

一想到威廉，莫爾太太心如刀割。這下她才覺得自己累了，要歇歇了。

保羅應(yīng)邀到喬登家吃晚飯。于是保羅說：

“媽媽，我想要一套晚禮服?！?/p>

“好，我想你也該有一套了?！彼f著，心里很高興。他們倆沉默了一會兒?！巴幸患?，”她繼續(xù)說，“我記得他花了四鎊十先令買的，就穿過三次?！?/p>

“你想讓我穿那件衣服，媽媽？”他問。

“是的，我想你穿著它會合身的——至少上衣肯定合身。褲子還需要改短一點(diǎn)?！?/p>

他上樓去穿上晚禮服的上衣和背心。下樓來時，只見他那晚禮服上衣和背心露出法蘭絨襯衫的前襟和衣領(lǐng)，樣子看起來很怪。衣服太肥了。

“裁縫改一下就好了，”她用手捋捋他肩膀，說，“料子很不錯。我不舍得讓你爸爸穿這褲子，可現(xiàn)在我很高興你能穿它了?！?/p>

她又整了整衣領(lǐng)，想起了她的大兒子。而現(xiàn)在，他的衣服卻穿在了這個生龍活虎的兒子身上。她撫摸著他，他還活著，而且是屬于她的。而另一個兒子卻已經(jīng)死了。

好幾次，保羅晚上出去吃飯都穿著威廉的衣服。每次他媽媽都會很高興，備感驕傲。他現(xiàn)在有了新的開始。他襯衫的前襟釘著她和孩子們給威廉買的飾物；襯衫是威廉的。他的體態(tài)優(yōu)雅，他的臉部線條粗獷，看上去很熱情，挺討人喜歡的?？瓷先ルm不見得特別像紳士，但她覺得他很有男子漢的氣概。

他把所見所聞統(tǒng)統(tǒng)都講給她聽。好像她也在場似的。他非常想在七點(diǎn)半吃晚飯的時候把她介紹給他的新朋友。

“去你的吧！”她說，“他們?yōu)槭裁聪胝J(rèn)識我？”

“他們想認(rèn)識你！”他憤憤不平地說，“如果他們想認(rèn)識我的話——而且他們說過他們想認(rèn)識我——他們就會想認(rèn)識你，因為你和我一樣聰明能干。”

“去你的吧，傻孩子！”她笑著說道。

不過，她倒愛惜起自己的一雙手來了。這雙手干了太多家務(wù)活，如今也粗糙了。手上的皮膚用熱水浸過后就閃閃發(fā)亮，關(guān)節(jié)也腫脹起來。她開始注意不讓手浸到蘇打水里。從前她的手是那么纖小而細(xì)嫩，一想起來就十分惋惜。當(dāng)安妮堅持讓她添一些適合她年齡穿的時髦點(diǎn)的襯衫時，她順從了。她甚至同意給她在頭上扎一個綢制的黑色蝴蝶結(jié)。她覺得自己的行為很滑稽，覺得自己看上去怪模怪樣的。但保羅卻總說她看上去像個貴婦人，可以和莫爾頓少校夫人相媲美，而且是有過之而無不及。全家境況日見好轉(zhuǎn)。只有莫爾和原來一樣沒有變化，或者更確切地說，在慢慢退步。

保羅和他的母親近來經(jīng)常會長時間地談?wù)撊松?。宗教漸漸退居次要地位。所有牽制他的思想也被他鏟除出去，他清掃場地，多少奠定了這樣的信仰基礎(chǔ)：人應(yīng)該用自己的內(nèi)心來判斷是非曲直，應(yīng)該耐心地逐漸認(rèn)識自己心中的上帝?，F(xiàn)在他對生活更感興趣了。

“你要知道，”他對他母親說，“我不想成為生活富足的中產(chǎn)階級。我還是情愿做普通老百姓。我屬于老百姓?！?/p>

“可是，如果是別人這樣對你說，我的孩子，你聽了不會難過嗎？你要知道你向來認(rèn)為自己和紳士沒有什么差別。”

“從我本身來說是這樣的，”他回答，“但這和我的階級、我的教育和我的行為舉止無關(guān)，就我本身來說，確是平等的。”

“說得不錯，可你干嗎又要說什么老百姓呢？”

“因為——人的差別不在于階級，而在于本身。你能從中產(chǎn)階級那里得到的只是思想，而從普通老百姓那里——獲得的是生活本身，還有他們強(qiáng)烈的情感。你感受到他們的愛和恨?！?/p>

“對倒是對，我的孩子?？墒?，那你為什么不去和你父親的哥們兒聊聊呢？”

“可他們有些不同?！?/p>

“你錯了。他們就是普通老百姓。最重要的是，你現(xiàn)在和誰混在一起——是和普通的老百姓？和那些愛交流思想的人才對，比如那些中產(chǎn)階級。其他的人你是不會感興趣的?！?/p>

“可是——還有生活——”

