登陆注册
5453800000009

第9章 PART TWO(1)

Chapter 1

It was the middle of the morning,and Winston had left his cubicle to go to the lavatory.

A solitary figure was coming toward him from the oth-er end of the long,brightly lit corridor.It was the girl with dark hair.Four days had gone past since the evening when he had run in-to her outside the j unk shop.As she came nearer he saw that her right arm was in a sling,not noticeable at a distance because it was of the same color as her overalls.Probably she had crushed her hand while swinging round one of the big kaleidoscopes on which the plots of novels were"roughed in".It was a common accident in the Fiction Department.

They were perhaps four meters apart when the girl stumbled and fell almost flat on her face.A sharp cry of pain was wrung out of her.She must have fallen right on the inj ured arm.Winston stopped short.The girl had risen to her knees.Her face had turned a milky-yellow color against which her mouth stood out redder than ever.Her eyes were fixed on his,with an appealing expression that looked more like fear than pain.

A curious emotion stirred in Winston's heart.In front of him was an enemy who was trying to kill him;in front of him,also,was a human creature,in pain and perhaps with a broken bone.Already he had instinctively started forward to help her.In the moment when he had seen her fall on the bandaged arm,it had been as though he felt the pain in his own body.

"You're hurt?"he said.

"It's nothing.My arm.It'll be all right in a second."

She spoke as though her heart were fluttering.She had certain-ly turned very pale.

"You haven't broken anything?"

"No,I'm all right.It hurt for a moment,that's all."

She held out her free hand to him,and he helped her up.She had regained some of her color,and appeared very much better.

"It's nothing,"she repeated shortly."I only gave my wrist a bit of a bang.Thanks,comrade!"

And with that she walked on in the direction in which she had been going,as briskly as though it had really been nothing.The whole incident could not have taken as much as half a minute.Not to let one's feelings appear in one's face was a habit that had ac-quired the status of an instinct,and in any case they had been stand-ing straight in front of a telescreen when the thing happened.Never-theless it had been very difficult not to betray a momentary sur-prise,for in the two or three seconds while he was helping her up the girl had slipped something into his hand.There was no question that she had done it intentionally.It was something small and flat. As he passed through the lavatory door he transferred it to his pocket and felt it with the tips of his fingers.It was a scrap of paper folded into a square.

While he stood at the urinal he managed,with a little more fin-gering,to get it unfolded.Obviously there must be a message of some kind written on it.For a moment he was tempted to take it in-to one of the water closets and read it at once.But that would be shocking folly,as he well knew.There was no place where you could be more certain that the telescreens were watched continuously.

He went back to his cubicle,sat down,threw the fragment of paper casually among the other papers on the desk,put on his spec-tacles and hitched the speakwrite toward him."Five minutes,"he told himself,"five minutes at the very least!"His heart bumped in his breast with frightening loudness.Fortunately the piece of work he was engaged on was mere routine,the rectification of a long list of figures,not needing close attention.

Whatever was written on the paper,it must have some kind of political meaning.So far as he could see there were two possibilities. One,much the more likely,was that the girl was an agent of the Thought Police,just as he had feared.He did not know why the Thought Police should choose to deliver their messages in such a fashion,but perhaps they had their reasons.The thing that was written on the paper might be a threat,a summons,an order to commit suicide,a trap of some deion.But there was another, wilder possibility that kept raising its head,though he tried vainly to suppress it.This was,that the message did not come from the Thought Police at all,but from some kind of underground organiza-tion.Perhaps the Brotherhood existed after all!Perhaps the girl was part of it! No doubt the idea was absurd,but it had sprung into his mind in the very instant of feeling the scrap of paper in his hand.It was not till a couple of minutes later that the other,more probable explanation had occurred to him.And even now,though his intellect told him that the message probably meant death—still,that was not what he believed,and the unreasonable hope persisted,and his heart banged,and it was with difficulty that he kept his voice from trem-bling as he murmured his figures into the speakwrite.

He rolled up the completed bundle of work and slid it into the pneumatic tube.Eight minutes had gone by.He readjusted his spec-tacles on his nose,sighed,and drew the next batch of work toward him,with the scrap of paper on top of it.He flattened it out.On it was written,in a large unformed handwriting:

I love you.

