登陆注册
5591900000021

第21章 PART V(1)

CHAPTER ONE

Almayer propped,alone on the verandah of his house,with both his elbows on the table,and holding his head between his hands,stared before him,away over the stretch of sprouting young grass in his courtyard,and over the short jetty with its cluster of small canoes,amongst which his big whale-boat floated high,like a white mother of all that dark and aquatic brood.He stared on the river,past the schooner anchored in mid-stream,past the forests of the left bank;he stared through and past the illusion of the material world.

The sun was sinking.Under the sky was stretched a network of white threads,a network fine and close-meshed,where here and there were caught thicker white vapours of globular shape;and to the eastward,above the ragged barrier of the forests,surged the summits of a chain of great clouds,growing bigger slowly,in imperceptible motion,as if careful not to disturb the glowing stillness of the earth and of the sky.Abreast of the house the river was empty but for the motionless schooner.Higher up,a solitary log came out from the bend above and went on drifting slowly down the straight reach:a dead and wandering tree going out to its grave in the sea,between two ranks of trees motionless and living.

And Almayer sat,his face in his hands,looking on and hating all this:the muddy river;the faded blue of the sky;the black log passing by on its first and last voyage;the green sea of leaves--the sea that glowed shimmered,and stirred above the uniform and impenetrable gloom of the forests--the joyous sea of living green powdered with the brilliant dust of oblique sunrays.

He hated all this;he begrudged every day--every minute--of his life spent amongst all these things;he begrudged it bitterly,angrily,with enraged and immense regret,like a miser compelled to give up some of his treasure to a near relation.And yet all this was very precious to him.It was the present sign of a splendid future.

He pushed the table away impatiently,got up,made a few steps aimlessly,then stood by the balustrade and again looked at the river--at that river which would have been the instrument for the making of his fortune if...if...

"What an abominable brute!"he said.

He was alone,but he spoke aloud,as one is apt to do under the impulse of a strong,of an overmastering thought.

"What a brute!"he muttered again.

The river was dark now,and the schooner lay on it,a black,a lonely,and a graceful form,with the slender masts darting upwards from it in two frail and raking lines.The shadows of the evening crept up the trees,crept up from bough to bough,till at last the long sunbeams coursing from the western horizon skimmed lightly over the topmost branches,then flew upwards amongst the piled-up clouds,giving them a sombre and fiery aspect in the last flush of light.And suddenly the light disappeared as if lost in the immensity of the great,blue,and empty hollow overhead.The sun had set:and the forests became a straight wall of formless blackness.Above them,on the edge of lingering clouds,a single star glimmered fitfully,obscured now and then by the rapid flight of high and invisible vapours.

Almayer fought with the uneasiness within his breast.He heard Ali,who moved behind him preparing his evening meal,and he listened with strange attention to the sounds the man made--to the short,dry bang of the plate put upon the table,to the clink of glass and the metallic rattle of knife and fork.The man went away.Now he was coming back.He would speak directly;and Almayer,notwithstanding the absorbing gravity of his thoughts,listened for the sound of expected words.He heard them,spoken in English with painstaking distinctness.

"Ready,sir!"

"All right,"said Almayer,curtly.He did not move.He remained pensive,with his back to the table upon which stood the lighted lamp brought by Ali.He was thinking:Where was Lingard now?

Halfway down the river probably,in Abdulla's ship.He would be back in about three days--perhaps less.And then?Then the schooner would have to be got out of the river,and when that craft was gone they--he and Lingard--would remain here;alone with the constant thought of that other man,that other man living near them!What an extraordinary idea to keep him there for ever.For ever!What did that mean--for ever?Perhaps a year,perhaps ten years.Preposterous!Keep him there ten years--or may be twenty!The fellow was capable of living more than twenty years.And for all that time he would have to be watched,fed,looked after.There was nobody but Lingard to have such notions.Twenty years!Why,no!In less than ten years their fortune would be made and they would leave this place,first for Batavia--yes,Batavia--and then for Europe.England,no doubt.Lingard would want to go to England.And would they leave that man here?How would that fellow look in ten years?

