2021年《高级英语》课文逐句翻译(2)

Unit 2 Marrakech一具尸体抬过，成群的苍蝇从饭馆的餐桌上嗡嗡而起追逐过去，但几分钟过后又飞了回来。

一支人数不多的送葬队伍——其中老少尽皆男性，没有一个女的——沿着集贸市场，从一堆堆石榴摊子以及出租汽车和骆驼中间挤道而行，边走边悲痛地重复着一支短促的哀歌。

苍蝇之所以群起追逐是因为在这个地方死人的尸首从不装进棺木，只是用一块破布裹着放在一个草草做成的木头架子上，有四个朋友抬着送葬。

朋友们到了安葬场后，便在地上挖出一个一二英尺深的长方形坑，将尸首往坑里一倒。

再扔一些像碎砖头一样的干土块。

不立墓碑，不留姓名，什么识别标志都没有。

坟场只不过是一片土丘林立的荒野，恰似一片已废弃不用的建筑场地。

一两个月过后，就谁也说不准自己的亲人葬于何处了。

当你穿行也这样的城镇——其居民20万中至少有2万是除开一身聊以蔽体的破衣烂衫之外完全一无所有——当你看到那些人是如何生活，又如何动辄死亡时，你永远难以相信自己是行走在人类之中。

实际上，这是所有的殖民帝国赖以建立的基础。

这里的人都有一张褐色的脸，而且，人数书如此之多！他们真的和你意义同属人类吗？难道他们也会有名有姓吗？也许他们只是像彼此之间难以区分的蜜蜂或珊瑚虫一样的东西。

他们从泥土里长出来，受哭受累，忍饥挨饿过上几年，然后有被埋在那一个个无名的小坟丘里。

谁也不会注意到他们的离去。

就是那些小坟丘本身也过不了很久便会变成平地。

有时当你外出散步，穿过仙人掌丛时，你会感觉到地上有些绊脚的东西，只是在经过多次以后，摸清了其一般规律时，你才会知道你脚下踩的是死人的骷髅。

我正在公园里给一只瞪羚喂食。

动物中也恐怕只有瞪羚还活着时就让人觉得是美味佳肴。

事实上，人们只要看到它们那两条后腿就会联想到薄荷酱。

我现在喂着的这只瞪羚好象已经看透了我的心思。

它虽然叼走了拿在手上的一块面包，但显然不喜欢我这个人。

它一面啃食着面包，一面头一低向我顶过来，再啃一下面包又顶过来一次。

它大概还因为把我赶开之后那块面包仍会悬在空中。

Lesson2The little crowd of mourners -- all men and boys, no women--threaded their way across the market place between the piles of pomegranates and the taxis and the camels, walling a short chant over and over again. What really appeals to the flies is that the corpses here are never put into coffins, they are merely wrapped in a piece of rag and carried on a rough wooden bier on the shoulders of four friends. When the friends get to the burying-ground they hack an oblong hole a foot or two deep, dump the body in it and fling over it a little of the dried-up, lumpy earth, which is like broken brick. No gravestone, no name, no identifying mark of any kind. The burying-ground is merely a huge waste of hummocky earth, like a derelict building-lot. After a month or two no one can even be certain where his own relatives are buried.(翻译)一小队送葬者——所有送葬者均为男子——迂回穿行于集贸市场，从一堆堆石榴以及出租汽车和骆驼间挤道而行，一边走一边悲痛地重复着一支短促的哀歌。

高级英语2第三版unit2课文翻译+课后英译汉部分划线Unit 2 Marrakech马拉喀什见闻1、As the corpse went past the flies left the restaurant table in a cloud and rushed after it, but they came back a few minutes later.尸体被抬过去的时候，成群的苍蝇嗡嗡地飞离了餐馆的饭桌，尾随尸体去，几分钟后又嗡嗡地飞了回来。

2、The little crows of mourners – all me and boys, no women – threaded their way across the marker place between the piles of pomegranates and the taxis and the camels, wailing a short chant over and over again. What really appeals to the flied is that the corpses here are never put into coffins; they are merely wrapped in a piece of ray and carried on a rough wooden bier on the shoulders of four friends. When the friends get to the burying-ground they hack an oblong hole afoot or two deep, dump the body in it and fling over it a little of the dried-up, lumpy earth, which is like broken brick. No gravestone, no name, no identifying mark of any kind. The burying-ground is merely a huge waste of hummocky earth. Like a derelict building-lot. After a month or two no one can even be certain where his own relatives are buried.一支人数不多的送葬队伍-其中老老小小全是男的，没有女人——挤过一堆堆的石榴，穿行在出租车和骆驼之间，迂回着穿过市场，嘴里还一遍遍地哀号着一支短促的悲歌。

