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新高考 英语作文短篇小说读后续写含答案

新高考 英语作文短篇小说读后续写含答案
新高考 英语作文短篇小说读后续写含答案

“My aunt will come down very soon, Mr. Nuttel,” said a very calm young lady of fifteen years of age; “meanwhile you must try to bear my company.”

Framton Nuttel tried to say something which would please the niece now present, without annoying the aunt that was about to come. He was supposed to be going through a cure for his nerves; but he doubted whether these polite visits to a number of total strangers would help much.

“Do you know many of the people round here?” asked the niece, when she thought that they had sat long enough in silence.

“Hardly one,” said Framton. “My sister was staying here, you know, about four years ago, and she gave me letters of introduction to some of the people here.”

“Then you know almost nothing about my aunt?” continued the calm young lady.

“Only her name and address;” Framton admitted. He was wondering whether Mrs. Sappleton was married; perhaps she had been married and her husband was dead. But there was something of a man in the room.

“Her great sorrow came just three years ago,” said the child. “That would be after your sister’s time.”

“Her sorrow?” asked Framton.

“You may wonder why we keep that window wide open on an October afternoon,” said the niece, pointing to a long window that opened like a door on to the grass outside.

“It is quite warm for the time of the year,” said Framton; “but has that window got anything to do with your aunt’s sorrow?”

“Out through that window, exactly three years ago, her husband and her two

young brothers went off for their day’s shooting. They never came back. In crossing the country to the shooting-ground, they were all three swallowed in a bog. Their bodies were never found.” Here the child’s voice lost its calm sound and became almost human. “Poor aunt always thinks that they will come back someday, they and the little brown dog that was lost with them, and walk in at that window just as they used to do. That is why the window is kept open every evening till it is quite dark. Do you know, sometimes on quiet evenings like this, I almost get a strange feeling that they will all walk in through the window?”

It was a relief to Framton when the aunt bustled into the room with a whirl of apologies for being late in making her appearance.

“I hope Vera has been amusing you?” she said.

“She has been very interesting,” said Framton.

“I hope you don't mind the open window,” said Mrs. Sappleton briskly; “My husband and brothers will be home directly from shooting, and they always come in this way.” She rattled on cheerfully about the shooting and the scarcity of birds, and the prospects for duck in the winter. To Framton it was all purely horrible. He made a desperate but only partially successful effort to change the topic; he was conscious that his hostess was giving him only a part of her attention and her eyes were constantly straying past him to the open window and the lawn beyond.

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Then suddenly Mrs. Sappleton brightened into alert attention.

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Framton wildly grabbed his hat and stick; he ran out through the front door and through the gate.

Once upon a sunny morning a man who sat in a breakfast nook looked up from his scrambled eggs to see a white unicorn with a golden horn quietly cropping the roses in the garden. The man went up to the bedroom where his wife was still asleep and woke her. "There's a unicorn in the garden," he said. "Eating roses." She opened one unfriendly eye and looked at him.

"The unicorn is a mythical beast," she said, and turned her back on him. The man walked slowly downstairs and out into the garden. The unicorn was still there; now he was browsing among the tulips. "Here, unicorn," said the man, and he pulled up a lily and gave it to him. The unicorn ate it gravely. With a high heart, because there was a unicorn in his garden, the man went upstairs and roused his wife again. "The unicorn," he said," ate a lily." His wife sat up in bed and looked at him coldly. "You are a booby," she said, "and I am going to have you put in the booby-hatch."

The man, who had never liked the words "booby" and "booby-hatch," and who

liked them even less on a shining morning when there was a unicorn in the garden, thought for a moment. "We'll see about that," he said. He walked over to the door. "He has a golden horn in the middle of his forehead," he told her. Then he went back to the garden to watch the unicorn; but the unicorn had gone away. The man sat down among the roses and went to sleep.

As soon as the husband had gone out of the house, the wife got up and dressed as fast as she could. She was very excited and there was a gloat in her eye. Paragraph 1:

She telephoned the police and a psychiatrist; she told them to hurry to her house and bring a strait-jacket.

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Just as the police got her into the strait-jacket, the husband came back into the house.