For several seconds he was too stunned even to throw the in-criminating thing into the memory hole.When he did so,although he knew very well the danger of showing too much interest,he could not resist reading it once again,just to make sure that the words were really there.

For the rest of the morning it was very difficult to work.What was even worse than having to focus his mind on a series of nig-gling jobs was the need to conceal his agitation from the telescreen. He felt as though a fire were burning in his belly.Lunch in the hot, crowded,noise-filled canteen was torment.He had hoped to be alone for a little while during the lunch hour,but as bad luck would have it the imbecile Parsons flopped down beside him,the tang of his sweat almost defeating the tinny smell of stew,and kept up a stream of talk about the preparations for Hate Week.He was partic-ularly enthusiastic about a papier-ma^ché model of Big Brother's head,two meters wide,which was being made for the occasion by his daughter's troop of Spies.The irritating thing was that in the racket of voices Winston could hardly hear what Parsons was say-ing,and was constantly having to ask for some fatuous remark to be repeated.Just once he caught a glimpse of the girl,at a table with two other girls at the far end of the room.She appeared not to have seen him,and he did not look in that direction again.

The afternoon was more bearable.Immediately after lunch there arrived a delicate,difficult piece of work which would take several hours and necessitated putting everything else aside.It con-sisted in falsifying a series of production reports of two years ago in such a way as to cast discredit on a prominent member of the Inner Party who was now under a cloud.This was the kind of thing that Winston was good at,and for more than two hours he succeeded in shutting the girl out of his mind altogether.Then the memory of her face came back,and with it a raging,intolerable desire to be alone. Until he could be alone it was impossible to think this new develop-ment out.Tonight was one of his nights at the Community Center. He wolfed another tasteless meal in the canteen,hurried off to the Centre,took part in the solemn foolery of a"discussion group", played two games of table tennis,swallowed several glasses of gin, and sat for half an hour through a lecture entitled"Ingsoc in rela-tion to chess".His soul writhed with boredom,but for once he had had no impulse to shirk his evening at the Centre.At the sight of the words I love you the desire to stay alive had welled up in him, and the taking of minor risks suddenly seemed stupid.It was not till twenty-three hours,when he was home and in bed—in the dark-ness,where you were safe even from the telescreen so long as you kept silent—that he was able to think continuously.

It was a physical problem that had to be solved:how to get in touch with the girl and arrange a meeting.He did not consider any longer the possibility that she might be laying some kind of trap for him.He knew that it was not so,because of her unmistakable agita-tion when she handed him the note.Obviously she had been fright-ened out of her wits,as well she might be.Nor did the idea of refu-sing her advances even cross his mind.Only five nights ago he had contemplated smashing her skull in with a cobblestone;but that was of no importance.He thought of her naked,youthful body,as he had seen it in his dream.He had imagined her a fool like all the rest of them,her head stuffed with lies and hatred,her belly full of ice.A kind of fever seized him at the thought that he might lose her,the white youthful body might slip away from him! What he feared more than anything else was that she would simply change her mind if he did not get in touch with her quickly.But the physical difficulty of meeting was enormous.It was like trying to make a move at chess when you were already mated.Whichever way you turned,the telescreen faced you.Actually,all the possible ways of communicating with her had occurred to him within five minutes of reading the note;but now,with time to think,he went over them one by one,as though laying out a row of instruments on a table.

Obviously the kind of encounter that had happened this morn-ing could not be repeated.If she had worked in the Records Depart-ment it might have been comparatively simple,but he had only a very dim idea whereabouts in the building the Fiction Department lay,and he had no pretext for going there.If he had known where she lived,and at what time she left work,he could have contrived to meet her somewhere on her way home;but to try to follow her home was not safe,because it would mean loitering about outside the Ministry,which was bound to be noticed.As for sending a letter through the mails,it was out of the question.By a routine that was not even secret,all letters were opened in transit.Actually,few peo-ple ever wrote letters.For the messages that it was occasionally nec-essary to send,there were printed postcards with long lists of phra-ses,and you struck out the ones that were inapplicable.In any case he did not know the girl's name,let alone her address.Finally he decided that the safest place was the canteen.If he could get her at a table by herself,somewhere in the middle of the room,not too near the telescreens, and with a sufficient buzz of conversation all round—if these conditions endured for,say,thirty seconds,it might be possible to exchange a few words.