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必修二Module 1Zhou Kai (1)When Zhou Kai’s mother saw him heading towards the front door without a jacket on, she eyed him anxiously.“Zhou Kai, where are you going？” she asked。

“To the park. I’m going to play football，" said Zhou Kai “But it's raining! You'll catch a bad cold，” said his mother。

“No I won't. I’ll be fine,” said Zhou Kai, as he opened the door.“Zhou Kai, you'll get ill. You know you will。

You can at least go and get your jacket。

”“OK，OK.” Zhou Kai went as he was told.Zhou Kai （2)My mother has always made sure we eat very healthily, and fresh fruit and vegetables are a very important part of our diet.We live near the sea and we have fish about four times a week。

第一课 1 John Koshak, Jr.,knew that Hurricane Camille would be bad. Radio and television warnings had sounded throughout that Sunday, last August 17, as Camille lashed northwestward across the Gulf of Mexico. It was certain to pummel Gulfport, Miss., where the Koshers lived. Along the coasts of Louisiana, Mississippi and Alabama, nearly 150,000 people fled inland to safer 8round. But, like thousands of others in the coastal communities, john was reluctant to abandon his home unless the family -- his wife, Janis, and their seven children, abed 3 to 11 -- was clearly endangered.2 Trying to reason out the best course of action, he talked with his father and mother, who had moved into the ten-room house with the Koshaks a month earlier from California. He also consulted Charles Hill, a long time friend, who had driven from Las Vegas for a visit.3 John, 37 -- whose business was right there in his home ( he designed and developed educational toys and supplies, and all of Magna Products' correspondence, engineering drawings and art work were there on the first floor) -- was familiar with the power of a hurricane. Four years earlier, Hurricane Betsy had demolished undefined his former home a few miles west of Gulfport (Koshak had moved his family to a motel for the night). But that house had stood only a few feet above sea level. "We' re elevated 2a feet," he told his father, "and we' re a good 250 yards from the sea. The place has been here since 1915, and no hurricane has ever bothered it. We' II probably be as safe here as anyplace else."4 The elder Koshak, a gruff, warmhearted expert machinist of 67, agreed. "We can batten down and ride it out," he said. "If we see signs of danger, we can get out before dark."5 The men methodically prepared for the hurricane. Since water mains might be damaged, they filled bathtubs and pails. A power failure was likely, so they checked out batteries for the portable radio and flashlights, and fuel for the lantern. John's father moved a small generator into the downstairs hallway, wired several light bulbs to it and prepared a connection to the refrigerator.6 Rain fell steadily that afternoon; gray clouds scudded in from the Gulf on therising wind. The family had an early supper. A neighbor, whose husband was in Vietnam, asked if she and her two children could sit out the storm with the Koshaks. Another neighbor came by on his way in-land — would the Koshaks mind taking care of his dog?7 It grew dark before seven o' clock. Wind and rain now whipped the house. John sent his oldest son and daughter upstairs to bring down mattresses and pillows for the younger children. He wanted to keep the group together on one floor. "Stay away from the windows," he warned, concerned about glass flying from storm-shattered panes. As the wind mounted to a roar, the house began leaking- the rain seemingly driven right through the walls. With mops, towels, pots and buckets the Koshaks began a struggle against the rapidly spreading water. At 8:30, power failed, and Pop Koshak turned on the generator.8 The roar of the hurricane now was overwhelming. The house shook, and the ceiling in the living room was falling piece by piece. The French doors in an upstairs room blew in with an explosive sound, and the group heard gun- like reports as other upstairs windows disintegrated. Water rose above their ankles.9 Then the front door started to break away from its frame. John and Charlie put their shoulders against it, but a blast of water hit the house, flinging open the door and shoving them down the hall. The generator was doused, and the lights went out. Charlie licked his lips and shouted to John. "I think we' re in real trouble. That water tasted salty." The sea had reached the house, and the water was rising by the minute!10 "Everybody out the back door to the oars!" John yelled. "We' II pass the children along between us. Count them! Nine!"11 The children went from adult to adult like buckets in a fire brigade. But the cars wouldn't start; the electrical systems had been killed by water. The wind was too Strong and the water too deep to flee on foot. "Back to the house!" john yelled. "Count the children! Count nine!"12 As they scrambled back, john ordered, "Every-body on the stairs!" Frightened, breathless and wet, the group settled on the stairs, which were protected by two interior walls. The children put the oat, Spooky, and a box with her fourkittens on the landing. She peered nervously at her litter. The neighbor's dog curled up and went to sleep.13 The wind sounded like the roar of a train passing a few yards away. The house shuddered and shifted on its foundations. Water inched its way up the steps as first- floor outside walls collapsed. No one spoke. Everyone knew there was no escape; they would live or die in the house.14 Charlie Hill had more or less taken responsibility for the neighbor and her two children. The mother was on the verge of panic. She clutched his arm and kept repeating, "I can't swim, I can't swim."15 "You won't have to," he told her, with outward calm. "It's bound to end soon."16 Grandmother Koshak reached an arm around her husband's shoulder and put her mouth close to his ear. "Pop," she said, "I love you." He turned