Reference:

booby-hatch:精神病院

strait-jacket: 用来束缚精神病患者的约束衣

I first heard this tale in India, where is told as if true --though any naturalist would know it couldn't be. Later someone told me that the story appeared in a magazine shortly before the First World War. That magazine story, and the person who wrote it, I have never been able to track down.

The country is India. A colonial official and his wife are giving a large dinner party. They are seated with their guests--officers and their wives, and a visiting American naturalist -- in their spacious dining room, which has a bare marble floor, open rafters and wide glass doors opening onto a veranda.

A spirited discussion springs up between a young girl who says that women have outgrown the jumping-on-a-chair-at-the-sight-of-a-mouse era and a major who says that they haven't.

"A woman's reaction in any crisis," the major says, "is to scream. And while a man may feel like it, he has that ounce more of self-control than a woman has. And that last ounce is what really counts."

The American does not join in the argument but watches the other guests. As he looks, he sees a strange expression come over the face of the hostess. She is staring straight ahead, her muscles contracting slightly. She motions to the native boy standing behind her chair and whispers something to him. The boy's eyes widen: he quickly leaves the room.

Of the guests, none except the American notices this or sees the boy place a bowl of milk on the veranda just outside the open doors.

The American comes to with a start. In India, milk in a bowl means only one thing -- bait for a snake. He realizes there must be a cobra in the room. He looks up at the rafters --the likeliest place --but they are bare. Three corners of the room are empty, and in the fourth the servants are waiting to serve the next course. There is only one place left -- under the table.

His first impulse is to jump back and warn the others, but he knows the commotion would frighten the cobra into striking.

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He speaks quickly, the tone of his voice so commanding that it silences everyone.

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Screams ring out as he jumps to slam the veranda doors safely shut.

Once upon a time there was an island where all the feelings lived: Happiness, Sadness, Knowledge, and all the others, including Love. One day it was announced to all of the feelings that the island was going to sink to the bottom of the ocean. So all the feelings prepared their boats to leave.

Love was the only one that stayed. She wanted to preserve the island paradise until the last possible moment. When the island was almost totally under, love decided it was time to leave. She began looking for someone to ask for help.

Just then Richness was passing by in a grand boat. Love asked, "Richness, can I come with you on your boat?" Richness answered, "I'm sorry, but there is a lot of silver and gold on my boat and there would be no room for you anywhere."

Then Love decided to ask Vanity for help who was passing by in a beautiful vessel. Love cried out, "Vanity, help me please!" "I can't help you," Vanity said, "You are all wet and will damage my beautiful boat."

Next, Love saw Sadness passing by. Love said, "Sadness, please let me go with you." Sadness answered, "Love, I'm sorry, but, I just need to be alone now."

Then, Love saw Happiness. Love cried out, "Happiness, please take me with you." But Happiness was so overjoyed that he didn't hear Love calling to him. Paragraph 1:

Love began to cry.

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Love then found Knowledge and asked, "Who was it that helped me?"

The young people were going to Florida—three boys and three girls—and when they boarded the bus, they were carrying sandwiches and wine in paper bags, dreaming of golden beaches and sea tides as the gray cold of New York vanished behind them.

As the bus rumbled south, they began to notice Vingo. He sat in front of them, dressed in a plain, ill-fitting suit, never moving, his dusty face masking his age. He chewed the inside of his lip a lot, frozen into some personal cocoon of silence.

Deep into the night, outside Washington, the bus pulled into a roadside restaurant, and everybody got off except Vingo. He sat rooted in his seat, and the young people

began to wonder about him, trying to imagine his life: perhaps he was a sea captain, a runaway from his wife, an old soldier going home. When they went back to the bus, one of the girls sat beside him and introduced herself.

“We’re going to Florida,” she said brightly. “I hear it’s beautiful.”

“It is,” he said quietly, as if remembering something he had tried to forget.

“Want some wine?” she said. He smiled and took a swig. He thanked her and retreated again into his silence. After a while, she went back to the others, and Vingo nodded in sleep.

In the morning, they awoke outside another restaurant, and this time Vingo went in. The girl insisted that he join them. He seemed very shy, and ordered black coffee and smoked nervously as the young people chattered about sleeping on beaches. When they returned to the bus, the girl sat with Vingo again, and after a while, slowly and painfully, he told his story. He had been in jail in New York for the past four years, and now he was going home.

