酷兔英语
    当前位置:
  1. 首页
  2. 文章
  3. 娱乐英语
  4. 原版小说
  5. 正文

Typhoon-Part1_JOSEPH CONRAD (1857-1924)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

0 收藏 0 分享 0 赞

章节正文
文章总共2页
that, in the order of material appearances, was the exact



counterpart of his mind: it presented no marked characteristics

of firmness or stupidity; it had no pronouncedcharacteristics



whatever; it was simply ordinary, irresponsive, and unruffled.

The only thing his aspect might have been said to suggest, at



times, was bashfulness; because he would sit, in business offices

ashore, sunburnt and smiling faintly, with downcast eyes. When



he raised them, they were perceived to be direct in their glance

and of blue colour. His hair was fair and extremely fine,



clasping from temple to temple the bald dome of his skull in a

clamp as of fluffy silk. The hair of his face, on the contrary,



carroty and flaming, resembled a growth of copper wire clipped

short to the line of the lip; while, no matter how close he



shaved, fiery metallic gleams passed, when he moved his head,

over the surface of his cheeks. He was rather below the medium



height, a bit round-shouldered, and so sturdy of limb that his

clothes always looked a shade too tight for his arms and legs.



As if unable to grasp what is due to the difference of latitudes,

he wore a brown bowler hat, a complete suit of a brownish hue,



and clumsy black boots. These harbour togs gave to his thick

figure an air of stiff and uncouth smartness. A thin silver



watch chain looped his waistcoat, and he never left his ship for

the shore without clutching in his powerful, hairy fist an



elegant umbrella of the very best quality, but generally

unrolled. Young Jukes, the chief mate, attending his commander



to the gangway, would sometimes venture to say, with the greatest

gentleness, "Allow me, sir" -- and possessing himself of the



umbrella deferentially, would elevate the ferule, shake the

folds, twirl a neat furl in a jiffy, and hand it back; going



through the performance with a face of such portentous gravity,

that Mr. Solomon Rout, the chief engineer, smoking his morning



cigar over the skylight, would turn away his head in order to

hide a smile. "Oh! aye! The blessed gamp. . . . Thank 'ee,



Jukes, thank 'ee," would mutter Captain MacWhirr, heartily,

without looking up.



Having just enough imagination to carry him through each

successive day, and no more, he was tranquilly sure of himself;



and from the very same cause he was not in the least conceited.

It is your imaginative superior who is touchy, overbearing, and



difficult to please; but every ship Captain MacWhirr commanded

was the floating abode of harmony and peace. It was, in truth,



as impossible for him to take a flight of fancy as it would be

for a watchmaker to put together a chronometer with nothing



except a two-pound hammer and a whip-saw in the way of tools.

Yet the uninteresting lives of men so entirely given to the



actuality of the bare existence have their mysterious side. It

was impossible in Captain MacWhirr's case, for instance, to



understand what under heaven could have induced that perfectly

satisfactory son of a petty grocer in Belfast to run away to sea.



And yet he had done that very thing at the age of fifteen. It

was enough, when you thought it over, to give you the idea of an



immense, potent, and invisible hand thrust into the ant-heap of

the earth, laying hold of shoulders, knocking heads together, and



setting the unconscious faces of the multitude towards

inconceivable goals and in undreamt-of directions.



His father never really forgave him for this undutiful stupidity.

"We could have got on without him," he used to say later on, "but



there's the business. And he an only son, too!" His mother wept

very much after his disappearance. As it had never occurred to






文章总共2页
文章标签:名著  

章节正文
Copyright © 2023 Qeto All rights reserved.
商务合作 | 联系我们 | 关于我们 | 版权声明 | 隐私条款 | 如果智培

京ICP备05059198号-1 京公网安备 11011202003401号