his head and answered, "I love you" -- and his voice lacked its usual gruffness.17 John watched the water lap at the steps, and felt a crushing guilt. He had underestimated the ferocity of Camille. He had assumed that what had never happened could not happen. He held his head between his hands, and silently prayed: "Get us through this mess, will You?"18 A moment later, the hurricane, in one mighty swipe, lifted the entire roof off the house and skimmed it 40 feet through the air. The bottom steps of the staircase broke apart. One wall began crumbling on the marooned group.19 Dr. Robert H. Simpson, director of the National Hurricane Center in Miami, Fla., graded Hurricane Camille as "the greatest recorded storm ever to hit a populated area in the Western Hemisphere." in its concentrated breadth of some 70 miles it shot out winds of nearly 200 m.p.h. and raised tides as high as 30 feet. Along the Gulf Coast it devastated everything in its swath: 19,467 homes and 709 small businesses were demolished or severely damaged. it seized a 600, 000-gallon Gulfport oil tank and dumped it 3 ~ miles away. It tore three large cargo ships from their moorings and beached them. Telephone poles and 20-inch-thick pines cracked like guns as the winds snapped them.20 To the west of Gulfport, the town of Pass Christian was virtually wiped out.Several vacationers at the luxurious Richelieu Apartments there held a hurricane party to watch the storm from their spectacular vantage point. Richelieu Apartments were smashed apart as if by a gigantic fist, and 26 people perished.21 Seconds after the roof blew off the Koshak house, john yelled, "Up the stairs -- into our bedroom! Count the kids." The children huddled in the slashing rain within the circle of adults. Grandmother Koshak implored, "Children, let's sing!" The children were too frightened to respond. She carried on alone for a few bars; then her voice trailed away.22 Debris flew as the living-room fireplace and its chimney collapsed. With two walls in their bedroom sanctuary beginning to disintegrate, John ordered, "Into the television room!" This was the room farthest from the direction of the storm.23 For an instant, John put his arm around his wife. Janis understood. Shivering from the wind and rain and fear, clutching two children to her, she thought, Dear Lord, give me the strength to endure what I have to. She felt anger against the hurricane. We won't let it win.24 Pop Koshak raged silently, frustrated at not being able to do anything to fight Camille. Without reason, he dragged a cedar chest and a double mattress from a bed-room into the TV room. At that moment, the wind tore out one wall and extinguished the lantern. A second wall moved, wavered, Charlie Hill tried to support it, but it toppled on him, injuring his back. The house, shuddering and rocking, had moved 25 feet from its foundations. The world seemed to be breaking apart.25 "Let's get that mattress up!" John shouted to his father. "Make it a lean-to against the wind. Get the kids under it. We can prop it up with our heads and shoulders!"26 The larger children sprawled on the floor, with the smaller ones in a layer on top of them, and the adults bent over all nine. The floor tilted. The box containing the litter of kittens slid off a shelf and vanished in the wind. Spooky flew off the top of a sliding bookcase and also disappeared. The dog cowered with eyes closed. A third wall gave way. Water lapped across the slanting floor. John grabbed a door which was still hinged to one closet wall. "If the floor goes," he yelled at his father, "let's get thekids on this."27 In that moment, the wind slightly diminished, and the water stopped rising. Then the water began receding. The main thrust of Camille had passed. The Koshaks and their friends had survived.28 With the dawn, Gulfport people started coming back to their homes. They saw human bodies -- more than 130 men, women and children died along the Mississippi coast- and parts of the beach and highway were strewn with dead dogs, cats, cattle. Strips of clothing festooned the standing trees, and blown down power lines coiled like black spaghetti over the roads.29 None of the returnees moved quickly or spoke loudly; they stood shocked, trying to absorb the shattering scenes before their eyes. "What do we dot" they asked. "Where do we go?"30 By this time, organizations within the area and, in effect, the entire population of the United States had come to the aid of the devastated coast. Before dawn, the Mississippi National Guard and civil-defense units were moving in to handle traffic, guard property, set up communications centers, help clear the debris and take the homeless by truck and bus to refugee centers. By 10 a.m., the Salvation Army's canteen trucks and Red Cross volunteers and staffers were going wherever possible to distribute hot drinks, food, clothing and bedding.31 From hundreds of towns and cities across the country came several million dollars in donations; household and medical supplies streamed in by plane, train, truck and car. The federal government shipped 4,400,000 pounds of food, moved in mobile homes, set up portable classrooms, opened offices to provide low-interest, long-term business loans.32 Camille, meanwhile, had raked its way northward across Mississippi, dropping more than 28 inches of rain into West Virginia and southern Virginia, causing rampaging floods, huge mountain slides and 111 additional deaths before breaking up over the Atlantic Ocean.33 Like many other Gulfport families, the Koshaks quickly began reorganizing their lives, John divided his family in the homes of two friends. The neighbor with hertwo children went to a refugee center. Charlie Hill found a room for rent. By Tuesday, Charlie's back had improved, and he pitched in with Seabees in the worst volunteer work of all--searching for bodies. Three days after the storm, he decided not to return to Las Vegas, but to "remain in