[外语类试卷]专业英语八级(小说类英译汉)模拟试卷1及答案与解析.doc
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1、专业英语八级(小说类英译汉)模拟试卷 1及答案与解析 SECTION B ENGLISH TO CHINESE Directions: Translate the following text into Chinese. 1 The two boats started off in the dark. Nick heard the oarlocks of the other boat quite a way ahead of them in the mist. The Indians rowed with quick choppy strokes . Nick lay back with hi
2、s fathers arm around him. It was cold on the water. The Indian who was rowing them was working very hard, but the other boat moved further ahead in the mist all the time. “Where are we going, Dad?“ Nick asked. “Over to the Indian camp3. There is an Indian lady very sick.“ “Oh,“ said Nick. Across the
3、 bay they found the other boat beached4. Uncle George was smoking a cigar in the dark. The young Indian pulled the boat way up on the beach. Uncle George gave both the Indians cigars. They walked up from the beach through a meadow that was soaking wet with dew, following the young Indian who carried
4、 a lantern. Then they went into the woods and followed a trail that led to the logging road that ran back into the hills. It was much lighter on the logging road as the timber was cut away on both sides. The young Indian stopped and blew out his lantern and they all walked on along the road. 2 There
5、 were eight Japanese gentlemen having a fish dinner at Bentleys. They spoke to each other rarely in their incomprehensible tongue, but always with a courteous smile and often with a small bow. All but one of them wore glasses. Sometimes the pretty girl who sat in the window beyond gave them a passin
6、g glance, but her own problem seemed too serious for her to pay real attention to anyone in the world except herself and her companion. She had thin blond hair and her face was pretty and petite in a Regency way, oval like a miniature, though she had a harsh way of speaking perhaps the accent of the
7、 school, Roedean or Cheltenham Ladies College, which she had not long ago left. She wore a mans signet-ring on her engagement finger, and as I sat down at my table, with the Japanese gentlemen between us10, she said, “ So you see we could marry next week.“ “Yes?“ Her companion appeared a little dist
8、raught. He refilled their glasses with Chablis and said, “Of course, but Mother.“ I missed some of the conversation then, because the eldest Japanese gentleman leant across the table, with a smile and a little bow, and uttered a whole paragraph like the mutter from an aviary, while everyone bent tow
9、ards him and smiled and listened, and I couldnt help attending to him myself. 3 But Mulan was a child of Peking. She had grown up there and had drunk in all the richness of life of the city which enveloped its inhabitants like a great mother soft toward all her childrens requests, fulfilling all the
10、ir whims and desires, or like a huge thousand-year-old tree in which the insects making their home in one branch did not know what the insects in the other branch were doing. She had learned from Peking its tolerance, geniality, and urbanity, as we all in our formative years catch something of the c
11、ity and country we live in. She had grown up with the yellow-roofed palaces and the purple and greenroofed temples, the broad boulevards and the long, crooked alleys, the busy thoroughfares and the quiet districts that were almost rural in their effect; the common mans homes with their inevitable po
12、megranate trees and jars of goldfish, no less than the rich mans mansions and gardens; the open-air tea houses where men loll on rattan armchairs under cypress tress, spending twenty cents for a whole afternoon in summer; the enclosed teashops where in winter men eat steaming-hot mutton fried with o
13、nion and drink pehkan and where the great rub shoulders with the humble; the wonderful theaters, the beautiful restaurants, the bazaars, the lantern streets and the curio streets; the temple fairs which register the days of the month. 4 With an impatient gesture Daphne stubbed out a cigarette1 and c
14、hecked her watch by the clock tower over the barmans head. Seven oclock. Brace was 20 minutes late already. “Another whisky, please.“ Hardly the thing to anticipate ones host perhaps, but you couldnt be expected to wait reciting nursery rhymes. If there was one thing which irritated Daphne above all
15、 others it was to be kept waiting by a man2. And tonight of all nights. She had chosen this little restaurant in the mountains above the lake with particular care. Not to mention a dash out earlier in the day to make sure of a secluded table and suitable music. Would it work? A vulgar, commonplace l
16、ittle plot perhaps. But one simply had to be a realist. Poverty saw to that alright3. Ready-made clothes, back bedrooms in hotels, cheap travel and a holiday at the end of the season4. Add a widowed, and still attractive, mother an endurance test of loyalty who merged chameleon-like into the backgro
17、und of her holiday. And what was the answer? Bruce? 5 The orphanage is high in the Carolina mountains. Sometimes in winter the snowdrifts are so deep that the institution is cut off from the village below, from all the world. Fog hides the mountain peaks, the snow swirls down the valleys and a wind
18、blows so bitterly that the orphanage boys who take the milk twice daily to the baby cottage reach the door with fingers stiff in an agony of numbness. I was there in the autumn. I wanted quiet, isolation, to do some troublesome writing. I wanted mountain air to blow out the malaria from too long a t
19、ime in the subtropics. I was homesick, too, for the flaming of maples in October, and for corn shocks and pumpkins and black-walnut trees and the lift of hills. I found them all, living in a cabin that belonged to the orphanage, half a mile beyond the orphanage farm. When I took the cabin, I asked f
20、or a boy or man to come and chop wood for the fireplace. The first few days were warm; I found what wood I needed about the cabin; no one came, and I forgot the order. I looked up from my typewriter one late afternoon, a little startled. A boy stood at the door, and my pointer dog, my companion, was
21、 at his side and had not barked to warn me. The boy was probably twelve years old, but undersized. He wore overalls and a torn shirt, and was barefooted. He said: “I can chop some wood today.“ I said: “But I have a boy coming from the orphanage.“ “Im the boy.“ “You? But youre small.“ “Size dont matt
22、er, chopping wood,“ he said. “Some of the big boys dont chop good. Ive been chopping wood at the orphanage a long time.“ 6 The most important day I remember in all my life is the one on which my teacher, Anne Mansfield Sullivan, came to me. I am filled with wonder when I consider the immeasurable co
23、ntrast between the two lives which it connects. It was the third of March, 1887, three months before I was seven years old. On the afternoon of that eventful day, I stood on the porch, dumb, expectant. I guessed vaguely from my mothers signs and from the hurrying to and from in the house that someth
24、ing unusual was about to happen, so I went to the door and waited on the steps. The afternoon sun penetrated the mass of honeysuckle that covered the porch and fell on my upturned face. My fingers lingered almost unconsciously on the familiar leaves and blossoms which had just come forth to greet th
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