Very old probably.Well,devil take him.Nina would be fifteen.

She would be rich and very pretty and he himself would not be so old then..."Almayer smiled into the night.

Yes,rich!Why!Of course!Captain Lingard was a resourceful man,and he had plenty of money even now.They were rich already;but not enough.Decidedly not enough.Money brings money.That gold business was good.Famous!Captain Lingard was a remarkable man.He said the gold was there--and it was there.Lingard knew what he was talking about.But he had queer ideas.For instance,about Willems.Now what did he want to keep him alive for?Why?

"That scoundrel,"muttered Almayer again.

"Makan Tuan!"ejaculated Ali suddenly,very loud in a pressing tone.

Almayer walked to the table,sat down,and his anxious visage dropped from above into the light thrown down by the lamp-shade.

He helped himself absently,and began to eat in great mouthfuls.

Undoubtedly,Lingard was the man to stick to!The man undismayed,masterful and ready.How quickly he had planned a new future when Willems'treachery destroyed their established position in Sambir!And the position even now was not so bad.

What an immense prestige that Lingard had with all those people--Arabs,Malays and all.Ah,it was good to be able to call a man like that father.Fine!Wonder how much money really the old fellow had.People talked--they exaggerated surely,but if he had only half of what they said...

He drank,throwing his head up,and fell to again.

Now,if that Willems had known how to play his cards well,had he stuck to the old fellow he would have been in his position,he would be now married to Lingard's adopted daughter with his future assured--splendid...

"The beast!"growled Almayer,between two mouthfuls.

Ali stood rigidly straight with an uninterested face,his gaze lost in the night which pressed round the small circle of light that shone on the table,on the glass,on the bottle,and on Almayer's head as he leaned over his plate moving his jaws.

A famous man Lingard--yet you never knew what he would do next.It was notorious that he had shot a white man once for less than Willems had done.For less?...Why,for nothing,so to speak!It was not even his own quarrel.It was about some Malay returning from pilgrimage with wife and children.

Kidnapped,or robbed,or something.A stupid story--an old story.And now he goes to see that Willems and--nothing.Comes back talking big about his prisoner;but after all he said very little.What did that Willems tell him?What passed between them?The old fellow must have had something in his mind when he let that scoundrel off.And Joanna!She would get round the old fellow.Sure.Then he would forgive perhaps.Impossible.But at any rate he would waste a lot of money on them.The old man was tenacious in his hates,but also in his affections.He had known that beast Willems from a boy.They would make it up in a year or so.Everything is possible:why did he not rush off at first and kill the brute?That would have been more like Lingard...

Almayer laid down his spoon suddenly,and pushing his plate away,threw himself back in the chair.

Unsafe.Decidedly unsafe.He had no mind to share Lingard's money with anybody.Lingard's money was Nina's money in a sense.And if Willems managed to become friendly with the old man it would be dangerous for him--Almayer.Such an unscrupulous scoundrel!He would oust him from his position.He would lie and slander.Everything would be lost.Lost.Poor Nina.What would become of her?Poor child.For her sake he must remove that Willems.Must.But how?Lingard wanted to be obeyed.Impossible to kill Willems.Lingard might be angry.

Incredible,but so it was.He might...

A wave of heat passed through Almayer's body,flushed his face,and broke out of him in copious perspiration.He wriggled in his chair,and pressed his hands together under the table.What an awful prospect!He fancied he could see Lingard and Willems reconciled and going away arm-in-arm,leaving him alone in this God-forsaken hole--in Sambir--in this deadly swamp!And all his sacrifices,the sacrifice of his independence,of his best years,his surrender to Lingard's fancies and caprices,would go for nothing!Horrible!Then he thought of his little daughter--his daughter!--and the ghastliness of his supposition overpowered him.He had a deep emotion,a sudden emotion that made him feel quite faint at the idea of that young life spoiled before it had fairly begun.His dear child's life!Lying back in his chair he covered his face with both his hands.

