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简·爱:英文pdf/doc/txt格式电子书下载

书名:简·爱:英文pdf/doc/txt格式电子书下载

推荐语:纯英文原著原汁原味,本色呈现原作的经典

作者:(英)勃朗特著

出版社:中国纺织出版社

出版时间:2016-01-01

书籍编号:30230088

ISBN:9787518021130

正文语种:英文

字数:828054

版次:1

所属分类:外语学习-英语读物

全书内容:

简·爱:英文pdf/doc/txt格式电子书下载

简·爱:英文pdf/doc/txt格式电子书下载

序言

阅读英语文学名著学语言,既可接触原汁原味的英语,又能享受文学之美,一举两得,何乐不为?


《简·爱》是19世纪英国著名女作家夏洛蒂·勃朗特的代表作,是一部具有自传色彩的作品。故事讲述了一位从小就成孤儿的英国女子简·爱在各种磨难中不断追求自由与尊严,坚持自我,最终获得幸福的故事。


女主人公简·爱从小失去父母,寄养在舅母家里,虽然百般努力,但仍然难以讨得舅母的喜欢。后来,她被送进慈善学校,在极其恶劣的条件下仍然坚持学习。从慈善学校毕业后,简·爱鼓起勇气开始迎接新生活,应聘到桑菲尔德庄园当家庭教师,负责教育罗切斯特先生的女儿。在此过程中与罗切斯特先生擦出了爱情的火花,但在两人结婚的当天,意外得知罗切斯特先生的前一位夫人并没有死,而是疯了,并且正关在庄园里。于是简·爱一气之下离开了庄园,碰到了自己的表哥表妹,正当简·爱犹豫是否与表哥一起离开英国,做传教士的妻子时,罗切斯特的庄园由于疯妻纵火毁于一旦,他本人也受伤致盲,心灵有所感应的简·爱赶回庄园,重新回到罗切斯特的身旁。从此他们幸福地生活在一起。


《简·爱》是一部带有自传色彩的长篇小说,女主人公简的人生追求有两个基本旋律:富有激情、幻想、反抗和坚持不懈的精神;对人间自由幸福的渴望和对更高精神境界的追求。这本小说通过对孤女简坎坷不平的人生经历,成功地塑造了一个不安于现状、不甘受辱、敢于抗争的女性形象,反映了一个平凡心灵的坦诚呼号和责难。作者通过这部作品告诉了我们这样一个道理:人的价值=尊严+爱。


本书的特点:


1.全书以浓郁抒情的笔法和深刻细腻的心理描写,引人入胜地展示了男女主人公曲折起伏的爱情经历。


2.纯英文版,权威版本,原汁原味,本色地呈现原作真实的经典。


要学语言、读好书,当读《简·爱》名著原文。如习武者切磋交流,同高手过招方能渐明其间奥妙,若一味在低端徘徊,终难登堂入室。积年流传的《简·爱》,就是书中“高手”。

简·爱:英文pdf/doc/txt格式电子书下载

There was no possibility of taking a walk that day. We had been wandering, indeed, in the leafless shrubbery an hour in the morning;but since dinner(Mrs.Reed, when there was no company, dined early)the cold winter wind had brought with it clouds so sombre, and a rain so penetrating, that further out-door exercise was now out of the question.


I was glad of it:I never liked long walks, especially on chilly afternoons:dreadful to me was the coming home in the raw twilight, with nipped fingers and toes, and a heart saddened by the chidings of Bessie, the nurse, and humbled by the consciousness of my physical inferiority to Eliza, John, and Georgiana Reed.


The said Eliza, John, and Georgiana were now clustered round their mama in the drawing-room:she lay reclined on a sofa by the fireside, and with her darlings about her(for the time neither quarrelling nor crying)looked perfectly happy. Me, she had dispensed from joining the group;saying,“She regretted to be under the necessity of keeping me at a distance;but that until she heard from Bessie, and could discover by her own observation, that I was endeavouring in good earnest to acquire a more sociable and childlike disposition, a more attractive and sprightly manner—something lighter, franker, more natural, as it were—she really must exclude me from privileges intended only for contented, happy, little children.”


“What does Bessie say I have done?”I asked.


“Jane,I don\'t like cavillers or questioners;besides, there is something truly forbidding in a child taking up her elders in that manner. Be seated somewhere;and until you can speak pleasantly,remain silent.”


A small breakfast-room adjoined the drawing-room, I slipped in there. It contained a bookcase:I soon possessed myself of a volume, taking care that it should be one stored with pictures.I mounted into the window-seat:gathering up my feet, I sat cross-legged, like a Turk;and, having drawn the red moreen curtain nearly close, I was shrined in double retirement.


Folds of scarlet drapery shut in my view to the right hand;to the left were the clear panes of glass, protecting, but not separating me from the drear November day. At intervals, while turning over the leaves of my book, I studied the aspect of that winter afternoon.Afar, it offered a pale blank of mist and cloud;near a scene of wet lawn and storm-beat shrub, with ceaseless rain sweeping away wildly before a long and lamentable blast.


I returned to my book—Bewick\'s“History of British Birds”:the letterpress thereof I cared little for, generally speaking;and yet there were certain introductory pages that, child as I was,I could not pass quite as a blank. They were those which treat of the haunts of sea-fowl;of“the solitary rocks and promontories”by them only inhabited;of the coast of Norway, studded with isles from its southern extremity, the Lindeness, or Naze, to the North Cape—


“Where the Northern Ocean, in vast whirls,


Boils round the naked, melancholy isles


Of farthest Thule;and the Atlantic surge


Pours in among the stormy Hebrides.”


Nor could I pass unnoticed the suggestion of the bleak shores of Lapland, Siberia,Spitzbergen, Nova Zembla, Iceland, Greenland, with“the vast sweep of the Arctic Zone, and those forlorn regions of dreary space—that reservoir of frost and snow, where firm fields of ice, the accumulation of centuries of winters,glazed in Alpine heights above heights, surround the pole, and concentre the multiplied rigours of extreme cold.”Of these death-white realms I formed an idea of my own:shadowy, like all the half-comprehended notions that float dim through children\'s brains, but strangely impressive. The words in these introductory pages connected themselves with the succeeding vignettes,and gave significance to the rock standing up alone in a sea of billow and spray;to the broken boat stranded on a desolate coast;to the cold and ghastly moon glancing through bars of cloud at a wreck just sinking.


I cannot tell what sentiment haunted the quite solitary churchyard, with its inscribed headstone;its gate, its two trees, its low horizon, girdled by a broken wall, and its newly-risen crescent, attesting the hour of eventide.


The two ships becalmed on a torpid sea, I believed to

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