katherinemansfield（katherine mansfield的婚姻状况

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• katherine mansfield的婚姻状况
• 精读|The Fly - Katherine Mansfield
• 跪求 《Bliss》 katherine mansfield的翻译啊！
• Katherine Mansfield 的写作特点～～
• 求the garden party 的翻译作者是katherine mansfield 凯瑟琳 曼斯菲尔德
• 求短篇小说“The Garden Party”的内容总结（小说的作者：Katherine Mansfield）
• 求：英国女作家 曼斯菲尔德英文简介
• Miss Brill 赏析

katherine mansfield的婚姻状况

不知道，您不要指责我，我只是在答题，迫不得已答到您的题，不知道怎么回答，只好这样答了。谢谢！

精读|The Fly - Katherine Mansfield

Katherine Mansfield

’Y’are very snug in here,’ piped old Mr. Woodifield, and peered out of the great, green-leather armchair by his friend the boss’s desk as a baby peers out of its pram. His talk was over; it was time for him to be off. But he did not want to go. Since he had retired, since his ... stroke, the wife and the girls kept him boxed up in the house every day of the week except Tuesday. On Tuesday he was dressed and brushed and allowed to cut back to the City for the day. Though what he did there the wife and girls couldn’t imagine. Made a nuisance of himself to his friends, they supposed....Well, perhaps so. All the same, we cling to our last pleasures as the tree clings to its last leaves. So there sat old Woodifield, smoking a cigar and staring almost greedily at the boss, who rolled in his office chair, stout, rosy, five years older than he, and still going strong, still at the helm. It did one good to see him.

Wistfully, admiringly, the old voice added, ’It’s snug in here, upon my word!’

’Yes, it’s comfortable enough,’ agreed the boss, and he flipped the Financial Times with a paper-knife. As a matter of fact he was proud of his room; he liked to have it admired, especially by old Woodifield. It gave him a feeling of deep, solid satisfaction to be planted there in the midst of it in full view of that frail old figure in the muffler.

’I’ve had it done up lately,’ he explained, as he had explained for the past how many weeks.

’New carpet,’ and he pointed to the bright red carpet with a pattern of large white rings. ’New furniture,’ and he nodded towards the massive bookcase and the table with legs like twisted treacle. ’Electric heating!’ He waved almost exultantly towards the five transparent, pearly sausages glowing so softly in the tilted copper pan.

But he did not draw old Woodifield’s attention to the photograph over the table of a grave-looking boy in uniform standing in one of those spectral photographers’ parks with photographers’ storm-clouds behind him. It was not new. It had been there for over six years.

’There was something I wanted to tell you,’ said old Woodifield, and his eyes grew dim remembering. ’Now what was it? I had it in my mind when I started out this morning.’ His hands began to tremble, and patches of red showed above his beard.

Poor old chap, he’s on his last pins, thought the boss. And, feeling kindly, he winked at the old man, and said jokingly, ’I tell you what. I’ve got a little drop of something here that’ll do you good before you go out into the cold again. It’s beautiful stuff. It wouldn’t hurt a child.’ He took a key off his watch-chain, unlocked a cupboard below his desk, and drew forth a dark, squat bottle. ’That’s the medicine,’ said he. ’And the man from whom I got it told me on the strict Q.T. it came from the cellars at Windsor Castle.’

Old Woodifield’s mouth fell open at the sight. He couldn’t have looked more surprised if the boss had produced a rabbit.

’It’s whisky, ain’t it?’ he pi

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