For a week after this,life was like a restless dream.On the next day she did not appear in the canteen until he was leaving it,the whistle having already blown.Presumably she had been changed on-to a later shift.They passed each other without a glance.On the day after that she was in the canteen at the usual time,but with three other girls and immediately under a telescreen.Then for three dreadful days she did not appear at all.His whole mind and body seemed to be afflicted with an unbearable sensitivity,a sort of transparency,which made every movement,every sound,every con-tact,every word that he had to speak or listen to,an agony.Even in his sleep he could not altogether escape from her image.He did not touch the diary during those days.If there was any relief,it was in his work,in which he could sometimes forget himself for ten mi-nutes at a stretch.He had absolutely no clue as to what had hap-pened to her.There was no inquiry he could make.She might have been vaporized,she might have committed suicide,she might have been transferred to the other end of Oceania—worst and likeliest of all,she might simply have changed her mind and decided to avoid him.

The next day she reappeared.Her arm was out of the sling and she had a band of sticking plaster round her wrist.The relief of see-ing her was so great that he could not resist staring directly at her for several seconds.On the following day he very nearly succeeded in speaking to her.When he came into the canteen she was sitting at a table well out from the wall,and was quite alone.It was early,and the place was not very full.The queue edged forward till Winston was almost at the counter,then was held up for two minutes be-cause someone in front was complaining that he had not received his tablet of saccharine.But the girl was still alone when Winston secured his tray and began to make for her table.He walked casual-ly toward her,his eyes searching for a place at some table beyond her.She was perhaps three meters away from him.Another two sec-onds would do it.Then a voice behind him called,"Smith!"He pre-tended not to hear."Smith!"repeated the voice,more loudly.It was no use.He turned round.A blond-headed,silly-faced young man named Wilsher,whom he barely knew,was inviting him with a smile to a vacant place at his table.It was not safe to refuse.After having been recognized,he could not go and sit at a table with an unattended girl.It was too noticeable.He sat down with a friendly smile.The silly blond face beamed into his.Winston had a hallucina-tion of himself smashing a pickax right into the middle of it.The girl's table filled up a few minutes later.

But she must have seen him coming toward her,and perhaps she would take the hint.Next day he took care to arrive early.Sure enough,she was at a table in about the same place,and again alone. The person immediately ahead of him in the queue was a small, swiftly moving,beetlelike man with a flat face and tiny,suspicious eyes.As Winston turned away from the counter with his tray,he saw that the little man was making straight for the girl's table.His hopes sank again.There was a vacant place at a table further away, but something in the little man's appearance suggested that he would be sufficiently attentive to his own comfort to choose the emptiest table.With ice at his heart Winston followed.It was no use unless he could get the girl alone.At this moment there was a tre-mendous crash.The little man was sprawling on all fours,his tray had gone flying,two streams of soup and coffee were flowing across the floor.He started to his feet with a malignant glance at Winston, whom he evidently suspected of having tripped him up.But it was all right.Five seconds later,with a thundering heart,Winston was sitting at the girl's table.

He did not look at her.He unpacked his tray and promptly be-gan eating.It was all-important to speak at once,before anyone else came,but now a terrible fear had taken possession of him.A week had gone by since she had first approached.She would have changed her mind,she must have changed her mind! It was impossible that this affair should end successfully;such things did not happen in re-al life.He might have flinched altogether from speaking if at this moment he had not seen Ampleforth,the hairy-eared poet,wander-ing limply round the room with a tray,looking for a place to sit down.In his vague way Ampleforth was attached to Winston,and would certainly sit down at his table if he caught sight of him.There was perhaps a minute in which to act.Both Winston and the girl were eating steadily.The stuff they were eating was a thin stew,ac-tually a soup,of haricot beans.In a low murmur Winston began speaking.Neither of them looked up;steadily they spooned the wa-tery stuff into their mouths,and between spoonfuls exchanged the few necessary words in low expressionless voices.