“Are you married?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” she said.

“Well, when I was in the can I wrote to my wife,” he said. “I told her that I was going to be away a long time, and that if she couldn’t stand it, if the kids kept asking questions, if it hurt too much, well, she could just forget me. I’d understand. Get a new guy, I said -- she’s a wonderful woman, really something -- and forget about me.

I told her she didn't have to write me. And she didn’t. Not for three and a half years.”

“And you’re going home now, not knowing?”

“Yeah,” he said shyly. “Well, last week, when I was sure the parole was coming through, I wrote her again. There’s a big oak tree just as you come into town. I told

her that if she’d take me back, she should put a yellow handkerchief on the oak tree, and I’d get off and come home. If she didn’t want me, forget it -- no handkerchief, and I would go on through."

“Wow,” the girl said. “Wow.”

She told the others, and soon all of them were in it, caught up in the approach of Vingo’s home town, looking at the pictures he showed them of his wife and three children --the woman handsome in a plain way, the children still unformed in the cracked, much handled snapshots.

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Now they were 20 miles from the town.

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Vingo sat there stunned, looking at the oak tree.

Stuffy Pete took his seat on the third bench to the right as you enter Union Square from the east, at the walk opposite the fountain. Every Thanksgiving Day for nine years he had taken his seat there promptly at 1 o'clock. But today Stuffy Pete's appearance at the annual trysting place seemed to have been rather the result of habit than of the yearly hunger which, as the philanthropists seem to think, afflicts the poor at such extended intervals.

Certainly Pete was not starving. He had just come from an unexpected feast. He was passing a red brick mansion near the beginning of Fifth avenue, in which lived two old ladies of old family who respected traditions. One of their traditional habits was to send a servant at the gate to ask the first hungry wayfarer that came along after the hour of noon had struck, and banquet him to a finish. Stuffy Pete happened to pass by on his way to the park and enjoyed a free meal.

Pete was sitting on the bench for a rest and then his eyes suddenly bulged out fearfully for he saw the Old Gentleman coming across Fourth avenue toward him. Every Thanksgiving Day for nine years he had found Stuffy Pete there, and had led him to a restaurant and watched him eat a big dinner.

The Old Gentleman was thin and tall and sixty. He was dressed all in black, and wore the old-fashioned kind of glasses that won't stay on your nose. His hair was whiter and thinner than it had been last year, and he seemed to make more use of his big, knobby cane with the crooked handle.

"Good morning," said the Old Gentleman. "I am glad to perceive that the vicissitudes of another year have spared you to move in health about the beautiful world. For that blessing alone this day of thanksgiving is well proclaimed to each of us. If you will come with me, my man, I will provide you with a dinner that should make your physical being accord with the mental."

That is what the old Gentleman said every time. Every Thanksgiving Day for nine years. The words themselves almost formed an Institution. Nothing could be compared with them except the Declaration of Independence. Always before they had been music in Stuffy's ears. But now he looked up at the Old Gentleman's face with tearful pain in his own. The fine snow almost sizzled when it fell upon his sweaty brow. But the Old Gentleman shivered a little and turned his back to the wind.

Stuffy Pete looked up at him for a half minute, stewing and helpless in his own self-pity. The Old Gentleman's eyes were bright with the giving-pleasure.

"Thankee, sir. I'll go with ye, and much obliged. I'm very hungry, sir."

The Old Gentleman led him southward to the restaurant, and to the table where the feast had always occurred. They were recognized.

"Here comes de old guy," said a waiter, "dat blows dat same bum to a meal every Thanksgiving."

The waiters heaped the table with holiday food -- and Stuffy, with a sigh that was mistaken for hunger's expression, raised knife and fork and started eating. Turkey, chops, soups, vegetables, pies, disappeared before him as fast as they could be served. Gorged nearly to the uttermost when he entered the restaurant, the smell of food had almost caused him to lose his honor as a gentleman, but he fought like a true knight. Paragraph 1:

In an hour Stuffy leaned back with a battle won.

