|
|
初中英语听力：《暮光之城》系列有声读物在线听，附听力内容：
注：每部分听力巡回播放三遍
http://"http://www.tudou.com/v/7z-Co52jbcc/&resourceId=25659176_04_02_99&tid=0/v.swf
以下为听力内容：
"I always say too much when I'm talking to you — that's one of the
problems."
"Don't worry — I don't understand any of it," I said wryly.
"I'm counting on that."
"So, in plain English, are we friends now?"
"Friends…" he mused, dubious.
"Or not," I muttered.
He grinned. "Well, we can try, I suppose. But I'm warning you now that
I'm not a good friend for you." Behind his smile, the warning was real.
"You say that a lot," I noted, trying to ignore the sudden trembling in
my stomach and keep my voice even.
"Yes, because you're not listening to me. I'm still waiting for you to
believe it. If you're smart, you'll avoid me."
"I think you've made your opinion on the subject of my intellect clear,
too." My eyes narrowed.
He smiled apologetically.
"So, as long as I'm being… not smart, we'll try to be friends?" I
struggled to sum up the confusing exchange.
"That sounds about right."
I looked down at my hands wrapped around the lemonade bottle, not sure
what to do now.
"What are you thinking?" he asked curiously.
I looked up into his deep gold eyes, became befuddled, and, as usual,
blurted out the truth.
"I'm trying to figure out what you are."
His jaw tightened, but he kept his smile in place with some effort.
"Are you having any luck with that?" he asked in an offhand tone.
"Not too much," I admitted.
He chuckled. "What are your theories?"
I blushed. I had been vacillating during the last month between Bruce
Wayne and Peter Parker. There was no way I was going to own up to that.
"Won't you tell me?" he asked, tilting his head to one side with a
shockingly tempting smile.
I shook my head. "Too embarrassing."
"That's really frustrating, you know," he complained.
"No," I disagreed quickly, my eyes narrowing, "I can't imagine why that
would be frustrating at all — just because someone refuses to tell you
what they're thinking, even if all the while they're making cryptic
little remarks specifically designed to keep you up at night wondering
what they could possibly mean… now, why would that be frustrating?"
He grimaced.
"Or better," I continued, the pent-up annoyance flowing freely now, "say
that person also did a wide range of bizarre things — from saving your
life under impossible circumstances one day to treating you like a pariah
the next, and he never explained any of that, either, even after he
promised. That, also, would be very non-frustrating."
"You've got a bit of a temper, don't you?"
"I don't like double standards."
We stared at each other, unsmiling.
He glanced over my shoulder, and then, unexpectedly, he snickered.
"What?"
"Your boyfriend seems to think I'm being unpleasant to you — he's
debating whether or not to come break up our fight." He snickered again.
"I don't know who you're talking about," I said frostily. "But I'm sure
you're wrong, anyway."
"I'm not. I told you, most people are easy to read."
"Except me, of course."
"Yes. Except for you." His mood shifted suddenly; his eyes turned
brooding. "I wonder why that is."
I had to look away from the intensity of his stare. I concentrated on
unscrewing the lid of my lemonade. I took a swig, staring at the table
without seeing it.
"Aren't you hungry?" he asked, distracted.
"No." I didn't feel like mentioning that my stomach was already full — of
butterflies. "You?" I looked at the empty table in front of him.
"No, I'm not hungry." I didn't understand his expression — it looked like
he was enjoying some private joke.
"Can you do me a favor?" I asked after a second of hesitation.
He was suddenly wary. "That depends on what you want."
"It's not much," I assured him.
He waited, guarded but curious.
"I just wondered… if you could warn me beforehand the next time you
decide to ignore me for my own good. Just so I'm prepared." I looked at
the lemonade bottle as I spoke, tracing the circle of the opening with my
pinkie finger.
"That sounds fair." He was pressing his lips together to keep from
laughing when I looked up.
"Thanks."
"Then can I have one answer in return?" he demanded.
"One."
"Tell me one theory."
Whoops. "Not that one."
"You didn't qualify, you just promised one answer," he reminded me.
"And you've broken promises yourself," I reminded him back.