"What time do you leave work?"

"Eighteen-thirty."

"Where can we meet?"

"Victory Square,near the monument."

"It's full of telescreens."

"It doesn't matter if there's a crowd."

"Any signal?"

"No.Don't come up to me until you see me among a lot of peo-ple.And don't look at me.Just keep somewhere near me."

"What time?"

"Nineteen hours."

"All right."

Ampleforth failed to see Winston and sat down at another ta-ble.The girl finished her lunch quickly and made off,while Winston stayed to smoke a cigarette.They did not speak again,and,so far as it was possible for two people sitting on opposite sides of the same table,they did not look at one another.

Winston was inVictory Square before the appointed time.He wandered round the base of the enormous fluted column,at the top of which Big Brother's statue gazed southward toward the skies where he had vanquished the Eurasian airplanes (the Eastasian air-planes,it had been,a few years ago)in the Battle of Airstrip One.In the street in front of it there was a statue of a man on horseback which was supposed to represent Oliver Cromwell.At five minutes past the hour the girl had still not appeared.Again the terrible fear seized upon Winston.She was not coming,she had changed her mind! He walked slowly up to the north side of the square and got a sort of pale-colored pleasure from identifying St.Martin's church,whose bells,when it had bells,had chimed"You owe me three farthings."Then he saw the girl standing at the base of the monument,reading or pretending to read a poster which ran spirally up the column.It was not safe to go near her until some more peo-ple had accumulated.There were telescreens all round the pediment. But at this moment there was a din of shouting and a zoom of heavy vehicles from somewhere to the left.Suddenly everyone seemed to be running across the square.The girl nipped nimbly round the lions at the base of the monument and joined in the rush.Winston fol-lowed.As he ran,he gathered from some shouted remarks that a convoy of Eurasian prisoners was passing.

Already a dense mass of people was blocking the south side of the square.Winston,at normal times the kind of person who gravi-tates to the outer edge of any kind of scrimmage,shoved,butted, squirmed his way forward into the heart of the crowd.Soon he was within arm's length of the girl,but the way was blocked by an e-normous prole and an almost equally enormous woman,presumably his wife,who seemed to form an impenetrable wall of flesh.Winston wriggled himself sideways,and with a violent lunge managed to drive his shoulder between them.For a moment it felt as though his entrails were being ground to pulp between the two muscular hips;then he had broken through,sweating a little.He was next to the girl.They were shoulder to shoulder,both staring fixedly in front of them.

A long line of trucks,with wooden-faced guards armed with submachine guns standing upright in each corner,was passing slow-ly down the street.In the trucks little yellow men in shabby green-ish uniforms were squatting,jammed close together.Their sad Mon-golian faces gazed out over the sides of the trucks, utterly incuri-ous.Occasionally when a truck jolted there was a clank-clank of metal:all the prisoners were wearing leg irons.Truckload after truckload of the sad faces passed.Winston knew they were there, but he saw them only intermittently.The girl's shoulder,and her arm right down to the elbow,were pressed against his.Her cheek was almost near enough for him to feel its warmth.She had immedi-ately taken charge of the situation,just as she had done in the can-teen.She began speaking in the same expressionless voice as before, with lips barely moving,a mere murmur easily drowned by the din of voices and the rumbling of the trucks.

"Can you hear me?"

"Yes."

"Can you get Sunday afternoon off?"

"Yes."

"Then listen carefully.You'll have to remember this.Go to Paddington Station—"

With a sort of military precision that astonished him,she out-lined the route that he was to follow.A half-hour railway journey;turn left outside the station;two kilometers along the road;a gate with the top bar missing;a path across a field;a grass-grown lane;a track between bushes;a dead tree with moss on it.It was as though she had a map inside her head."Can you remember all that?"she murmured finally.

"Yes."

"You turn left,then right,then left again.And the gate's got no top bar."

"Yes.What time?"

"About fifteen.You may have to wait.I'll get there by another way.Are you sure you remember everything?"

"Yes."

"Then get away from me as quick as you can."