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An hour later another ambulance brought the Old Gentleman.

Alexis Vaughan, 17, sat quietly in the passenger seat of her dad's car. She stared out the window at the Preston, Idaho, cornfields.

Alexis, a high school student, let her eyes lazily scan the landscape for wildlife. Still, she was terrified when a deer came into view about 200 yards in front of them, just a few feet off the road. "Dad, there's a deer, there!" Alexis said, rolling down the window for a better look. It was a three-point buck (雄鹿)——a male deer with sharp, three-pronged antlers (角) on each side of its head.

As the car moved closer, Alexis saw that the buck's head was bent toward the ground.Then she heard a scream. A few seconds later, she saw an arm fly up near the buck's head. Alexis realized the buck was attacking a woman. Sue Panter, a 44-year-old mother, had been out for her morning run. The buck had come out from the tall corn and began following her. Having lived in rural Idaho for years, Sue knew that most bucks got frightened by humans. But this buck edged closer, even when she threw at it with a handful of gravels(石子).

Sue went to pick up a log to use for self-defense, and the buck charged.It lifted

her with its antlers and threw her into the air. Sue could feel the horns punctured(刺穿) her leg and blood flowed down her leg.Within seconds, the buck had pushed her off the road and into the cornfield.

When Alexis and her father pulled up, the buck was rolling Sue like a rag doll.Alexis looked into the woman's terrified eyes, and before her father had even stopped the car, the 104 pound teenager jumped quickly out of the car and down the slope toward the buck. She was kicking and hitting it to get its attention. Then Michael, her father, who had followed his daughter, wrestled the buck away from the women by holding the antlers.

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Alexis helped Sue up the slope.

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Then she heard her father yell.

The policeman on the beat moved along the avenue impressively. The time was barely 10 o'clock at night, but it was rather chilly. Now and then you might see the lights of a shop or of a small restaurant. But most of the doors belonged to business places that had been closed hours ago. When about midway of a certain block the policeman suddenly slowed his walk. Near the door of a darkened store a man was standing. As the cop walked toward him, the man spoke quickly.

"It's all right, officer," he said. "I'm just waiting for a friend. It's an appointment made twenty years ago. Sounds a little funny to you, doesn't it? Well, I'll explain if you'd like to make certain it's all straight. About that long ago there used to be a restaurant where this store stands——'Big Joe' Brady's restaurant."

"It was here until five years ago," said the cop. "It was torn down then."

The man in the doorway struck a match and lit his cigar. The light showed a pale, square-jawed face with keen eyes, and a little white scar near his right eyebrow. He had a large jewel in his necktie.

"Twenty years ago tonight," said the man, "I had dinner here with Jimmy Wells. He was my best friend and the best fellow in the world. He and I grew up together here in New York, like two brothers. The next morning I was to start for the West to make my fortune. You couldn't have pulled Jimmy out of New York. He thought it was the only place on earth. Well, we agreed that we would meet here again exactly twenty years from that date and time, no matter what our conditions might be or from what distance we might have to come. "

"It sounds interesting," said the cop. "Haven't you heard from your friend since you left?"

"Well, yes, for a time we corresponded," said the other. "But after a year or two

we lost track of each other. But I know Jimmy will meet me here if he's alive. I came a thousand miles to stand in this door tonight, and it's worth it if my old partner turns up."

The waiting man pulled out a handsome watch, the lids of it set with small diamonds. "Three minutes to ten," he announced. "It was exactly ten o'clock when we parted here at the restaurant door."

"Did pretty well out West, didn't you?" asked the policeman.

"You bet! I hope Jimmy has done half as well. He was a kind of plodder, though, good fellow as he was. I've had to compete with some of the sharpest wits going to get my pile. "

"I'll be on my way. Hope your friend comes around all right." said the policeman, passing on along his beat, checking doors as he went.

In the door of the hardware store the man who had come a thousand miles to fill an appointment smoked his cigar and waited. About twenty minutes later a tall man in a long overcoat hurried across from the opposite side of the street. He went directly to the waiting man.

“Is that you, Bob?" he asked, doubtfully.

"Is that you, Jimmy Wells?" cried the man in the door.

