大学英语第二册unit4原文
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Unit4
Six minutes to six, said the digital clock over the information desk in Grand Central Station.
John Blandford, a tall young army officer, focused his eyesight on the clock to note the exact time.
In six minutes he would see the woman who had filled a special place in his life for the past thirteen months, a woman he had never seen, yet whose written words had been with him and had given him strength without fail.
Soon after he volunteered for military service, he had received a book from this woman.
A letter, which wished him courage and safety, came with the book.
He discovered that many of his friends, also in the army, had received the identical book from the woman, Hollis Meynell.
And while they all got strength from it, and appreciated her support of their cause, John Blandford was the only person to write Ms. Meynell back.
On the day of his departure, to a destination overseas where he would fight in the war, he received her reply.
Aboard the cargo ship that was taking him into enemy territory, he stood on the deck and read her letter to him again and again.
For thirteen months, she had faithfully written to him.
When his letters did not arrive, she wrote anyway, without decrease.
During the difficult days of war, her letters nourished him and gave him courage.
As long as he received letters from her, he felt as though he could survive.
After a short time, he believed he loved her, and she loved him. It was as if fate had brought them together.
But when he asked her for a photo, she declined his request.
She explained her objectio: "If your feelings for me have any reality, any honest basis, what I look like won't matter.
Suppose I'm beautiful. I'd always be bothered by the feeling that you loved me for my beauty, and that kind of love would disgust me.
Suppose I'm plain. Then I'd always fear you were writing to me only because you were lonely and had no one else.
Either way, I would forbid myself from loving you.
When you come to New York and you see me, then you can make your decision.
Remember, both of us are free to stop or to go on after that—if that's what we choose ..."
One minute to six ... Blandford's heart leaped.
A young woman was coming toward him, and he felt a connection with her right away.
Her figure was long and thin, her spectacular golden hair lay back in curls from her small ears.
Her eyes were blue flowers; her lips had a gentle firmness.
In her fancy green suit she was like springtime come alive.
He started toward her, entirely forgetting to notice that she wasn't wearing a rose, and as he moved, a small, warm smile formed on her lips.
"Going my way, soldier?" she asked.
Uncontrollably, he made one step closer to her. Then he saw Hollis Meynell.
She was standing almost directly behind the girl, a woman well past forty, and a fossil to his young eyes, her hair sporting patches of gray.
She was more than fat; her thick legs shook as they moved.
But she wore a red rose on her brown coat.
The girl in the green suit was walking quickly away and soon vanished into the fog.
Blandford felt as though his heart was being compressed into a small cement ball, so strong was his desire to follow the girl, yet so deep was his longing for the woman whose spirit had truly companioned and brought warmth to his own; and there she stood.
Her pale, fat face was gentle and intelligent; he could see that now.
Her gray eyes had a warm, kindly look.
Blandford resisted the urge to follow the younger woman, though it was not easy to do so.
His fingers held the book she had sent to him before he went off to the war, which was to identify him to Hollis Meynell.
This would not be love. However, it would be something precious, something perhaps even less common than love—a friendship for which he had been, and would always be, thankful.
He held the book out toward the woman.
"I'm John Blandford, and you—you are Ms. Meynell.
I'm so glad you could meet me.
May I take you to dinner?"
The woman smiled.
"I don't know what this is all about, son," she answered. "That young lady in the green suit—the one who just went by—begged me to wear this rose on my coat.
And she said that if you asked me to go out with you, I should tell you that she's waiting for you in that big restaurant near the highway.
She said it was some kind of a test."
Six minutes to six, said the digital clock over the information desk in Grand Central Station.
John Blandford, a tall young army officer, focused his eyesight on the clock to note the exact time.
In six minutes he would see the woman who had filled a special place in his life for the past thirteen months, a woman he had never seen, yet whose written words had been with him and had given him strength without fail.
Soon after he volunteered for military service, he had received a book from this woman.
A letter, which wished him courage and safety, came with the book.
He discovered that many of his friends, also in the army, had received the identical book from the woman, Hollis Meynell.
And while they all got strength from it, and appreciated her support of their cause, John Blandford was the only person to write Ms. Meynell back.
On the day of his departure, to a destination overseas where he would fight in the war, he received her reply.
Aboard the cargo ship that was taking him into enemy territory, he stood on the deck and read her letter to him again and again.
For thirteen months, she had faithfully written to him.
When his letters did not arrive, she wrote anyway, without decrease.
During the difficult days of war, her letters nourished him and gave him courage.
As long as he received letters from her, he felt as though he could survive.
After a short time, he believed he loved her, and she loved him. It was as if fate had brought them together.
But when he asked her for a photo, she declined his request.
She explained her objectio: "If your feelings for me have any reality, any honest basis, what I look like won't matter.
Suppose I'm beautiful. I'd always be bothered by the feeling that you loved me for my beauty, and that kind of love would disgust me.
Suppose I'm plain. Then I'd always fear you were writing to me only because you were lonely and had no one else.
Either way, I would forbid myself from loving you.
When you come to New York and you see me, then you can make your decision.
Remember, both of us are free to stop or to go on after that—if that's what we choose ..."
One minute to six ... Blandford's heart leaped.
A young woman was coming toward him, and he felt a connection with her right away.
Her figure was long and thin, her spectacular golden hair lay back in curls from her small ears.
Her eyes were blue flowers; her lips had a gentle firmness.
In her fancy green suit she was like springtime come alive.
He started toward her, entirely forgetting to notice that she wasn't wearing a rose, and as he moved, a small, warm smile formed on her lips.
"Going my way, soldier?" she asked.
Uncontrollably, he made one step closer to her. Then he saw Hollis Meynell.
She was standing almost directly behind the girl, a woman well past forty, and a fossil to his young eyes, her hair sporting patches of gray.
She was more than fat; her thick legs shook as they moved.
But she wore a red rose on her brown coat.
The girl in the green suit was walking quickly away and soon vanished into the fog.
Blandford felt as though his heart was being compressed into a small cement ball, so strong was his desire to follow the girl, yet so deep was his longing for the woman whose spirit had truly companioned and brought warmth to his own; and there she stood.
Her pale, fat face was gentle and intelligent; he could see that now.
Her gray eyes had a warm, kindly look.
Blandford resisted the urge to follow the younger woman, though it was not easy to do so.
His fingers held the book she had sent to him before he went off to the war, which was to identify him to Hollis Meynell.
This would not be love. However, it would be something precious, something perhaps even less common than love—a friendship for which he had been, and would always be, thankful.
He held the book out toward the woman.
"I'm John Blandford, and you—you are Ms. Meynell.
I'm so glad you could meet me.
May I take you to dinner?"
The woman smiled.
"I don't know what this is all about, son," she answered. "That young lady in the green suit—the one who just went by—begged me to wear this rose on my coat.
And she said that if you asked me to go out with you, I should tell you that she's waiting for you in that big restaurant near the highway.
She said it was some kind of a test."
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