She need not have told him that.But for the moment they could not extricate themselves from the crowd.The trucks were still filing past,the people still insatiably gaping.At the start there had been a few boos and hisses,but it came only from the Party members a-mong the crowd,and had soon stopped.The prevailing emotion was simply curiosity.Foreigners,whether from Eurasia or from Easta-sia,were a kind of strange animal.One literally never saw them ex-cept in the guise of prisoners,and even as prisoners one never got more than a momentary glimpse of them.Nor did one know what became of them,apart from the few who were hanged as warcrimi-nals;the others simply vanished,presumably into forced-labour camps.The round Mogol faces had given way to faces of a more Eu-ropean type, dirty, bearded and exhausted.From over scrubby cheekbones eyes looked into Winston's,sometimes with strange in-tensity,and flashed away again.The convoy was drawing to an end. In the last truck he could see an aged man,his face a mass of griz-zled hair,standing upright with wrists crossed in front of them,as though he were used to having them bound together.It was almost time for Winston and the girl to part.But at the last moment,while the crowd still hemmed them in,her hand felt for his and gave it a fleeting squeeze.

It could not have been ten seconds,and yet it seemed a long time that their hands were clasped together.He had time to learn every detail of her hand.He explored the long fingers,the shapely nails,the work-hardened palm with its row of callouses,the smooth flesh under the wrist.Merely from feeling it he would have known it by sight.In the same instant it occurred to him that he did not know what color the girl's eyes were.They were probably brown,but people with dark hair sometimes had blue eyes.To turn his head and look at her would have been inconceivable folly.With hands locked together,invisible among the press of bodies,they stared steadily in front of them,and instead of the eyes of the girl,the eyes of the aged prisoner gazed mournfully at Winston out of nests of hair.

Chapter 2

Winston picked his way up the lane through dappled lightand shade,stepping out into pools of gold wherever theboughs parted.Under the trees to the left of him theground was misty with bluebells.The air seemed to kiss one's skin. It was the second of May.From somewhere deeper in the heart of the wood came the droning of ring doves.

He was a bit early.There had been no difficulties about the journey,and the girl was so evidently experienced that he was less frightened than he would normally have been.Presumably she could be trusted to find a safe place.In general you could not assume that you were much safer in the country than in London.There were no telescreens,of course,but there was always the danger of concealed microphones by which your voice might be picked up and recog-nized;besides,it was not easy to make a journey by yourself with-out attracting attention.For distances of less than a hundred kilo-meters it was not necessary to get your passport endorsed,but sometimes there were patrols hanging about the railway stations, who examined the papers of any Party member they found there and asked awkward questions.However,no patrols had appeared, and on the walk from the station he had made sure by cautious backward glances that he was not being followed.The train was full of proles,in holiday mood because of the summery weather.The wooden-seated carriage in which he traveled was filled to overflow-ing by a single enormous family,ranging from a toothless great-grandmother to a month-old baby,going out to spend an afternoon with"in-laws"in the country,and,as they freely explained to Win-ston,to get hold of a little black-market butter.

The lane widened,and in a minute he came to the footpath she had told him of,a mere cattle track which plunged between the bu-shes.He had no watch,but it could not be fifteen yet.The bluebells were so thick underfoot that it was impossible not to tread on them. He knelt down and began picking some, partly to pass the time away,but also from a vague idea that he would like to have a bunch of flowers to offer to the girl when they met.He had got together a big bunch and was smelling their faint sickly scent when a sound at his back froze him,the unmistakable crackle of a foot on twigs.He went on picking bluebells.It was the best thing to do.It might be the girl,or he might have been followed after all.To look round was to show guilt.He picked another and another.A hand fell lightly on his shoulder.

