描述
开 本: 大32开纸 张: 胶版纸包 装: 平装是否套装: 否国际标准书号ISBN: 9787515901152丛书名: 我的心灵藏书馆/彭萍主编
《我的心灵藏书馆：小妇人（英文注释版）》是世界传世经典权威注释本的唯美呈现！原汁原味的著作阅读不再遥不可及！
★**部引进中国的国外经典名著★一曲世俗难容的爱情伤歌★从巴黎传至世界的每个角落。
★那朵纯白无暇的茶花永远地隽刻在他心中★凄美的爱情感动着世世代代的读者。
★北京外国语大学名师团队注释★资深翻译教授陈德彰寄语推荐★权威注释版让你“读懂”原著★英语学习者和文学爱好者的藏书之爱
《我的心灵藏书馆：小妇人（英文注释版）》是世界传世经典权威注释本的唯美呈现！原汁原味的著作阅读不再遥不可及！
◆权威版本，呈现原汁原味的英文名著。本套丛书大部分参考美国企鹅出版集团出版的“企鹅经典丛书”（Penguin Classics）和英国华兹华斯出版公司出版的世界名著系列（Wordsworth Classics）两种版本进行校对。力求为读者呈现*原汁原味的英文名著。
◆名师选编，本本畅销。本套丛书是由北京外国语大学资深教师从浩如烟海的名著世界中精选而出，并由资深翻译教授陈德彰寄语推荐。精选名著本本畅销，风靡世界数十年，尤其适合热爱英文原版名著的广大青年读者朋友阅读。
◆权威注释，精确理解原版英文名著。本套丛书特邀北京外国语大学资深教师名师团队注释。文化背景详细注释，词汇短语详细说明，包含所有4级以上的难点词汇，使阅读毫无障碍。另外对文中的长句、难句、复杂句进行了重点分析解释，并提供译文，使英语学习者读懂名著，理解名著，爱上名著。
◆“*美图书”设计师倾情打造，精装呈现名著之美。本套丛书特邀“*美图书”设计师进行封面设计，风格清雅脱俗。装帧精美，是广大外国名著爱好者值得收藏和分享的英语读物。
《我的心灵藏书馆：茶花女（英文版）》是第一部引进中国的国外经典名著，《我的心灵藏书馆：茶花女（英文版）》通过阿尔芒和玛格丽特的故事，描写了一曲世俗难容的爱情伤歌，从巴黎传至世界的每个角落，那朵纯白无暇的茶花永远地镌刻在阿尔芒心中，凄美的爱情感动着世世代代的读者，也使读者看到了浪漫主义的背后是现实的冷酷无情。《我的心灵藏书馆：茶花女（英文版）》英文描写细腻，语言流畅，值得阅读与赏析，并配有注释导读，解释难词难句，介绍文化背景，是帮助读者阅读名著、英语知识的*图书。
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
…………
我读《茶花女》是向好朋友挪的十小时，从晚上八时我便拼命看，夜间一时看完，让我妹妹起来看，翌晨五时，妹妹回到床上睡觉。我一边翻看第二遍，一边走到轮渡，过海去还书。还记得那晚停电，点两盏油灯。仿佛听见窗下有人哭泣，几次撩开窗帘，望着发白的小路，我已泪流满面。
——著名诗人舒婷
Illness like the one to which Armand had succumbed have at leastthis much to be said for them：they either kill you at once or letthem selves be conquered very quickly.
A fortnight after the events which I have just recounted，Armandwas convalescing very satisfactorily， and we were bound by a firmfriend ship.I had scarcely left his sick room throughout the wholetime of his illness.
Spring had dispensed its flowers ，leaves，birds，and harmomesmabundance，and my friend’s window cheerfully overlooked his gardenwhich wafted its healthy draughts up to him.
The doctor had allowed him to get up，and we often sat talking bythe open window at that hour of the day when the sun is at itswarmest，between noon and two o’clock.I studiously avoided speakingto him of Marguerite，for I was still a fraid that the name wouldreawaken some sad memory which slumbered beneath the sick man’sapparent calm. But Armand，on the contrary，seemed to take pleasurein speaking of her-not as he had done previously，with tears in hiseyes，but with a gentle smile whichallayed my fears for his state ofmind.I had noticed that， since his last visit to the cemetery andthespectacle which had been responsible for causing hisseriousbreakdown，the measure of his mental anguish seemed to havebeen taken by his physical illness， and Marguerite’s death hadceased to present itself through the eyes of the past.A kind ofsolace had come with the certainty he had acquired and，to drive offthe somber image which often thrust itself into his mind，he plungedinto the happier memories of his affair with Marguerite andappeared willing to recall no others.His body was too exhausted byhis attack of fever，and even by it streat ment，to allow his mind toacknowledge any violent emotions，and despite himself the universaljoy of spring by which Armand was surrounded directed his thoughtsto happier images.All this time，he had stubbornly refused to informhis family of the peril he was in，and when the danger was past，hisfather still knew nothing of his illness.One evening，we hadremained longer by the window than usual.The weather had beensuperb and the sun was setting in a brilliant twilight of blue andgold. Although we were in Paris， the greenery around us seemed tocut us off from the world，and only the rare sound of a passingcarriage from time to time disturbed our conversation.
”It was about this time of year，and during the evening of a daylike today，that I first met Marguerite，” said Armand， heedingo hisown thoughts rather than what I was saying.
I made no reply.
Then he turned to me and said：
”But I must tell you the story， you shall turn it into a bookwhich no one will believe，though it may be interesting to write.”
” You shall tell it to me some other time，my friend，” I told him，”you are still not well enough. “
”The evening is warm，I have eaten my breast of chicken，” he saidwith a snule; “I am not the least feverish~，we have nothing else todo，I shall tell you everything. “
” Since you are so set on it，I’ll listen. “
”It’s a very simple tale，” he then added，” and I shall tell it inthe
order in which it happened. If at some stage you do makesomething of it，you are perfectly free to tell it another way.”
Here is what he told me，and I have scarcely changed a word of hismoving story.
Yes（Armand went on，letting his head fall against the back ofhis armchair），yes，it was on an evening like this ！ I had spent theday in the country with one of my friends，Gaston R. We had returnedtoParis in the evening and，for want of anything better to do，hadgone to the Theatre des Varietes.
During one of the intervals，we left our seats and，in thecomdor，we saw a tall woman whom my friend greeted with a bow.
”Who was that you just bowed to？” I asked him.
”Marguerite Gautier，” he replied.
”It strikes me she is very much changed，for I didn’trecognizeher，” I said with a tremor which you will understand in amoment.
” She’s been ill. The poor girl’s not long for this world.”
I recall these words as though they had been said to meyesterday.
Now，my friend，l must tell you that for two years past，when ever Imet her，the sight of that girl had always made a strangeimpressionon me.
Without knowing why，l paled and my heart beat violently. Ihave afriend who dabbles in the occult，and he would call what I felt anaff inity of fluids; I myself believe quite simply that Iwasdestined to fall in love with Marguerite， and that this wasapresentiment.
The fact remains that she made a strong impression on me. Severalof my friends had seen how I reacted， and they had hooted withlaughter when they realized from what quarter~ that impressioncame.
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