📝 您未登录，登录后完成练习可保存成绩、查看最佳记录。
总字符
0
正确字符
0
错误字符
0
错误率
0.00%
耗时(秒)
0
速度 WPM
0
0 / 65
126 July.--I am anxious, and it soothes me to express myself here; it is like whispering to one's self and listening at
2the same time. And there is also something about the shorthand symbols that makes it different from writing. I am
3unhappy about Lucy and about Jonathan. I had not heard from Jonathan for some time, and was very concerned; but
4yesterday dear Mr. Hawkins, who is always so kind, sent me a letter from him. I had written asking him if he had heard,
5and he said the enclosed had just been received. It is only a line dated from Castle Dracula, and says that he is just
6starting for home. That is not like Jonathan; I do not understand it, and it makes me uneasy. Then, too, Lucy, although
7she is so well, has lately taken to her old habit of walking in her sleep. Her mother has spoken to me about it, and we
8have decided that I am to lock the door of our room every night. Mrs. Westenra has got an idea that sleep-walkers always
9go out on roofs of houses and along the edges of cliffs and then get suddenly wakened and fall over with a despairing
10cry that echoes all over the place. Poor dear, she is naturally anxious about Lucy, and she tells me that her husband,
11Lucy's father, had the same habit; that he would get up in the night and dress himself and go out, if he were not
12stopped. Lucy is to be married in the autumn, and she is already planning out her dresses and how her house is to be
13arranged. I sympathise with her, for I do the same, only Jonathan and I will start in life in a very simple way, and
14shall have to try to make both ends meet. Mr. Holmwood--he is the Hon. Arthur Holmwood, only son of Lord Godalming--is
15coming up here very shortly--as soon as he can leave town, for his father is not very well, and I think dear Lucy is
16counting the moments till he comes. She wants to take him up to the seat on the churchyard cliff and show him the beauty
17of Whitby. I daresay it is the waiting which disturbs her; she will be all right when he arrives. 27 July.--No news from
18Jonathan. I am getting quite uneasy about him, though why I should I do not know; but I do wish that he would write, if
19it were only a single line. Lucy walks more than ever, and each night I am awakened by her moving about the room.
20Fortunately, the weather is so hot that she cannot get cold; but still the anxiety and the perpetually being wakened is
21beginning to tell on me, and I am getting nervous and wakeful myself. Thank God, Lucy's health keeps up. Mr. Holmwood
22has been suddenly called to Ring to see his father, who has been taken seriously ill. Lucy frets at the postponement of
23seeing him, but it does not touch her looks; she is a trifle stouter, and her cheeks are a lovely rose-pink. She has
24lost that anæmic look which she had. I pray it will all last. 3 August.--Another week gone, and no news from Jonathan,
25not even to Mr. Hawkins, from whom I have heard. Oh, I do hope he is not ill. He surely would have written. I look at
26that last letter of his, but somehow it does not satisfy me. It does not read like him, and yet it is his writing. There
27is no mistake of that. Lucy has not walked much in her sleep the last week, but there is an odd concentration about her
28which I do not understand; even in her sleep she seems to be watching me. She tries the door, and finding it locked,
29goes about the room searching for the key. 6 August.--Another three days, and no news. This suspense is getting
30dreadful. If I only knew where to write to or where to go to, I should feel easier; but no one has heard a word of
31Jonathan since that last letter. I must only pray to God for patience. Lucy is more excitable than ever, but is
32otherwise well. Last night was very threatening, and the fishermen say that we are in for a storm. I must try to watch
33it and learn the weather signs. To-day is a grey day, and the sun as I write is hidden in thick clouds, high over
34Kettleness. Everything is grey--except the green grass, which seems like emerald amongst it; grey earthy rock; grey
35clouds, tinged with the sunburst at the far edge, hang over the grey sea, into which the sand-points stretch like grey
36fingers. The sea is tumbling in over the shallows and the sandy flats with a roar, muffled in the sea-mists drifting
37inland. The horizon is lost in a grey mist. All is vastness; the clouds are piled up like giant rocks, and there is a
38"brool" over the sea that sounds like some presage of doom. Dark figures are on the beach here and there, sometimes half
39shrouded in the mist, and seem "men like trees walking." The fishing-boats are racing for home, and rise and dip in the
40ground swell as they sweep into the harbour, bending to the scuppers. Here comes old Mr. Swales. He is making straight
41for me, and I can see, by the way he lifts his hat, that he wants to talk.... I have been quite touched by the change in
42the poor old man. When he sat down beside me, he said in a very gentle way:-- "I want to say something to you, miss." I
43could see he was not at ease, so I took his poor old wrinkled hand in mine and asked him to speak fully; so he said,
44leaving his hand in mine:-- "I'm afraid, my deary, that I must have shocked you by all the wicked things I've been
45sayin' about the dead, and such like, for weeks past; but I didn't mean them, and I want ye to remember that when I'm
46gone. We aud folks that be daffled, and with one foot abaft the krok-hooal, don't altogether like to think of it, and we
47don't want to feel scart of it; an' that's why I've took to makin' light of it, so that I'd cheer up my own heart a bit.
48But, Lord love ye, miss, I ain't afraid of dyin', not a bit; only I don't want to die if I can help it. My time must be
49nigh at hand now, for I be aud, and a hundred years is too much for any man to expect; and I'm so nigh it that the Aud
50Man is already whettin' his scythe. Ye see, I can't get out o' the habit of caffin' about it all at once; the chafts
51will wag as they be used to. Some day soon the Angel of Death will sound his trumpet for me. But don't ye dooal an'
52greet, my deary!"--for he saw that I was crying--"if he should come this very night I'd not refuse to answer his call.
53For life be, after all, only a waitin' for somethin' else than what we're doin'; and death be all that we can rightly
54depend on. But I'm content, for it's comin' to me, my deary, and comin' quick. It may be comin' while we be lookin' and
55wonderin'. Maybe it's in that wind out over the sea that's bringin' with it loss and wreck, and sore distress, and sad
56hearts. Look! look!" he cried suddenly. "There's something in that wind and in the hoast beyont that sounds, and looks,
57and tastes, and smells like death. It's in the air; I feel it comin'. Lord, make me answer cheerful when my call comes!"
58He held up his arms devoutly, and raised his hat. His mouth moved as though he were praying. After a few minutes'
59silence, he got up, shook hands with me, and blessed me, and said good-bye, and hobbled off. It all touched me, and
60upset me very much. I was glad when the coastguard came along, with his spy-glass under his arm. He stopped to talk with
61me, as he always does, but all the time kept looking at a strange ship. "I can't make her out," he said; "she's a
62Russian, by the look of her; but she's knocking about in the queerest way. She doesn't know her mind a bit; she seems to
63see the storm coming, but can't decide whether to run up north in the open, or to put in here. Look there again! She is
64steered mighty strangely, for she doesn't mind the hand on the wheel; changes about with every puff of wind. We'll hear
65more of her before this time to-morrow."
🎉 全部完成！共 65 行