同类推荐
  • 曼斯菲尔德庄园(纯爱·英文馆)

    曼斯菲尔德庄园(纯爱·英文馆)

    主要讲述了以男女青年的恋爱婚姻为题材。但是,比较而言,本书情节更为复杂,突发性事件更加集中,社会讽刺意味也更加浓重。
  • 商务英语公文900句典

    商务英语公文900句典

    本书分为贸易流程函、商务通用公文和商务社会活动函三大部分。每一章的背景介绍以中英文对照的方式让读者对商务活动中各环节的商务英语信函及信函式公文有清晰的理解。文中提供大量的典型范例,能快速提高读者对商务信函用语的熟悉程度,方便记忆,易于读者掌握运用。
  • 前线救援

    前线救援

    一次世界大战爆发了,简姨妈的两位侄女——帕齐与贝丝都十分焦急地渴望了解战况。琼斯结束了海洋旅行,前来看望大家。次日,莫德也与大家会合了。久别重逢的喜悦充溢在每一个人的心间。然而,莫德做出的决定却着实令大家大吃一惊。她竟然想到前线当一名护士,救助那些在战争中受伤的士兵。帕齐与贝丝受到莫德的感染,决定与她同赴战场,琼斯也支持几个女孩的决定。约翰叔叔找到了一位符合条件的医生——戈瑞医生。戈瑞医生将“阿拉贝拉”快艇改造成一艘十分专业的医务船。就这样,桅杆上飘动着美国国旗和红十字会旗帜的快艇驶向了前线……
  • 英语前缀词根后缀袋着走:英语单词这样背才对!

    英语前缀词根后缀袋着走:英语单词这样背才对!

    本书按照词首、词根、词尾的方法来教读者记忆单词,配合例句,迅速准确地掌握单词的用法。小开本的设计,方便读者携带,装到口袋里随时随地背单词。本书提供了标准的国际音标帮助你更好地将英语说出来。同时,大量实用的例句也可以让你将单词理解得更为透彻,从而掌握地道的表达方法。
  • 了不起的盖茨比(纯爱·英文馆)

    了不起的盖茨比(纯爱·英文馆)

    《了不起的盖茨比》是美国作家弗·司各特·菲茨杰拉德1925年所写的一部以20世纪20年代的纽约市及长岛为背景的中篇小说,小说的背景被设定在现代化的美国社会中上阶层的白人圈内,通过卡拉韦的叙述展开。
热门推荐
  • 快穿女配:攻略男神指南

    快穿女配:攻略男神指南

    木初冉20岁生日当天,因先天性心脏病发作,在自己的订婚典礼上倒下了。为了和原世界竹马白头到老,她绑定了一个十分不靠谱的快穿系统,从此开始了不同位面的穿越。年轻影帝√网文大神√霸道总裁√高冷校草√丧尸城主√邪肆王爷√高智商机器人√兽人世界√网游大神√血族侯爵√精灵国王……性格各异的男神,只有木初冉不想攻略,没有木初冉不能攻略! 【本文1v1,男主一人,不解释。】【女主成长型,前期很平凡,后期吊炸天。】
  • 斋法清净经

    斋法清净经

    本书为公版书,为不受著作权法限制的作家、艺术家及其它人士发布的作品,供广大读者阅读交流。汇聚授权电子版权。
  • 天才儿子财迷俏星妈

    天才儿子财迷俏星妈

    他是冷酷多金,无情至极的总裁大人。而她则是重生女猎人一号。伴随的是黄脸婆,还现捡了一个下堂妇的名号。幸运的是失去了肚子里的宝贝,白捡了一个五岁大可爱的儿子。随着重生,乐悠的人生发生了翻天覆地的巨变。不仅得空间,还意外修真,摇身一变穷人也能翻身做主。做明星,赚家业,赌石、开公司,斗三儿,与帅哥玩暧昧样样拿手。萌宝:老爸不好了,有人开价要潜老妈,而且还要开高价请老妈拍限制电影。酷前夫:来人,去收购了对方的公司,找几个丑八怪反潜他。萌宝:老爸不好了,外婆要带老妈相亲,而且还是个高富帅,听说还是青梅竹马。酷前夫:什么,能有我帅。青梅竹马算个屁,我还是你妈咪的男人,明天老爸就拉你妈去扯证。萌宝:老爸这话你说过很多次了,可是老妈似乎不乐意。都怪老爸以前不识货,把老妈赶走了,还欺负老妈。要是老妈不要你,我就离家出走,跟老妈找后爸。当然,要是老爸能给我十万块,我可以考虑考虑,在老妈面前帮老爸说说好说。看着财迷,两眼发青光的儿子,酷前夫无语的嘴角抽了抽。
  • 爸爸的高度,决定孩子的起点