Gulfport and help rebuild the community."34 Near the end of the first week, a friend offered the Koshaks his apartment, and the family was reunited. The children appeared to suffer no psychological damage from their experience; they were still awed by the incomprehensible power of the hurricane, but enjoyed describing what they had seen and heard on that frightful night, Janis had just one delayed reaction. A few nights after the hurricane, she awoke suddenly at 2 a.m. She quietly got up and went outside. Looking up at the sky and, without knowing she was going to do it, she began to cry softly.35 Meanwhile, John, Pop and Charlie were picking through the wreckage of the home. It could have been depressing, but it wasn't: each salvaged item represented a little victory over the wrath of the storm. The dog and cat suddenly appeared at the scene, alive and hungry.36 But the blues did occasionally afflict all the adults. Once, in a low mood, John said to his parents, "I wanted you here so that we would all be together, so you could enjoy the children, and look what happened."37 His father, who had made up his mind to start a welding shop when living was normal again, said, "Let's not cry about what's gone. We' II just start all over."38 "You're great," John said. "And this town has a lot of great people in it. It' s going to be better here than it ever was before."39 Later, Grandmother Koshak reflected: "We lost practically all our possessions, but the family came through it. When I think of that, I realize we lost nothing important."第二课1 As the corpse went past the flies left the restaurant table in a cloud and rushed after it, but they came back a few minutes later.2 The little crowd of mourners -- all men and boys, no women--threaded their way across the market place between the piles of pomegranates and the taxis and the camels, walling a short chant over and over again. What really appeals to the flies is that the corpses here are never put into coffins, they are merely wrapped in a piece of rag and carried on a rough wooden bier on the shoulders of four friends. When the friends get to the burying-ground they hack an oblong hole a foot or two deep, dump the body in it and fling over it a little of the dried-up, lumpy earth, which is like broken brick. No gravestone, no name, no identifying mark of any kind. The burying-ground is merely a huge waste of hummocky earth, like a derelict building-lot. After a month or two no one can even be certain where his own relatives are buried.3 When you walk through a town like this -- two hundred thousand inhabitants of whom at least twenty thousand own literally nothing except the rags they stand up in-- when you see how the people live, and still more how easily they die, it is always difficult to believe that you are walking among human beings. All colonial empires are in reality founded upon this fact. The people have brown faces--besides, there are so many of them! Are they really the same flesh as your self? Do they even have names? Or are they merely a kind of undifferentiated brown stuff, about as individual as bees or coral insects? They rise out of the earth，they sweat and starve for a few years, and then they sink back into the nameless mounds of the graveyard and nobody notices that they are gone. And even the graves themselves soon fade back into the soil. Sometimes, out for a walk as you break your way through the prickly pear, you notice that it is rather bumpy underfoot, and only a certain regularity in the bumps tells you that you are walking over skeletons.4 I was feeding one of the gazelles in the public gardens.5 Gazelles are almost the only animals that look good to eat when they are still alive, in fact, one can hardly look at their hindquarters without thinking of a mint sauce. The gazelle I was feeding seemed to know that this thought was in my mind, for though it took the piece of bread I was holding out it obviously did not like me. It nibbled nibbled rapidly at the bread, then lowered its head and tried to butt me, thentook another nibble and then butted again. Probably its idea was that if it could drive me away the bread would somehow remain hanging in mid-air.6 An Arab navvy working on the path nearby lowered his heavy hoe and sidled slowly towards us. He looked from the gazelle to the bread and from the bread to the gazelle, with a sort of quiet amazement, as though he had never seen anything quite like this before. Finally he said shyly in French: "1 could eat some of that bread."7 I tore off a piece and he stowed it gratefully in some secret place under his rags. This man is an employee of the municipality.8 When you go through the Jewish Quarters you gather some idea of what the medieval ghettoes were probably like. Under their Moorish Moorishrulers the Jews were only allowed to own land in certain restricted areas, and after centuries of this kind of treatment they have ceased to bother about overcrowding. Many of the streets are a good deal less than six feet wide, the houses are completely windowless, and sore-eyed children cluster everywhere in unbelievable numbers, like clouds of flies. Down the centre of the street there is generally running a little river of urine.9 In the bazaar huge families of Jews, all dressed in the long black robe and little black skull-cap, are working in dark fly-infested booths that look like caves. A carpenter sits crosslegged at a prehistoric lathe, turning chairlegs at lightning speed. He works the lathe with a bow in his right hand and guides the chisel with his left foot, and thanks to a lifetime of sitting in this position his left leg is warped out of shape. At his side his grandson, aged six, is already starting on the simpler parts of the job.10 I was just passing the coppersmiths' booths when somebody noticed that I was lighting a cigarette. Instantly, from the dark holes all round, there was a frenzied rush of Jews, many of them old grandfathers with flowing