Ali glanced down at him and said,unconcernedly--"Master finish?"Almayer was lost in the immensity of his commiseration for himself,for his daughter,who was--perhaps--not going to be the richest woman in the world--notwithstanding Lingard's promises.

He did not understand the other's question,and muttered through his fingers in a doleful tone--"What did you say?What?Finish what?"

"Clear up meza,"explained Ali.

"Clear up!"burst out Almayer,with incomprehensible exasperation."Devil take you and the table.Stupid!Chatterer!Chelakka!Get out!"

He leaned forward,glaring at his head man,then sank back in his seat with his arms hanging straight down on each side of the chair.And he sat motionless in a meditation so concentrated and so absorbing,with all his power of thought so deep within himself,that all expression disappeared from his face in an aspect of staring vacancy.

Ali was clearing the table.He dropped negligently the tumbler into the greasy dish,flung there the spoon and fork,then slipped in the plate with a push amongst the remnants of food.

He took up the dish,tucked up the bottle under his armpit,and went off.

"My hammock!"shouted Almayer after him.

"Ada!I come soon,"answered Ali from the doorway in an offended tone,looking back over his shoulder...How could he clear the table and hang the hammock at the same time.Ya-wa!Those white men were all alike.Wanted everything done at once.Like children...

The indistinct murmur of his criticism went away,faded and died out together with the soft footfall of his bare feet in the dark passage.

For some time Almayer did not move.His thoughts were busy at work shaping a momentous resolution,and in the perfect silence of the house he believed that he could hear the noise of the operation as if the work had been done with a hammer.He certainly felt a thumping of strokes,faint,profound,and startling,somewhere low down in his breast;and he was aware of a sound of dull knocking,abrupt and rapid,in his ears.Now and then he held his breath,unconsciously,too long,and had to relieve himself by a deep expiration that whistled dully through his pursed lips.The lamp standing on the far side of the table threw a section of a lighted circle on the floor,where his out-stretched legs stuck out from under the table with feet rigid and turned up like the feet of a corpse;and his set face with fixed eyes would have been also like the face of the dead,but for its vacant yet conscious aspect;the hard,the stupid,the stony aspect of one not dead,but only buried under the dust,ashes,and corruption of personal thoughts,of base fears,of selfish desires.

"I will do it!"

Not till he heard his own voice did he know that he had spoken.

It startled him.He stood up.The knuckles of his hand,somewhat behind him,were resting on the edge of the table as he remained still with one foot advanced,his lips a little open,and thought:It would not do to fool about with Lingard.But Imust risk it.It's the only way I can see.I must tell her.

She has some little sense.I wish they were a thousand miles off already.A hundred thousand miles.I do.And if it fails.And she blabs out then to Lingard?She seemed a fool.No;probably they will get away.And if they did,would Lingard believe me?

Yes.I never lied to him.He would believe.I don't know...

Perhaps he won't..."I must do it.Must!"he argued aloud to himself.

For a long time he stood still,looking before him with an intense gaze,a gaze rapt and immobile,that seemed to watch the minute quivering of a delicate balance,coming to a rest.

To the left of him,in the whitewashed wall of the house that formed the back of the verandah,there was a closed door.Black letters were painted on it proclaiming the fact that behind that door there was the office of Lingard &Co.The interior had been furnished by Lingard when he had built the house for his adopted daughter and her husband,and it had been furnished with reckless prodigality.There was an office desk,a revolving chair,bookshelves,a safe:all to humour the weakness of Almayer,who thought all those paraphernalia necessary to successful trading.

