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初中英语听力:《暮光之城》系列有声读物在线听(一)

初中英语听力:《暮光之城》系列有声读物在线听(一),附听力内容:
        注:每部分听力巡回播放三遍
        "http://www.tudou.com/v/5BAwV39-j3k/&resourceId=25659176_04_02_99&tid=0/v.swf
        以下为听力内容:
          PREFACE
          I'd never given much thought to how I would die — though I'd had reason
          enough in the last few months — but even if I had, I would not have
          imagined it like this.
          I stared without breathing across the long room, into the dark eyes of
          the hunter, and he looked pleasantly back at me.
          Surely it was a good way to die, in the place of someone else, someone I
          loved. Noble, even. That ought to count for something.
          I knew that if I'd never gone to Forks, I wouldn't be facing death now.
          But, terrified as I was, I couldn't bring myself to regret the decision.
          When life offers you a dream so far beyond any of your expectations, it's
          not reasonable to grieve when it comes to an end.
          The hunter smiled in a friendly way as he sauntered forward to kill me.
          ===========================================================================
          1. FIRST SIGHT
          
          My mother drove me to the airport with the windows rolled down. It was
          seventy-five degrees in Phoenix, the sky a perfect, cloudless blue. I was
          wearing my favorite shirt — sleeveless, white eyelet lace; I was wearing
          it as a farewell gesture. My carry-on item was a parka.
          In the Olympic Peninsula of northwest Washington State, a small town
          named Forks exists under a near-constant cover of clouds. It rains on
          this inconsequential town more than any other place in the United States
          of America. It was from this town and its gloomy, omnipresent shade that
          my mother escaped with me when I was only a few months old. It was in
          this town that I'd been compelled to spend a month every summer until I
          was fourteen. That was the year I finally put my foot down; these past
          three summers, my dad, Charlie, vacationed with me in California for two
          weeks instead.
          It was to Forks that I now exiled myself— an action that I took with
          great horror. I detested Forks.
          I loved Phoenix. I loved the sun and the blistering heat. I loved the
          vigorous, sprawling city.
          "Bella," my mom said to me — the last of a thousand times — before I got
          on the plane. "You don't have to do this."
          My mom looks like me, except with short hair and laugh lines. I felt a
          spasm of panic as I stared at her wide, childlike eyes. How could I leave
          my loving, erratic, harebrained mother to fend for herself? Of course she
          had Phil now, so the bills would probably get paid, there would be food
          in the refrigerator, gas in her car, and someone to call when she got
          lost, but still…
          "I want to go," I lied. I'd always been a bad liar, but I'd been saying
          this lie so frequently lately that it sounded almost convincing now.
          "Tell Charlie I said hi."
          "I will."
          "I'll see you soon," she insisted. "You can come home whenever you want —
          I'll come right back as soon as you need me."
          But I could see the sacrifice in her eyes behind the promise.
          "Don't worry about me," I urged. "It'll be great. I love you, Mom."
          She hugged me tightly for a minute, and then I got on the plane, and she
          was gone.
          It's a four-hour flight from Phoenix to Seattle, another hour in a small
          plane up to Port Angeles, and then an hour drive back down to Forks.
          Flying doesn't bother me; the hour in the car with Charlie, though, I was
          a little worried about.
          Charlie had really been fairly nice about the whole thing. He seemed
          genuinely pleased that I was coming to live with him for the first time
          with any degree of permanence. He'd already gotten me registered for high
          school and was going to help me get a car.
          But it was sure to be awkward with Charlie. Neither of us was what anyone
          would call verbose, and I didn't know what there was to say regardless. I
          knew he was more than a little confused by my decision — like my mother
          before me, I hadn't made a secret of my distaste for Forks.
          When I landed in Port Angeles, it was raining. I didn't see it as an omen
          — just unavoidable. I'd already said my goodbyes to the sun.
          Charlie was waiting for me with the cruiser. This I was expecting, too.
          Charlie is Police Chief Swan to the good people of Forks. My primary
          motivation behind buying a car, despite the scarcity of my funds, was
          that I refused to be driven around town in a car with red and blue lights
          on top. Nothing slows down traffic like a cop.
          