grey beards, all clamouring for a cigarette. Even a blind man somewhere at the back of one of the booths heard a rumour of cigarettes and came crawling out, groping in the air with his hand. In about a minute I had used up the whole packet. None of these people, I suppose, works less than twelve hours a day, and every one of them looks on a cigarette as a more or less impossible luxury.11 As the Jews live in self-contained communities they follow the same trades asthe Arabs, except for agriculture. Fruitsellers, potters, silversmiths, blacksmiths, butchers, leather-workers, tailors, water-carriers, beggars, porters -- whichever way you look you see nothing but Jews. As a matter of fact there are thirteen thousand of them, all living in the space of a few acres. A good job Hitlet wasn't here. Perhaps he was on his way, however. You hear the usual dark rumours about Jews, not only from the Arabs but from the poorer Europeans.12 "Yes vieux mon vieux, they took my job away from me and gave it to a Jew. The Jews! They' re the real rulers of this country, you know. They’ve got all the money. They control the banks, finance -- everything."13 "But", I said, "isn't it a fact that the average Jew is a labourer working for about a penny an hour?"14 "Ah, that's only for show! They' re all money lenders really. They' re cunning, the Jews."15 In just the same way, a couple of hundred years ago, poor old women used to be burned for witchcraft when they could not even work enough magic to get themselves a square meal. square meal16 All people who work with their hands are partly invisible, and the more important the work they do, the less visible they are. Still, a white skin is always fairly conspicuous. In northern Europe, when you see a labourer ploughing a field, you probably give him a second glance. In a hot country, anywhere south of Gibraltar or east of Suez, the chances are that you don't even see him. I have noticed this again and again. In a tropical landscape one's eye takes in everything except the human beings. It takes in the dried-up soil, the prickly pear, the palm tree and the distant mountain, but it always misses the peasant hoeing at his patch. He is the same colour as the earth, and a great deal less interesting to look at.17 It is only because of this that the starved countries of Asia and Africa are accepted as tourist resorts. No one would think of running cheap trips to the Distressed Areas. But where the human beings have brown skins their poverty is simply not noticed. What does Morocco mean to a Frenchman? An orange grove or a job in Government service. Or to an Englishman? Camels, castles, palm trees, ForeignLegionnaires, brass trays, and bandits. One could probably live there for years without noticing that for nine-tenths of the people the reality of life is an endless back-breaking struggle to wring a little food out of an eroded soil.18 Most of Morocco is so desolate that no wild animal bigger than a hare can live on it. Huge areas which were once covered with forest have turned into a treeless waste where the soil is exactly like broken-up brick. Nevertheless a good deal of it is cultivated, with frightful labour. Everything is done by hand. Long lines of women, bent double like inverted capital Ls, work their way slowly across the fields, tearing up the prickly weeds with their hands, and the peasant gathering lucerne for fodder pulls it up stalk by stalk instead of reaping it, thus saving an inch or two on each stalk. The plough is a wretched wooden thing, so frail that one can easily carry it on one's shoulder, and fitted underneath with a rough iron spike which stirs the soil to a depth of about four inches. This is as much as the strength of the animals is equal to. It is usual to plough with a cow and a donkey yoked together. Two donkeys would not be quite strong enough, but on the other hand two cows would cost a little more to feed. The peasants possess no narrows, they merely plough the soil several times over in different directions, finally leaving it in rough furrows, after which the whole field has to be shaped with hoes into small oblong patches to conserve water. Except for a day or two after the rare rainstorms there is never enough water. A long the edges of the fields channels are hacked out to a depth of thirty or forty feet to get at the tiny trickles which run through the subsoil.19 Every afternoon a file of very old women passes down the road outside my house, each carrying a load of firewood. All of them are mummified with age and the sun, and all of them are tiny. It seems to be generally the case in primitive communities that the women, when they get beyond a certain age, shrink to the size of children. One day poor creature who could not have been more than four feet tall crept past me under a vast load of wood. I stopped her and put a five-sou sou piece ( a little more than a farthing into her hand. She answered with a shrill wail, almost a scream, which was partly gratitude but mainly surprise. I suppose that from her point of view, by taking any notice of her, I seemed almost to be violating a law of nature.She accept- ed her status as an old woman, that is to say as a beast of burden. When a family is travelling it is quite usual to see a father and a grown-up son riding ahead on donkeys, and an old woman following on foot, carrying the baggage.20 But what is strange about these people is their invisibility. For several weeks, always at about the same time of day, the file of old women had hobbled past the house with their firewood, and though they had registered themselves on my eyeballs I cannot truly say that I had seen them. Firewood was passing -- that was how I saw it. It was only that one day I happened to be walking behind them, and the curious up-and-down motion of a load of wood drew my attention to the human being beneath it. Then for the first time I noticed the poor old earth-coloured bodies, bodies reduced to bones