“我就不相信，米里亞姆的生活會比那些受過教育的小姐——比如莫爾頓小姐的生活要豐富得多。對階級抱勢利觀點(diǎn)的人是你?！?/p>

坦白地說，她很想讓他躋身于中產(chǎn)階級，她知道，這并不是很難。她希望他最終能娶個名門淑女。

現(xiàn)在她開始跟滿心煩惱的他進(jìn)行斗爭。他仍然跟米里亞姆藕斷絲連；既不能徹底斷掉，也沒發(fā)展到訂婚這一步。這種優(yōu)柔寡斷把他折磨得精疲力竭。而且他母親懷疑他可能對有夫之婦克萊拉暗中傾心，她希望他能和一位生活條件優(yōu)越一點(diǎn)的女子談戀愛。他太傻，竟然因為女孩子社會地位比他高就不愿去愛慕她們，甚至不愿去對她們表達(dá)愛慕之情。

“我的孩子，”母親對他說，“你聰明，你不受舊事物羈絆，而且能掌握自己的未來，這一切看來并沒有帶給你很多幸福。”

“幸福是什么東西！”他叫道，“它對我來說什么東西都不是！我怎么做才能幸福？”

這句魯莽的話把她問得心煩意亂。

“這要由你來判斷了，我的孩子。但如果你遇到某個好姑娘，她能令你幸?！汩_始想安定下來——你有了收入后——那你就會安安心心地工作，沒那么多煩惱——你就會比現(xiàn)在好多了?！?/p>

他皺了皺眉頭。母親觸到他和米里亞姆關(guān)系的痛處。他把額前亂蓬蓬的頭發(fā)撥開，兩眼冒火，十分痛苦。

“你說得容易，媽媽，”他喊道，“那只是女人的全部的生活教條——精神上的安寧和肉體上的舒適。我看不起這些東西?！?/p>

“哦，你這么想！”他母親回答，“你把你的生活教條叫作一種神圣的缺憾？”

“是的，我不關(guān)心它是否神圣。讓你的幸福見鬼去吧！只要生活充實，幸福不幸福又有什么關(guān)系。反而你的幸福會讓我厭煩?！?/p>

“你從來沒去嘗試過?！彼f。一下子，她對他的悲痛之情全部都爆發(fā)出來?！靶腋：苤匾?！”她喊道，“而且你應(yīng)該得到幸福，你應(yīng)該努力使自己幸福，幸福地去生活。我怎么忍心眼看你過得不幸福！”

“你自己的生活很不幸，媽媽，但你并沒有比那些生活得比你幸福的人更糟。我認(rèn)為你做得很好。我和你一樣。我不是也很好嗎？”

“不好，我的兒子。搏斗——搏斗——然后受苦。這就是我所看到的你生活的全部?！?/p>

“為什么不，親愛的媽媽？我要告訴你這樣最好——”

“不是的。每個人都應(yīng)該生活幸福，每一個人都應(yīng)該這樣?！?/p>

此刻，莫爾太太渾身劇烈地顫抖。她常常和她兒子為這樣的問題爭論不休，就好像是在力圖保全他這條命而竭力打消他只求一死的念頭似的。他抱著她。她氣色不好，怪可憐的。

“沒事的，好媽媽，”他喃喃地說，“只要生活對你來說不是毫無價值，不是貧乏得不值得一提的話，幸福也罷不幸福也罷，都無關(guān)緊要?！?/p>

她緊緊地抱住他。

“可是我希望你能幸福。”她可憐巴巴地說。

“嗯，親愛的媽媽——你還不如說你希望我能活著?！?/p>

莫爾太太感到自己的一顆心為他操碎了。再這樣下去，她知道他可能都不愿再活下去。他已經(jīng)對他自己、他所遭受的痛苦、他的生命漠不關(guān)心，這簡直就是一種慢性自殺。這讓她的心都碎了。性情剛強(qiáng)的她用她所有情感來痛恨米里亞姆，恨她在一步一步悄無聲息地摧殘著他的快樂。她不管米里亞姆是不是有意這樣做。米里亞姆摧殘了他的快樂，因此她痛恨她。

All happy families are like one another;each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.

——Leo Tolstoy

所有幸福的家庭都是相似的，而不幸的家庭各有各的不幸。

——俄國文學(xué)家 托爾斯泰

實戰(zhàn)提升

作者介紹

戴維·赫伯特·勞倫斯（1885—1930），英國著名小說家、散文家，當(dāng)過會計，小學(xué)教師，曾游歷意大利、南美、美國、澳大利亞等地，并在國外居住多年。著名小說有《虹》《戀愛中的女人》《查泰萊夫人的情人》《袋鼠》《雨蛇》等，著名散文有《意大利的黃昏》《大海與薩丁島》《啟示錄》等。其散文語言優(yōu)美流暢、氣勢宏大、富含智慧和洞察力，堪稱世界一流。他是20世紀(jì)杰出的小說家，被稱為“英國文學(xué)史上最偉大的人物之一”。

單詞注解

ambitious[Am5biFEs]adj.有雄心的；野心勃勃的

exquisite[5ekskwizit]adj.精美的；精致的；制作精良的

superior[sju:5piEriE]adj.較高的；上級的

pathetically[p[5Wetik[li]adv.可憐地；可悲地

名句大搜索

保羅生怕她看錯信，到頭來落得一場空歡喜。他仔細(xì)地把這封信看了一遍又一遍。

只要生活充實，幸福不幸福又有什么關(guān)系。反而你的幸福會讓我厭煩。

他已經(jīng)對他自己、他所遭受的痛苦、他的生命漠不關(guān)心，這簡直就是一種慢性自殺。