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1最后一片叶子英文原文InalittledistrictwestofWashingtonSquarethestreetshaveruncrazyandbrokenthemselvesintosmallstripscalledplaces.Theseplacesmakestrangeanglesandcurves.OneStreetcrossesitselfatimeortwo.Anartistoncediscoveredavaluablepossibilityinthisstreet.Supposeacollectorwithabillforpaints,paperandcanvasshould,intraversingthisroute,suddenlymeethimselfcomingback,withoutacenthavingbeenpaidonaccount!So,toquaintoldGreenwichVillagetheartpeoplesooncameprowling,huntingfornorthwindowsandeighteenth-centurygablesandDutchatticsandlowrents.ThentheyimportedsomepewtermugsandachafingdishortwofromSixthAvenue,andbecameacolony.Atthetopofasquatty,three-storybrickSueandJohnsyhadtheirstudio.JohnsywasfamiliarforJoanna.OnewasfromMaine;theotherfromCalifornia.Theyhadmetatthetabled'hôteofanEighthStreetDelmonico's,andfoundtheirtastesinart,chicorysaladandbishopsleevessocongenialthatthejointstudioresulted.ThatwasinMay.InNovemberacold,unseenstranger,whomthedoctorscalledPneumonia,stalkedaboutthecolony,touchingonehereandtherewithhisicyfingers.Overontheeastsidethisravagerstrodeboldly,smitinghisvictimsbyscores,buthisfeettrodslowlythroughthemazeofthenarrowandmoss-grownplaces.Mr.Pneumoniawasnotwhatyouwouldcallachivalricoldgentleman.AmiteofalittlewomanwithbloodthinnedbyCaliforniazephyrswashardlyfairgameforthered-fisted,short-breathedoldduffer.ButJohnsyhesmote;andshelay,scarcelymoving,onherpaintedironbedstead,lookingthroughthesmallDutchwindow-panesattheblanksideofthenextbrickhouse.OnemorningthebusydoctorinvitedSueintothehallwaywithashaggy,greyeyebrow.Shehasonechancein-letussay,ten,hesaid,asheshookdownthemercuryinhisclinicalthermometer.Andthatchanceisforhertowanttolive.Thiswaypeoplehaveoflining-uonthesideoftheundertakermakestheentirepharmacopoeialooksilly.Yourlittleladyhasmadeuphermindthatshe'snotgoingtogetwell.Hassheanythingonhermind?She-shewantedtopainttheBayofNaplessomeday.saidSue.Paint?-bosh!Hassheanythingonhermindworththinkingtwice-amanforinstance?Aman?saidSue,withajew's-harptwanginhervoice.Isamanworth-but,no,doctor;thereisnothingofthekind.Well,itistheweakness,then,saidthedoctor.Iwilldoallthatscience,sofarasitmayfilterthroughmyefforts,canaccomplish.Butwhenever2mypatientbeginstocountthecarriagesinherfuneralprocessionIsubtract50percentfromthecurativepowerofmedicines.IfyouwillgethertoaskonequestionaboutthenewwinterstylesincloaksleevesIwillpromiseyouaone-in-fivechanceforher,insteadofoneinten.AfterthedoctorhadgoneSuewentintotheworkroomandcriedaJapanesenapkintoapulp.ThensheswaggeredintoJohnsy'sroomwithherdrawingboard,whistlingragtime.Johnsylay,scarcelymakingarippleunderthebedclothes,withherfacetowardthewindow.Suestoppedwhistling,thinkingshewasasleep.Shearrangedherboardandbeganapen-and-inkdrawingtoillustrateamagazinestory.YoungartistsmustpavetheirwaytoArtbydrawingpicturesformagazinestoriesthatyoungauthorswritetopavetheirwaytoLiterature.AsSuewassketchingapairofeleganthorseshowridingtrousersandamonocleofthefigureofthehero,anIdahocowboy,sheheardalowsound,severaltimesrepeated.Shewentquicklytothebedside.Johnsy'seyeswereopenwide.Shewaslookingoutthewindowandcounting-countingbackward.Twelve,shesaid,andlittlelatereleven;andthenten,andnine;andtheneightandseven,almosttogether.Suelooksolicitouslyoutofthewindow.Whatwastheretocount?Therewasonlyabare,drearyyardtobeseen,andtheblanksideofthebrickhousetwentyfeetaway.Anold,oldivyvine,gnarledanddecayedattheroots,climbedhalfwayupthebrickwall.Thecoldbreathofautumnhadstrickenitsleavesfromthevineuntilitsskeletonbranchesclung,almostbare,tothecrumblingbricks.Whatisit,dear?askedSue.Six,saidJohnsy,inalmostawhisper.They'refallingfasternow.Threedaysagotherewerealmostahundred.Itmademyheadachetocountthem.Butnowit'seasy.Theregoesanotherone.Thereareonlyfiveleftnow.Fivewhat,dear?TellyourSudie.Leaves.Ontheivyvine.WhenthelastonefallsImustgo,too.I'veknownthatforthreedays.Didn'tthedoctortellyou?Oh,Ineverheardofsuchnonsense,complainedSue,withmagnificentscorn.Whathaveoldivyleavestodowithyourgettingwell?Andyouusedtolovethatvineso,younaughtygirl.Don'tbeagoosey.Why,thedoctortoldmethismorningthatyourchancesforgettingwellrealsoonwere-let'sseeexactlywhathesaid-hesaidthechancesweretentoone!Why,that'salmostasgoodachanceaswehaveinNewYorkwhenwerideonthestreetcarsorwalkpastanewbuilding.Trytotakesomebrothnow,andletSudiegobacktoherdrawing,3soshecanselltheeditormanwithit,andbuyportwineforhersickchild,andporkchopsforhergreedyself.Youneedn'tgetanymorewine,saidJohnsy,keepinghereyesfixedoutthewindow.Theregoesanother.No,Idon'twantanybroth.Thatleavesjustfour.Iwanttoseethelastonefallbeforeitgetsdark.ThenI'llgo,too.Johnsy,dear,saidSue,bendingoverher,willyoupromisemetokeepyoureyesclosed,andnotlookoutthewindowuntilIamdoneworking?Imusthandthosedrawingsinbyto-morrow.Ineedthelight,orIwoulddrawtheshadedown.Couldn'tyoudrawintheotherroom?askedJohnsy,coldly.I'dratherbeherebyyou,saidSue.Beside,Idon'twantyoutokeeplookingatthosesillyivyleaves.Tellmeassoonasyouhavefinished,saidJohnsy,closinghereyes,andlyingwhiteandstillasfallenstatue,becauseIwanttoseethelastonefall.I'mtiredof
本文标题:最后一片叶子 英文原文
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