and leathery skin, bent double under the crushing weight. Yet I suppose I had not been five minutes on Moroccan soil before I noticed the overloading of the donkeys and was infuriated by it. There is no question that the donkeys are damnably treated. The Moroccan donkey is hardly bigger than a St. Bernard dog, it carries a load which in the British Army would be considered too much for a fifteen-hands mule, and very often its packsaddle is not taken off its back for weeks together. But what is peculiarly pitiful is that it is the most willing creature on earth, it follows its master like a dog and does not need either bridle or halter . After a dozen years of devoted work it suddenly drops dead, whereupon its master tips it into the ditch and the village dogs have torn its guts out before it is cold.21 This kind of thing makes one's blood boil, whereas-- on the whole -- the plight of the human beings does not. I am not commenting, merely pointing to a fact. People with brown skins are next door to invisible. Anyone can be sorry for the donkey with its galled back, but it is generally owing to some kind of accident if one even notices the old woman under her load of sticks.22 As the storks flew northward the Negroes were marching southward -- a long, dusty column, infantry , screw-gun batteries, and then more infantry, four or five thousand men in all, winding up the road with a clumping of boots and a clatter of iron wheels.23 They were Senegalese, the blackest Negroes in Africa, so black thatsometimes it is difficult to see whereabouts on their necks the hair begins. Their splendid bodies were hidden in reach-me-down khaki uniforms, their feet squashed into boots that looked like blocks of wood, and every tin hat seemed to be a couple of sizes too small. It was very hot and the men had marched a long way. They slumped under the weight of their packs and the curiously sensitive black faces were glistening with sweat.24 As they went past, a tall, very young Negro turned and caught my eye. But the look he gave me was not in the least the kind of look you might expect. Not hostile, not contemptuous, not sullen, not even inquisitive. It was the shy, wide-eyed Negro look, which actually is a look of profound respect. I saw how it was. This wretched boy, who is a French citizen and has therefore been dragged from the forest to scrub floors and catch syphilis in garrison towns, actually has feelings of reverence before a white skin. He has been taught that the white race are his masters, and he still believes it.25 But there is one thought which every white man (and in this connection it doesn't matter twopence if he calls himself a socialist) thinks when he sees a black army marching past. "How much longer can we go on kidding these people? How long before they turn their guns in the other direction?"26 It was curious really. Every white man there had this thought stowed somewhere or other in his mind. I had it, so had the other onlookers, so had the officers on their sweating chargers and the white N. C. Os marching in the ranks. It was a kind of secret which we all knew and were too clever to tell; only the Negroes didn't know it. And really it was like watching a flock of cattle to see the long column, a mile or two miles of armed men, flowing peacefully up the road, while the great white birds drifted over them in the opposite direction, glittering like scraps of Paper.第三课1 Conversation is the most sociable of all human activities. And it is an activity only of humans. However intricate the ways in which animals communicate with each other, they do not indulge in anything that deserves the name of conversation.2 The charm of conversation is that it does not really start from anywhere, and no one has any idea where it will go as it meanders or leaps and sparkles or just glows. The enemy of good conversation is the person who has "something to say." Conversation is not for making a point. Argument may often be a part of it, but the purpose of the argument is not to convince. There is no winning in conversation. In fact, the best conversationalists are those who are prepared to lose. Suddenly they see the moment for one of their best anecdotes, but in a flash the conversation has moved on and the opportunity is lost. They are ready to let it go.3 Perhaps it is because of my up-bringing in English pubs that I think bar conversation has a charm of its own. Bar friends are not deeply involved in each other's lives. They are companions, not intimates. The fact that their marriages may be on the rooks, or that their love affairs have been broken or even that they got out of bed on the wrong side is simply not a concern. They are like the musketeers of Dumas who, although they lived side by side with each other, did not delve into,each other's lives or the recesses of their thoughts and feelings.4 It was on such an occasion the other evening, as the conversation moved desultorily here and there, from the most commonplace to thoughts of Jupiter, without any focus and with no need for one, that suddenly the alchemy of conversation took place, and all at once there was a focus. I do not remember what made one of our companions say it--she clearly had not come into the bar to say it, it was not something that was pressing on her mind--but her remark fell quite naturally into the talk.5 "Someone told me the Other day that the phrase, 'the King's English' was a term of criticism, that it means language which one should not properly use."6 The glow of the conversation burst into flames. There were affirmations and protests and denials, and of course the promise, made in all such conversation, that we would look it up on the morning. That would settle it; but conversation does not need to be settled; it could still go ignorantly on.7 It was an Australian who had given her such a definition of "the King's English," which produced some rather tart remarks about what one could expect from。