"Just one theory — I won't laugh."
"Yes, you will." I was positive about that.
He looked down, and then glanced up at me through his long black lashes,
his ocher eyes scorching.
"Please?" he breathed, leaning toward me.
I blinked, my mind going blank. Holy crow, how did he do that?
"Er, what?" I asked, dazed.
"Please tell me just one little theory." His eyes still smoldered at me.
"Um, well, bitten by a radioactive spider?" Was he a hypnotist, too? Or
was I just a hopeless pushover?
"That's not very creative," he scoffed.
"I'm sorry, that's all I've got," I said, miffed.
"You're not even close," he teased.
"No spiders?"
"Nope."
"And no radioactivity?"
"None."
"Dang," I sighed.
"Kryptonite doesn't bother me, either," he chuckled.
"You're not supposed to laugh, remember?"
He struggled to compose his face.
"I'll figure it out eventually," I warned him.
"I wish you wouldn't try." He was serious again.
"Because… ?"
"What if I'm not a superhero? What if I'm the bad guy?" He smiled
playfully, but his eyes were impenetrable.
"Oh," I said, as several things he'd hinted fell suddenly into place. "I
see."
"Do you?" His face was abruptly severe, as if he were afraid that he'd
accidentally said too much.
"You're dangerous?" I guessed, my pulse quickening as I intuitively
realized the truth of my own words. He was dangerous. He'd been trying to
tell me that all along.
He just looked at me, eyes full of some emotion I couldn't comprehend.
"But not bad," I whispered, shaking my head. "No, I don't believe that
you're bad."
"You're wrong." His voice was almost inaudible. He looked down, stealing
my bottle lid and then spinning it on its side between his fingers. I
stared at him, wondering why I didn't feel afraid. He meant what he was
saying — that was obvious. But I just felt anxious, on edge… and, more
than anything else, fascinated. The same way I always felt when I was
near him.
The silence lasted until I noticed that the cafeteria was almost empty.
I jumped to my feet. "We're going to be late."
"I'm not going to class today," he said, twirling the lid so fast it was
just a blur.
"Why not?"
"It's healthy to ditch class now and then." He smiled up at me, but his
eyes were still troubled.
"Well, I'm going," I told him. I was far too big a coward to risk getting
caught.
He turned his attention back to his makeshift top. "I'll see you later,
then."
I hesitated, torn, but then the first bell sent me hurrying out the door
— with a last glance confirming that he hadn't moved a centimeter.
As I half-ran to class, my head was spinning faster than the bottle cap.
So few questions had been answered in comparison to how many new
questions had been raised. At least the rain had stopped.
I was lucky; Mr. Banner wasn't in the room yet when I arrived. I settled
quickly into my seat, aware that both Mike and Angela were staring at me.
Mike looked resentful; Angela looked surprised, and slightly awed.
Mr. Banner came in the room then, calling the class to order. He was
juggling a few small cardboard boxes in his arms. He put them down on
Mike's table, telling him to start passing them around the class.
"Okay, guys, I want you all to take one piece from each box," he said as
he produced a pair of rubber gloves from the pocket of his lab jacket and
pulled them on. The sharp sound as the gloves snapped into place against
his wrists seemed ominous to me. "The first should be an indicator card,"
he went on, grabbing a white card with four squares marked on it and
displaying it. "The second is a four-pronged applicator —" he held up
something that looked like a nearly toothless hair pick "— and the third
is a sterile micro-lancet." He held up a small piece of blue plastic and
split it open. The barb was invisible from this distance, but my stomach
flipped.
"I'll be coming around with a dropper of water to prepare your cards, so
please don't start until I get to you." He began at Mike's table again,
carefully putting one drop of water in each of the four squares. "Then I
want you to carefully prick your finger with the lancet…" He grabbed
Mike's hand and jabbed the spike into the tip of Mike's middle finger. Oh
no. Clammy moisture broke out across my forehead.
"Put a small drop of blood on each of the prongs." He demonstrated,
squeezing Mike's finger till the blood flowed. I swallowed convulsively,
my stomach heaving.
