錄音: The Great Gatsby (continued)

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Across the courtesy bay the white palaces of fashionable East Egg glittered along the water, and the history of the summer really begins on the evening I drove over there to have dinner with the Tom Buchanans. Daisy was my second cousin once removed, and I’d known Tom in college. And just after the war I spent two days with them in Chicago.

Her hu*****and, among various physical accomplishments, had been one of the most powerful ends that ever played football at New Haven — a national figure in a way, one of those men who reach such an acute limited excellence at twenty-one that everything afterward savors of anti-climax. His family were enormously wealthy — even in college his freedom with money was a matter for reproach 責備— but now he’d left Chicago and come East in a fashion that rather took your breath away: for instance, he’d brought down a string of polo ponies from Lake Forest. It was hard to realize that a man in my own generation was wealthy enough to do that.

Why they came East I don’t know. They had spent a year in France for no particular reason, and then drifted here and there unrestfully wherever people played polo and were rich together. This was a permanent move, said Daisy over the telephone, but I didn’t believe it — I had no sight into Daisy’s heart, but I felt that Tom would drift on forever seeking, a little wistfully, for the dramatic turbulence of some irrecoverable football game.

And so it happened that on a warm windy evening I drove over to East Egg to see two old friends whom I scarcely knew at all. Their house was even more elaborate than I expected, a cheerful red-and-white Georgian Colonial mansion, overlooking the bay. The lawn started at the beach and ran toward the front door for a quarter of a mile, jumping over sun-dials and brick walks and burning gardens — finally when it reached the house drifting up the side in bright vines as though from the momentum of its run. The front was broken by a line of French windows, glowing now with reflected gold and wide open to the warm windy afternoon, and Tom Buchanan in riding clothes was standing with his legs apart on the front porch.

He had changed since his New Haven years. Now he was a sturdy straw-haired man of thirty with a rather hard mouth and a supercilious [ˌsuːpərˈsɪliəs] 目中無人的manner. Two shining arrogant eyes had established dominance over his face and gave him the appearance of always leaning aggressively forward. Not even the effeminate [ɪˈfemɪnət女人氣的 swank吹牛者吹牛者 of his riding clothes could hide the enormous power of that body — he seemed to fill those glistening boots until he strained the top lacing, and you could see a great pack of muscle shifting when his shoulder moved under his thin coat. It was a body capable of enormous leverage — a cruel body.

所有跟帖： 

• 真勤快，讚一個。 -EnLearner- ♂ (114 bytes) () 09/07/2012 postreply 20:14:33

• thanks! some sentences still don't understand -sportwoman- ♀ (0 bytes) () 09/08/2012 postreply 03:34:55

• 大內高手們，請教這句怎麽理解？Good weekend! -sportwoman- ♀ (730 bytes) () 09/08/2012 postreply 03:48:55

• and what is: in the spring of twenty-two.? -sportwoman- ♀ (0 bytes) () 09/08/2012 postreply 03:50:18

• In the spring of 1922. -NewVoice- ♀ (0 bytes) () 09/08/2012 postreply 07:24:16

• Try to paraphrase: -NewVoice- ♀ (1758 bytes) () 09/08/2012 postreply 07:05:10

• wonderful! Thanks sis Newvoice! -sportwoman- ♀ (0 bytes) () 09/08/2012 postreply 08:13:56