时间:2020-01-25 来源:文都网校 浏览: 分享:


      经典名句-英文:cheatig a black ma is te times worse tha cheatig a white.



      Jem gulped down his second glassful and slapped his chest. “I know what we aregoing to play,” he announced. “Something new, something different.”

      “What?” asked Dill.

      “Boo Radley.”

      Jem’s head at times was transparent: he had thought that up to make me understandhe wasn’t afraid of Radleys in any shape or form, to contrast his own fearless heroismwith my cowardice.





      “Boo Radley? How?” asked Dill.

      Jem said, “Scout, you can be Mrs. Radley-”

      “I declare if I will. I don’t think-”

      “Smatter?” said Dill. “Still scared?”

      “He can get out at night when we’re all asleep…” I said.

      Jem hissed. “Scout, how’s he gonna know what we’re doin‘? Besides, I don’t thinkhe’s still there. He died years ago and they stuffed him up the chimney.”







      Dill said, “Jem, you and me can play and Scout can watch if she’s scared.”

      I was fairly sure Boo Radley was inside that house, but I couldn’t prove it, and felt itbest to keep my mouth shut or I would be accused of believing in Hot Steams,phenomena I was immune to in the daytime.



      Jem parceled out our roles: I was Mrs. Radley, and all I had to do was come out andsweep the porch. Dill was old Mr. Radley: he walked up and down the sidewalk andcoughed when Jem spoke to him. Jem, naturally, was Boo: he went under the frontsteps and shrieked and howled from time to time.


      As the summer progressed, so did our game. We polished and perfected it, addeddialogue and plot until we had manufactured a small play upon which we rang changesevery day.


      Dill was a villain’s villain: he could get into any character part assigned him, andappear tall if height was part of the devilry required. He was as good as his worstperformance; his worst performance was Gothic. I reluctantly played assorted ladieswho entered the script. I never thought it as much fun as Tarzan, and I played thatsummer with more than vague anxiety despite Jem’s assurances that Boo Radley wasdead and nothing would get me, with him and Calpurnia there in the daytime and Atticushome at night.


      Jem was a born hero.


      It was a melancholy little drama, woven from bits and scraps of gossip andneighborhood legend: Mrs. Radley had been beautiful until she married Mr. Radley andlost all her money. She also lost most of her teeth, her hair, and her right forefinger(Dill’s contribution. Boo bit it off one night when he couldn’t find any cats and squirrels toeat.); she sat in the livingroom and cried most of the time, while Boo slowly whittledaway all the furniture in the house.


      The three of us were the boys who got into trouble; I was the probate judge, for achange; Dill led Jem away and crammed him beneath the steps, poking him with thebrushbroom. Jem would reappear as needed in the shapes of the sheriff, assortedtownsfolk, and Miss Stephanie Crawford, who had more to say about the Radleys thananybody in Maycomb.


      When it was time to play Boo’s big scene, Jem would sneak into the house, steal thescissors from the sewing-machine drawer when Calpurnia’s back was turned, then sit inthe swing and cut up newspapers. Dill would walk by, cough at Jem, and Jem wouldfake a plunge into Dill’s thigh. From where I stood it looked real.


      When Mr. Nathan Radley passed us on his daily trip to town, we would stand still andsilent until he was out of sight, then wonder what he would do to us if he suspected. Ouractivities halted when any of the neighbors appeared, and once I saw Miss MaudieAtkinson staring across the street at us, her hedge clippers poised in midair.


      One day we were so busily playing Chapter XXV, Book II of One Man’s Family, we didnot see Atticus standing on the sidewalk looking at us, slapping a rolled magazineagainst his knee. The sun said twelve noon.


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