"And then apply it to the card," he finished, holding up the dripping red
card for us to see. I closed my eyes, trying to hear through the ringing
in my ears.
"The Red Cross is having a blood drive in Port Angeles next weekend, so I
thought you should all know your blood type." He sounded proud of
himself. "Those of you who aren't eighteen yet will need a parent's
permission — I have slips at my desk."
He continued through the room with his water drops. I put my cheek
against the cool black tabletop and tried to hold on to my consciousness.
All around me I could hear squeals, complaints, and giggles as my
classmates skewered their fingers. I breathed slowly in and out through
my mouth.
"Bella, are you all right?" Mr. Banner asked. His voice was close to my
head, and it sounded alarmed.
"I already know my blood type, Mr. Banner," I said in a weak voice. I was
afraid to raise my head.
"Are you feeling faint?"
"Yes, sir," I muttered, internally kicking myself for not ditching when I
had the chance.
"Can someone take Bella to the nurse, please?" he called.
I didn't have to look up to know that it would be Mike who volunteered.
"Can you walk?" Mr. Banner asked.
"Yes," I whispered. Just let me get out of here, I thought. I'll crawl.
Mike seemed eager as he put his arm around my waist and pulled my arm
over his shoulder. I leaned against him heavily on the way out of the
classroom.
Mike towed me slowly across campus. When we were around the edge of the
cafeteria, out of sight of building four in case Mr. Banner was watching,
I stopped.
"Just let me sit for a minute, please?" I begged.
He helped me sit on the edge of the walk.
"And whatever you do, keep your hand in your pocket," I warned. I was
still so dizzy. I slumped over on my side, putting my cheek against the
freezing, damp cement of the sidewalk, closing my eyes. That seemed to
help a little.
"Wow, you're green, Bella," Mike said nervously.
"Bella?" a different voice called from the distance.
No! Please let me be imagining that horribly familiar voice.
"What's wrong — is she hurt?" His voice was closer now, and he sounded
upset. I wasn't imagining it. I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping to die. Or,
at the very least, not to throw up.
Mike seemed stressed. "I think she's fainted. I don't know what happened,
she didn't even stick her finger."
"Bella." Edward's voice was right beside me, relieved now. "Can you hear
me?"
"No," I groaned. "Go away."
He chuckled.
"I was taking her to the nurse," Mike explained in a defensive tone, "but
she wouldn't go any farther."
"I'll take her," Edward said. I could hear the smile still in his voice.
"You can go back to class."
"No," Mike protested. "I'm supposed to do it."
Suddenly the sidewalk disappeared from beneath me. My eyes flew open in
shock. Edward had scooped me up in his arms, as easily as if I weighed
ten pounds instead of a hundred and ten.
"Put me down!" Please, please let me not vomit on him. He was walking
before I was finished talking.
"Hey!" Mike called, already ten paces behind us.
Edward ignored him. "You look awful," he told me, grinning.
"Put me back on the sidewalk," I moaned. The rocking movement of his walk
was not helping. He held me away from his body, gingerly, supporting all
my weight with just his arms — it didn't seem to bother him.
"So you faint at the sight of blood?" he asked. This seemed to entertain
him.
I didn't answer. I closed my eyes again and fought the nausea with all my
strength, clamping my lips together.
"And not even your own blood," he continued, enjoying himself.
I don't know how he opened the door while carrying me, but it was
suddenly warm, so I knew we were inside.
"Oh my," I heard a female voice gasp.
"She fainted in Biology," Edward explained.
I opened my eyes. I was in the office, and Edward was striding past the
front counter toward the nurse's door. Ms. Cope, the redheaded front
office receptionist, ran ahead of him to hold it open. The grandmotherly
nurse looked up from a novel, astonished, as Edward swung me into the
room and placed me gently on the crackly paper that covered the brown
vinyl mattress on the one cot. Then he moved to stand against the wall as
far across the narrow room as possible. His eyes were bright, excited.
"She's just a little faint," he reassured the startled nurse. "They're
blood typing in Biology."
The nurse nodded sagely. "There's always one."
|
|
发表于 2016-7-2 19:56:41