Lingard had laughed,but had taken immense trouble to get the things.It pleased him to make his protege,his adopted son-in-law,happy.It had been the sensation of Sambir some five years ago.While the things were being landed,the whole settlement literally lived on the river bank in front of the Rajah Laut's house,to look,to wonder,to admire...What a big meza,with many boxes fitted all over it and under it!What did the white man do with such a table?And look,look,OBrothers!There is a green square box,with a gold plate on it,a box so heavy that those twenty men cannot drag it up the bank.

Let us go,brothers,and help pull at the ropes,and perchance we may see what's inside.Treasure,no doubt.Gold is heavy and hard to hold,O Brothers!Let us go and earn a recompense from the fierce Rajah of the Sea who shouts over there,with a red face.See!There is a man carrying a pile of books from the boat!What a number of books.What were they for?...And an old invalided jurumudi,who had travelled over many seas and had heard holy men speak in far-off countries,explained to a small knot of unsophisticated citizens of Sambir that those books were books of magic--of magic that guides the white men's ships over the seas,that gives them their wicked wisdom and their strength;of magic that makes them great,powerful,and irresistible while they live,and--praise be to Allah!--the victims of Satan,the slaves of Jehannum when they die.

And when he saw the room furnished,Almayer had felt proud.In his exultation of an empty-headed quill-driver,he thought himself,by the virtue of that furniture,at the head of a serious business.He had sold himself to Lingard for these things--married the Malay girl of his adoption for the reward of these things and of the great wealth that must necessarily follow upon conscientious book-keeping.He found out very soon that trade in Sambir meant something entirely different.He could not guide Patalolo,control the irrepressible old Sahamin,or restrain the youthful vagaries of the fierce Bahassoen with pen,ink,and paper.He found no successful magic in the blank pages of his ledgers;and gradually he lost his old point of view in the saner appreciation of his situation.The room known as the office became neglected then like a temple of an exploded superstition.At first,when his wife reverted to her original savagery,Almayer,now and again,had sought refuge from her there;but after their child began to speak,to know him,he became braver,for he found courage and consolation in his unreasoning and fierce affection for his daughter--in the impenetrable mantle of selfishness he wrapped round both their lives:round himself,and that young life that was also his.

When Lingard ordered him to receive Joanna into his house,he had a truckle bed put into the office--the only room he could spare.

The big office desk was pushed on one side,and Joanna came with her little shabby trunk and with her child and took possession in her dreamy,slack,half-asleep way;took possession of the dust,dirt,and squalor,where she appeared naturally at home,where she dragged a melancholy and dull existence;an existence made up of sad remorse and frightened hope,amongst the hopeless disorder--the senseless and vain decay of all these emblems of civilized commerce.Bits of white stuff;rags yellow,pink,blue:rags limp,brilliant and soiled,trailed on the floor,lay on the desk amongst the sombre covers of books soiled,grimy,but stiff-backed,in virtue,perhaps,of their European origin.The biggest set of bookshelves was partly hidden by a petticoat,the waistband of which was caught upon the back of a slender book pulled a little out of the row so as to make an improvised clothespeg.The folding canvas bedstead stood nearly in the middle of the room,stood anyhow,parallel to no wall,as if it had been,in the process of transportation to some remote place,dropped casually there by tired bearers.And on the tumbled blankets that lay in a disordered heap on its edge,Joanna sat almost all day with her stockingless feet upon one of the bed pillows that were somehow always kicking about the floor.She sat there,vaguely tormented at times by the thought of her absent husband,but most of the time thinking tearfully of nothing at all,looking with swimming eyes at her little son--at the big-headed,pasty-faced,and sickly Louis Willems--who rolled a glass inkstand,solid with dried ink,about the floor,and tottered after it with the portentous gravity of demeanour and absolute absorption by the business in hand that characterize the pursuits of early childhood.Through the half-open shutter a ray of sunlight,a ray merciless and crude,came into the room,beat in the early morning upon the safe in the far-off corner,then,travelling against the sun,cut at midday the big desk in two with its solid and clean-edged brilliance;with its hot brilliance in which a swarm of flies hovered in dancing flight over some dirty plate forgotten there amongst yellow papers for many a day.And towards the evening the cynical ray seemed to cling to the ragged petticoat,lingered on it with wicked enjoyment of that misery it had exposed all day;lingered on the corner of the dusty bookshelf,in a red glow intense and mocking,till it was suddenly snatched by the setting sun out of the way of the coming night.And the night entered the room.The night abrupt,impenetrable and all-filling with its flood of darkness;the night cool and merciful;the blind night that saw nothing,but could hear the fretful whimpering of the child,the creak of the bedstead,Joanna's deep sighs as she turned over,sleepless,in the confused conviction of her wickedness,thinking of that man masterful,fair-headed,and strong--a man hard perhaps,but her husband;her clever and handsome husband to whom she had acted so cruelly on the advice of bad people,if her own people;and of her poor,dear,deceived mother.