2021年《高级英语》课文逐句翻译（1）Lesson One Rock Superstars 关于我们和我们的社会，他们告诉了我们些什么？What Do They Tell Us About Ourselves and Our Society？摇滚乐是青少年背叛的音乐。

——摇滚乐评论家约相？罗克韦尔Rock is the music of teenage rebellion.—— John Rockwell，rock music critic知其崇拜何人便可知其人。

——小说家罗伯特？佩恩？沃伦By a man’s heroes ye shall know him.—— Robert Penn Warren，novelist1972年6月的一天，芝加哥圆形剧场挤满了大汗淋漓、疯狂摇摆的人们。

It was mid-June，1972，the Chicago Amphitheater was packed，sweltering，rocking.滚石摇滚乐队的迈克？贾格尔正在台上演唱“午夜安步人”。

Mick Jagger of the Rolling Stones was singing “Midnight Rambler.”演唱结束时评论家唐？赫克曼在现场。

Critic Don Heckman was there when the song ended.他描述道：“贾格尔抓起一个半加仑的水罐沿舞台前沿边跑边把里面的水洒向前几排汗流浃背的听众。

听众们蜂拥般跟随着他跑，急切地希望能沾上几滴洗礼的圣水。

“Jagger，” he said，“grabs a half-gallon jug of water and runs along the front platform，sprinkling its contents over the first few rows of sweltering listeners. They surge to follow him，eager to be touched by a few baptismal drops”。

高级英语第二册课文翻译及词汇第一课迎战卡米尔号飓风词汇(Vocabulary)lash (v.): move quickly or violently猛烈冲击；拍打pummel (n.): beat or hit with repeated blows，esp．with the fist(尤指用拳头)连续地打course (n.): a way of behaving；mode 0f conduct行为；品行；做法demolish (v.): pull down．tear down，or smash to pieces (a building，etc．)，destroy：ruin 拉倒；打碎；拆毁；破坏；毁灭motel (n.):a hotel intended primarily for those traveling by car, usually with direct access from each room to an area for cars汽车游客旅馆gruff (adj.): rough or surly in manner or speech；harsh and throaty；hoarse粗暴的，粗鲁的；粗哑的。

嘶哑的batten (n.): fasten with battens用压条钉住(或固定)methodically (adv.): orderly，systematically有秩序地；有条理地main (n.): a principal pipe, or line in a distributing system for water, gas, electricity, etc(自来水，煤气，电等的)总管bathtub (n.): a tub，now usually a bathroom fixture，in which to take a bath浴盆，浴缸generator (n.): a machine for changing mechanical energy into electrical energy；dynamo发电机，发动机scud (v.): run or move swiftly；glide or skim along easily疾行，飞驰；掠过mattress (n.): a casing of strong cloth or other fabric filled with cotton，hair，foam rubber，etc．床垫；褥子pane (n.):a single division of a window，etc.，consisting of a sheet of glass in a frame；such a sheet of glass窗格；窗格玻璃disintegrate (v.): separate into parts or fragments; break up；disunite分裂，分解，裂成碎块blast (n.): a strong rush of(air or wind)一股(气流)；一阵(风)douse (n.): plunge or thrust suddenly into liquid；drench; pour liquid over把…浸入液体里；使浸透；泼液体在…上brigade (n.): a group of people organized to function。