"Bless my heart!" exclaimed the new arrival, grasping both the other's hands with his own. "It's Bob, sure as fate. I was certain I'd find you here if you were still in existence.”

"You've changed lots, Jimmy. I never thought you were so tall by two or three inches."

"Oh, I grew a bit after I was twenty. Come on, Bob, We’ll go to a place I know, and have a good long talk about old times."

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The two men walked along the street, arm in arm.

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“Before we go on to the police station, here's a note for you from a cop named Wells." said the tall man.

I knew Marty's magic was fake, but I just couldn't prove it.

Marty was new at school. Usually when you're the new kid, you lay low, but not Marty. On his first day, he made a toothpick disappear. One second he was holding the toothpick, and the next second it was gone! Everyone was asking him how he did it.

"It's magic!" Marty said proudly."At my old school, they actually called me

Magic Marty."

"Is he serious?" I whispered to my friend Brian. "Magic Marty? And does he always bring toothpicks to school?"

"I don't know, but that was pretty cool," Brian said, still watching Marty.

I turned to walk away. It's not magic. He's tricking everyone, and I'm going to find out how he does it. That night at home, I found a box of toothpicks. I sat at the kitchen table for almost an hour trying to figure out how Marty had made one disappear. The only thing I learned was how to poke my hand 11 times with a toothpick.

"Matt, it's getting late. What are you still doing down here?"my mom asked.

"A new kid at school is doing magic tricks and everyone thinks it's amazing. I'm just trying to figure out how he did this one trick."

"I'm curious. Why is this so important?"

"Because he's tricking people!" I cried.

"Sounds as if he's trying to make friends" My mom patted my arm. "It's your bedtime."

The next day at shcool, Marty started his magic thing again. "It's hot today!" Marty said to a crowd around his. "So for today's trick, I'll turn this water into ice!" Marty pulled a water bottle out of his bag, along with a red plastic cup. He carefully poured water from his bottle into the cup. I watched from the back, hoping to catch a mistake. "Now I'll the magic wave!"

Marty looked as if he was playing an invisible piano just above the cup. "Ta-da!" Marty got a handful of ice cubes! filled the hallway, and Brian reached over to give Marty a high five. "How did you do that?" someone asked.

Marty smiled. "Sorry, but that's the first law of magic. A magician never reveals

his secrets."

Again I tried hard to reveal his trick that night, but I still couldn’t get it. Magic Marty had me, but the next day I caught a lucky break. At lunch, Marty was going on about how he could make things float. He had a ring in one hand and a pencil in the other. That's when I saw it: a thin piece of fishing line tied around the end of the pencil and attached to a Marty's shirt!

Sure enough, he made the ring "float" by it over the pencil and hanging it from the line. No one else noticed, and soon the whole cafeteria was clapping. When the crowds were gone, I walked over. It was time to put an end to the Magic Marty show.

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"I know how you did it, "I said, folding my arms.

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Marty let out a relieved sigh, and I turned to walk away.

Knowing that Mrs. Mallard was afflicted with a heart disease, great care was taken to break to her as gently as possible the news of her husband's death.

It was her sister Josephine who told her, in broken sentences; veiled hints that revealed in half concealing. Her husband's friend Richards was there, too, near her. It was he who had been in the newspaper office when intelligence of the railroad accident was received, with Brently Mallard's name leading the list of "killed."

She did not hear the story as many women have heard the same, with a paralyzed inability to accept its significance. She wept at once, with sudden, wild abandonment, in her sister's arms. When the storm of grief had spent itself she went away to her room alone. She would have no one follow her.

There stood, facing the open window, a comfortable, roomy armchair. Into this she sank, pressed down by a physical exhaustion that haunted her body and seemed to reach into her soul.

She could see in the open square before her house the tops of trees that were all aquiver with the new spring life. The delicious breath of rain was in the air. In the street below a peddler was crying his wares. The notes of a distant song which some one was singing reached her faintly, and countless sparrows were twittering in the eaves.

She sat with her head thrown back upon the cushion of the chair, quite motionless, except when a sob came up into her throat and shook her, as a child who has cried itself to sleep continues to sob in its dreams.

She was young, with a fair, calm face. But now there was a dull stare in her eyes,

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