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2024年7月1日发(作者：二叉树遍历c++实现)
简爱(Jane Eyre)
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 outdoor 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 mamma in the drawing-room: she lay reclined on a sofa by
the fire side, 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 in 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
letter press 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 hebrites.
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
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