Hiroshima ---- The "Liveliest" City in Japan(excerpts)广岛--日本“最有活力”的城市(节选)by Jacques Danvoir 雅各•丹瓦“Hiroshima!Everybody off!”That must be what the man in the Japanese stationmaster's uniform shouted, as the fastest train in the world slipped to a stop in Hiroshima Station. I did not understand what he was saying. First of all, because he was shouting in Japanese. And secondly, because I had a lump in my throat and a lot ofsad thoughts on my mind that had little to do with anything a Nippon railways official might say. The very act of stepping on this soil, in breathing this air of Hiroshima, was for me a far greater adventure than any trip or any reportorial assignment I'd previously taken. Was I not at the scene of the crime?“广岛到了!大家请下车!”当世界上最快的高速列车减速驶进广岛车站并渐渐停稳时，那位身着日本火车站站长制服的男人口中喊出的一定是这样的话。

Cool was I and logical. Keen, calculating, perspicacious, acute and astute—I was all of these. My brain was as powerful as a dynamo, precise as a chemist’s scales, as penetrating as a scalpel. And—think of it!—I only eighteen.我这个人头脑冷静，逻辑思维实力强。

敏锐、慎重、聪慧、深刻、机灵一一这些就是我的特点。

我的大脑像发电机一样发达，像化学家的天平一样精确，像手术刀一样锐利。

一一你知道吗?我才十八岁呀。

It is not often that one so young has such a giant intellect. Take, for example, Pete y Bellows, my roommate at the university. Same age, same background, but dumb a s an ox. A nice enough fellow, you understand, but nothing upstairs. Emotional type. Unstable. Impressionable. Worst of all, a faddist. Fads, I submit, are the very negat ion of reason. To be swept up in every new craze that comes along, to surrender o neself to idiocy just because everybody else is doing it—this, to me, is the acme of mindlessness. Not, however, to Petey.年纪这么轻而智力又如此非凡的人并不常有。

高级英语第二册课文翻译及词汇第一课迎战卡米尔号飓风约瑟夫·布兰克小约翰。

柯夏克已料到，卡米尔号飓风来势定然凶猛。

就在去年8月17日那个星期天，当卡米尔号飓风越过墨西哥湾向西北进袭之时，收音机和电视里整天不断地播放着飓风警报。

柯夏克一家居住的地方一—密西西比州的高尔夫港——肯定会遭到这场飓风的猛烈袭击。

路易斯安那、密西西比和亚拉巴马三州沿海一带的居民已有将近15万人逃往内陆安全地带。

但约翰就像沿海村落中其他成千上万的人一样，不愿舍弃家园，要他下决心弃家外逃，除非等到他的一家人一—妻子詹妮丝以及他们那七个年龄从三岁到十一岁的孩子一一眼看着就要灾祸临头。

为了找出应付这场风灾的最佳对策，他与父母商量过。

两位老人是早在一个月前就从加利福尼亚迁到这里来，住进柯夏克一家所住的那幢十个房间的屋子里。

他还就此征求过从拉斯韦加斯开车来访的老朋友查理?希尔的意见。

约翰的全部产业就在自己家里(他开办的玛格纳制造公司是设计、研制各种教育玩具和教育用品的。

公司的一切往来函件、设计图纸和工艺模具全都放在一楼)。

37岁的他对飓风的威力是深有体会的。

四年前，他原先拥有的位于高尔夫港以西几英里外的那个家就曾毁于贝翠号飓风(那场风灾前夕柯夏克已将全家搬到一家汽车旅馆过夜)。

不过，当时那幢房子所处的地势偏低，高出海平面仅几英尺。

“我们现在住的这幢房子高了23英尺，，’他对父亲说，“而且距离海边足有250码远。

这幢房子是1915年建造的。

至今还从未受到过飓风的袭击。

我们呆在这儿恐怕是再安全不过了。

”老柯夏克67岁．是个语粗心慈的熟练机械师。

他对儿子的意见表示赞同。

“我们是可以严加防卫。

度过难关的，”他说?“一但发现危险信号，我们还可以赶在天黑之前撤出去。

”为了对付这场飓风，几个男子汉有条不紊地做起准备工作来。

自米水管道可能遭到破坏，他们把浴盆和提俑都盛满水。

飓风也可能造成断电，所以他们检查r手提式收音机和手电筒里的电池以及提灯里的燃料油。