¿ì²ÊƱappÏÂÔØ°²×°µ½ÊÖ»ú:Ïà¹ØÈí¼þ ·ÂiosdockÀ¸£¬love u ËæÉíÆ× µ¯¿Í£¬°üÃûÐ޸ģ¬ÊÖ»ú²»¶ÁÈ¡sd¿¨£¬powerpoint°æ£¬Ë÷Äáxm50t5.1£¬3¸ö¶¯»­Ê±³¤ÉèÖöàÉÙºÏÊÊ

He looked at his watch, not deriving any impression from it, then back at her.¤ã¤Ö¿àª¥Mr Silverdale clasped his hands together.¤¥¥�¥õêô

She went to the window and brought back her strip of pomegranates.Þ¥¤é¥º¨�ó¤³Î¤¥¤¤�¥¥¦¤Ý¤ÅÇ

�Ê»¶�¤¤¤ç¤¼¥Î¥He picked up his crook.¤Ö¹¥¤¥¥æ³¥¥Í

Mrs Goodford finished her plum tart.¤à¥Ú¥ì»êÅ�奥 µÓ¥¥¤·Ñ©�ì¤ò¥¥å¥Í

‘Poor parson has no business to indulge himself,’ he said, and blew the inhaled smoke up the chimney in a gay puff.ϪÓØؤ�¥©¥·¥¥¤ªé°‘I am right,’ she said. ‘And I think your plan was wrong.’¤¥¥

�á¥õ¤¤Ú�¿¤¥¥¥¤¤¥Ù¤‘Give, give!’ he said. ‘Give and ask nothing. What you get doesn’t matter. Does it?’⥤ØÅ®¬ë磻

‘No trouble, I hope?’ he said.¥¤ö¥¥¤¤¶‘As regards size,’ he said, ‘perhaps you will come up and have a look at my books again, and get a guide from them.’ç´×¥¤‘She is very much obliged to you, sir,’ he said. ‘She will be very much pleased to come.’¤Ì¤¥

�¤­¥âÉÞ¹But other things extraneous to the temple had come in with him as he entered, like flies through an opened door, and still buzzed about him. His wife’s want of comprehension was one of them. It was not often that Mrs Goodford had the power to annoy him so thoroughly as she had done to-day, but when she did, all that Emmeline had to contribute to the situation was such a sentence as, ‘What a pity you and Mamma worry each other so.’ She did not understand, and though he told himself that in thirty years he should have got used to that, he found now and then, and to-day with unusual vividness, that he had not done so. She had never become a companion to him; he had never found in her that for which ultimately a man is seeking, though at the time he may not know it, when he goes a-wooing. A mouth, an eyebrow, the curve of a limb may be his lure, and having attained it he may think for a few years of passion that in gaining it he has gained what he sought, but unless he has indeed got that which unconsciously he desired, he will find some day when the gray ash begins to grow moss-like on his burning coals, that though his children{35} are round him, there is but a phantom opposite to him. The romance of passion has burned itself out, and from the ashes has no ph?nix arisen with whom he can soar to the sun. He desired the mouth or the eyebrow: he got them, and now in the changing lineaments he can scarcely remember what that which so strangely moved him was like, while in the fading of its brightness nothing else has emerged.Â¥¤èæ¥Ò¥±¤¡óñ�¤¥ê¥Ø¥¥¥¤¥òÓÙ

�¼¤µ½¥�¥óÙ¨¥áƤµÓ¥¬�¥å¥¤

�¥¤¥ÑäԤ©ö�¤é¾«¥Í¤¥·í�¥è¼¥¥