          Charlie gave me an awkward, one-armed hug when I stumbled my way off the
          plane.
          "It's good to see you, Bells," he said, smiling as he automatically
          caught and steadied me. "You haven't changed much. How's Renée?"
          "Mom's fine. It's good to see you, too, Dad." I wasn't allowed to call
          him Charlie to his face.
          I had only a few bags. Most of my Arizona clothes were too permeable for
          Washington. My mom and I had pooled our resources to supplement my winter
          wardrobe, but it was still scanty. It all fit easily into the trunk of
          the cruiser.
          "I found a good car for you, really cheap," he announced when we were
          strapped in.
          "What kind of car?" I was suspicious of the way he said "good car for
          you" as opposed to just "good car."
          "Well, it's a truck actually, a Chevy."
          "Where did you find it?"
          "Do you remember Billy Black down at La Push?" La Push is the tiny Indian
          reservation on the coast.
          "No."
          "He used to go fishing with us during the summer," Charlie prompted.
          That would explain why I didn't remember him. I do a good job of blocking
          painful, unnecessary things from my memory.
          "He's in a wheelchair now," Charlie continued when I didn't respond, "so
          he can't drive anymore, and he offered to sell me his truck cheap."
          "What year is it?" I could see from his change of expression that this
          was the question he was hoping I wouldn't ask.
          "Well, Billy's done a lot of work on the engine — it's only a few years
          old, really."
          I hoped he didn't think so little of me as to believe I would give up
          that easily. "When did he buy it?"
          "He bought it in 1984, I think."
          "Did he buy it new?"
          "Well, no. I think it was new in the early sixties — or late fifties at
          the earliest," he admitted sheepishly.
          "Ch — Dad, I don't really know anything about cars. I wouldn't be able to
          fix it if anything went wrong, and I couldn't afford a mechanic…"
          "Really, Bella, the thing runs great. They don't build them like that
          anymore."
          The thing, I thought to myself… it had possibilities — as a nickname, at
          the very least.
          "How cheap is cheap?" After all, that was the part I couldn't compromise
          on.
          "Well, honey, I kind of already bought it for you. As a homecoming gift."
          Charlie peeked sideways at me with a hopeful expression.
          Wow. Free.
          "You didn't need to do that, Dad. I was going to buy myself a car."
          
          "I don't mind. I want you to be happy here." He was looking ahead at the
          road when he said this. Charlie wasn't comfortable with expressing his
          emotions out loud. I inherited that from him. So I was looking straight
          ahead as I responded.
          "That's really nice, Dad. Thanks. I really appreciate it." No need to add
          that my being happy in Forks is an impossibility. He didn't need to
          suffer along with me. And I never looked a free truck in the mouth — or
          engine.
          "Well, now, you're welcome," he mumbled, embarrassed by my thanks.
          We exchanged a few more comments on the weather, which was wet, and that
          was pretty much it for Conversation. We stared out the windows in silence.
          It was beautiful, of course; I couldn't deny that. Everything was green:
          the trees, their trunks covered with moss, their branches hanging with a
          canopy of it, the ground covered with ferns. Even the air filtered down
          greenly through the leaves.
          It was too green — an alien planet.
          Eventually we made it to Charlie's. He still lived in the small,
          two-bedroom house that he'd bought with my mother in the early days of
          their marriage. Those were the only kind of days their marriage had — the
          early ones. There, parked on the street in front of the house that never
          changed, was my new — well, new to me — truck. It was a faded red color,
          with big, rounded fenders and a bulbous cab. To my intense surprise, I
          loved it. I didn't know if it would run, but I could see myself in it.
          Plus, it was one of those solid iron affairs that never gets damaged —
          the kind you see at the scene of an accident, paint unscratched,
          surrounded by the pieces of the foreign car it had destroyed.
          "Wow, Dad, I love it! Thanks!" Now my horrific day tomorrow would be just
          that much less dreadful. I wouldn't be faced with the choice of either
          walking two miles in the rain to school or accepting a ride in the
          Chief's cruiser.
          "I'm glad you like it," Charlie said gruffly, embarrassed again.
          It took only one trip to get all my stuff upstairs. I got the west
          bedroom that faced out over the front yard. The room was familiar; it had
          been belonged to me since I was born. The wooden floor, the light blue
          walls, the peaked ceiling, the yellowed lace curtains around the window —
          these were all a part of my childhood. The only changes Charlie had ever
          made were switching the crib for a bed and adding a desk as I grew. The
          desk now held a secondhand computer, with the phone line for the modem
          stapled along the floor to the nearest phone jack. This was a stipulation
          from my mother, so that we could stay in touch easily. The rocking chair
          from my baby days was still in the corner.
          There was only one small bathroom at the top of the stairs, which I would
          have to share with Charlie. I was trying not to dwell too much on that
          fact.
          One of the best things about Charlie is he doesn't hover. He left me
          alone to unpack and get settled, a feat that would have been altogether
          impossible for my mother. It was nice to be alone, not to have to smile
          and look pleased; a relief to stare dejectedly out the window at the
          sheeting rain and let just a few tears escape. I wasn't in the mood to go
          on a real crying jag. I would save that for bedtime, when I would have to
          think about the coming morning.
          Forks High School had a frightening total of only three hundred and
          fifty-seven — now fifty-eight — students; there were more than seven
          hundred people in my junior class alone back home. All of the kids here
          had grown up together — their grandparents had been toddlers together.
          I would be the new girl from the big city, a curiosity, a freak.
          Maybe, if I looked like a girl from Phoenix should, I could work this to
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