2019-2020学年高中英语 Unit 3 The world of colours and li

-1-Unit3Theworldofcoloursandlight【导读】你喜欢画画吗？你了解会画画的人吗？阅读短篇小说《画册的一页》，让你认识会画画的伊恩·费伦奇。【节选】Feuilled'albumHereallywasanimpossibleperson.Tooshy，andhehadnothingatalltosay.Whenhecametoyourstudio，hejustsatthere，silent.Whenhefinallywent，blushingredalloverhisface，youwantedtoscreamandthrowsomethingathim.Thestrangethingwasthatatfirstsighthelookedmostinteresting.Everybodyagreedaboutthat.Yousawhiminacaféoneevening，sittinginacornerwithaglassofcoffeeinfrontofhim.Hewasathinboy，whoalwaysworeablueshirtandagreyjacketthatwasalittletoosmallforhim.Helookedjustlikeaboywhohasdecidedtorunawaytosea.Youexpectedhimtogetupatanymoment，andwalkoutintothenightandbedrowned.Hehadshortblackhair，greyeyes，whiteskinandamouththatalwayslookedreadyfortears.Oh，justtoseehimdidsomethingtoyourheart！Andhehadthishabitofblushing.Ifawaiterspoketohim，heturnedred!‘Whoishe，mydear?Doyouknow？’‘Yes.HisnameisIanFrench.Hepaints.Theysayhe'sveryclever.SomeoneIknowtriedtomotherhim.Sheaskedhimhowoftenhehadaletterfromhome，ifhehadenoughblanketsonhisbed，howmuchmilkhedrank.Thenshewenttohisstudiotomakesurehehadenoughcleanshirts.Sherangandrangthebell，butnobodycametothedoor，althoughshewassurehewasthere...Hopeless！’Someoneelsedecidedheoughttofallinlove.Shecalledhimtoher，tookhishand，andtoldhimhowwonderfullifecanbeforthosewhoarebrave.Butwhenshewenttohisstudiooneevening，sherangandrang...Hopeless.‘Whatthepoorboyreallyneedsisexcitement，’athirdwomansaid.Shetookhimtocafésandnight­clubs，darkplaceswherethedrinkscosttoomuchandtherewerealwaysstoriesofashootingthenightbefore.Oncehegotverydrunk，butstillhesaidnothing，andwhenshetookhimhometohisstudio，hejustsaid‘goodnight’andleftheroutsideinthestreet...Hopeless.-2-Otherwomentriedtohelphim—womencanbeverykind—butfinallythey，too，weredefeated.Weareallbusypeople，andwhyshouldwespendourvaluabletimeonsomeonewhorefusestobehelped?‘Andanyway，Ithinkthereissomethingratheroddabouthim，don'tyouagree？Hecan'tbeasinnocentashelooks.WhycometoParisifyoudon'tintendtohaveanyfun？’Helivedatthetopofatall，uglybuilding，neartheriver.Asitwassohigh，thestudiohadawonderfulview.Fromthetwobigwindowshecouldseeboatsontheriverandanislandcoveredwithtrees.Fromthesidewindowhelookedacrosstoasmalleranduglierhouse，anddownbelowtherewasaflowermarket.Youcouldseethetopsofhugeumbrellaswithbrightflowersaroundthem，andplantsinboxes.Oldwomenmovedbackwardsandforwardsamongtheflowers.Really，hedidn'tneedtogoout.Therewasalwayssomethingtodraw.Ifanykindwomanhadbeenabletogetintohisstudio，shewouldhavehadasurprise.Hekeptitasneatasapin.Everythingwasarrangedinitsplace，exactlylikeapainting—thebowlofeggs，thecupsandtheteapotontheshelf，thebooksandthelamponthetable.TherewasaredIndiancoveronhisbed，andonthewallbythebedtherewasasmall，neatlywrittennotice：GETUPATONCE.Everydaywasthesame.Whenthelightwasgoodhepainted，thencookedamealandtidiedthestudio.Intheeveningshewenttothecaféorsatathomereadingorwritingalistwhichbegan：‘WhatIcanaffordtospend’．Thelistended‘Ipromisenottospendmorethismonth.Signed，IanFrench’．Nothingoddaboutthat；butthewomenwereright.Therewassomethingelse.Oneeveninghewassittingatthesidewindoweatinganappleandlookingdownontothetopsofthehugeumbrellasintheemptyflowermarket.Ithadbeenraining，thefirstspringrainoftheyear，andtheairsmelledofplantsandwetearth.Downbelowinthemarket，thetreeswerecoveredinnewgreen.‘Whatkindoftreesarethey？’hewondered.Hestareddownatthesmalluglyhouse，andsuddenlytwowindowsopenedlikewingsandagirlcameoutontothebalcony，carryingapotofdaffodils.Shewasastrangelythingirlinadarkdress，withapinkhandkerchieftiedoverherhair.‘Yes，itiswarmenough.Itwilldothemgood，’shesaid，puttingdownthepot，andturningtosomeoneintheroominside.Assheturned，sheputherhandsuptoherhairtotidyit，andlookeddownatthemarketandupatthesky.Shedidnotlook-3-atthehouseopposite.Thenshedisappeared.Hisheartfelloutofthewindowanddowntothebalcony，whereitburieditselfamongthegreenleavesofthedaffodils.Theroomwiththebalconywasthesitting­room，andnexttoitwasthekitchen.Heheardherwashingthedishesaftersupper，sawhercometothewindowtoshakeoutthetablecloth.Sheneversangorcombedherhairorstaredatthemoonasyounggirlsaresaidtodo.Shealwaysworethesamedarkdressandpinkhandkerchief.Whodidshelivewith？Nobodyelsecametothewindow，butshewasalwaystalkingtosomeone.Hermother，hedecided，wasalwaysill.Theytookinsewingwork.Thefatherwasdead...Hehadbeenajournalist.Byworkingalldaysheandhermotherjustmadeenoughmoneytoliveon，buttheyneverwentoutandtheyhadnofriends.Hehadtomakesomenewnotices...‘Nottogotothewindowbeforesixo'clock：signed，IanFrench.Nottothinkaboutheruntilhehadfinishedhispaintingfortheday：signed，IanFrench.’Itwasquitesimple.Shewastheonlypersonhewantedtoknowbecauseshewas，hedecided，theonlypersonalivewhowasexactlyhisage.Hedidn'twantsillygirls，andhehadnouseforolderwomen.Shewashisage.Shewas—well，justlikehim.Hesatinhisstudio，staringatherwindows，seeinghimselfinthoseroomswithher.Shewasoftenangry.Theyhadterriblefights，heandshe.Andsherarelylaughed.Onlysometimes，whenshetoldhimaboutafunnylittlecatsheoncehad，whousedtoscratchandpretendtobefiercewhenshegaveitmeattoeat...Thingslikethatmadeherlaugh.Usua