    爸爸的高度,决定孩子的起点

    本书选取了父亲教育的成功法则,告诉你如何教育孩子,做一个好父亲。全书从多个方面入手,为父亲教育孩子提供了诊断、指导,帮助父亲认识自己的角色,明确自己的责任,掌握教育的方法,打破以往错误的教育观念。
  • 旧爱新欢

    旧爱新欢

    【四海阁】爱是天时地利的迷信。这是一个关于旧爱惹新欢的故事,他们为爱痴为爱狂。总有人改变模样,总有人毁了誓言,总有人一如既往。不就是爱情,有什么不可?不就是爱情,为何要顾忌?不就是爱情,有什么不能坚持?【四海阁】
  • 景候佳音

    景候佳音

    林景琰不知道怎么做才能让顾佳音重新喜欢上他。顾佳音笑笑:“呵呵…我肚子里的孩子是谁的?”“佳音,我知道不是我的,你放心,我会把他当亲生一样的对待的!”男人信誓旦旦保证!“林景琰,你大爷,你让我怀孕了,你居然忘了!!”男人一愣一愣的:“是…我的吗?”顾佳音气呼呼的小脸大声怒吼:“当然是你的,不然是谁的!”林景琰抓了抓头:“我们睡过吗?我怎么不记得了?”“林景琰,你今晚睡书房!!”“老婆,不要啊,我不要睡书房!”不过,我和佳音到底什么时候睡过的??林景琰使劲挠了挠头。
  • 竹书孔子诗论

    竹书孔子诗论

    本书为公版书,为不受著作权法限制的作家、艺术家及其它人士发布的作品,供广大读者阅读交流。汇聚授权电子版权。
  • 异想

    异想

    那年我二十一岁。从大学中文系出来,我被分配到公安部办公厅,干文秘。心里不愿意,但家里没背景,北京又没熟人,只有认了。想着先干一阵子,然后再找个报社出版社什么的跳槽。那些年,刚分配的大学生都要下基层锻炼。我们部的点在东北。于是,屁股底下的那把椅子还没焐热,便又把行李捆巴捆巴扔上火车,跟几个也是新来的一起,到了黑龙江的峦县。到了县局,只有一个女孩子留下了,其他几个全下到了基层。我去的地方是塔山镇的派出所。从中国地图上看,峦县大概在“鸡”嘴的位置。塔山镇不大,三两万人的样子。
  • 快穿逆袭美男别追我

    快穿逆袭美男别追我

    沈缘溪死了,死后只记得自己学过的东西,为了找回其他的记忆,她不得不跟着系统穿越位面。……【灵魂一对一,男女主身心干净。】
  • 我寄人间白满头

    我寄人间白满头

    我的一生很短,也不过二十载,穷极一生所追及的人,像是做不完的梦,连死了也解脱不了。我有两个哥哥。和一个世间最好看的啊姐。还有……还有我欢喜了整个年少的未婚夫。但也只是年少,待我成年时。他便是我这世间最厌恶,最恨的人了。后来,我死了,成了鬼,成了人人害怕的孤魂野鬼。隔着一面墙,他在墙的那一边,我在墙的这一边。他的院子里有两棵梅花树,倚着那面墙,墙的另一边是我的院子,那株梅花枝便偷偷的伸过我的院子。后来,大火烧了我院子,连着偷偷那一株伸过来的梅花枝。我死的那一日,正是他大婚之日,墙的那边鼓乐齐鸣,爆竹震天。墙的这边,我呆呆的望着那一株开得正烈的梅花。恍然想起他是我哥哥们为我寻的如意郎君。于是我翻过墙,打晕了那凤冠霞帔的新娘子,换了她的衣衫,低眉垂眼沿床坐,然后在那龙凤烛影摇红里,他惊愕的眼神中,我捅了他一刀。他大概是死了吧,我想。我便又翻回了我的院子,在屋上中间的那根大圆柱子系了条白绫,上吊之前,我踢倒了桌上的蜡烛。其实那日翻墙回来时,我偷偷饮了那铺着红布桌子上的喜酒。――若你侥幸不死,便当我喝了你的喜酒,祝伉俪情深,祝白头。