To Almayer,Joanna's presence was a constant worry,a worry unobtrusive yet intolerable;a constant,but mostly mute,warning of possible danger.In view of the absurd softness of Lingard's heart,every one in whom Lingard manifested the slightest interest was to Almayer a natural enemy.He was quite alive to that feeling,and in the intimacy of the secret intercourse with his inner self had often congratulated himself upon his own wide-awake comprehension of his position.In that way,and impelled by that motive,Almayer had hated many and various persons at various times.But he never had hated and feared anybody so much as he did hate and fear Willems.Even after Willems'treachery,which seemed to remove him beyond the pale of all human sympathy,Almayer mistrusted the situation and groaned in spirit every time he caught sight of Joanna.

He saw her very seldom in the daytime.But in the short and opal-tinted twilights,or in the azure dusk of starry evenings,he often saw,before he slept,the slender and tall figure trailing to and fro the ragged tail of its white gown over the dried mud of the riverside in front of the house.Once or twice when he sat late on the verandah,with his feet upon the deal table on a level with the lamp,reading the seven months'old copy of the North China Herald,brought by Lingard,he heard the stairs creak,and,looking round the paper,he saw her frail and meagre form rise step by step and toil across the verandah,carrying with difficulty the big,fat child,whose head,lying on the mother's bony shoulder,seemed of the same size as Joanna's own.Several times she had assailed him with tearful clamour or mad entreaties:asking about her husband,wanting to know where he was,when he would be back;and ending every such outburst with despairing and incoherent self-reproaches that were absolutely incomprehensible to Almayer.On one or two occasions she had overwhelmed her host with vituperative abuse,making him responsible for her husband's absence.Those scenes,begun without any warning,ended abruptly in a sobbing flight and a bang of the door;stirred the house with a sudden,a fierce,and an evanescent disturbance;like those inexplicable whirlwinds that rise,run,and vanish without apparent cause upon the sun-scorched dead level of arid and lamentable plains.

But to-night the house was quiet,deadly quiet,while Almayer stood still,watching that delicate balance where he was weighing all his chances:Joanna's intelligence,Lingard's credulity,Willems'reckless audacity,desire to escape,readiness to seize an unexpected opportunity.He weighed,anxious and attentive,his fears and his desires against the tremendous risk of a quarrel with Lingard...Yes.Lingard would be angry.

Lingard might suspect him of some connivance in his prisoner's escape--but surely he would not quarrel with him--Almayer--about those people once they were gone--gone to the devil in their own way.And then he had hold of Lingard through the little girl.

Good.What an annoyance!A prisoner!As if one could keep him in there.He was bound to get away some time or other.Of course.A situation like that can't last.vAnybody could see that.Lingard's eccentricity passed all bounds.You may kill a man,but you mustn't torture him.It was almost criminal.It caused worry,trouble,and unpleasantness...Almayer for a moment felt very angry with Lingard.He made him responsible for the anguish he suffered from,for the anguish of doubt and fear;for compelling him--the practical and innocent Almayer--to such painful efforts of mind in order to find out some issue for absurd situations created by the unreasonable sentimentality of Lingard's unpractical impulses.

"Now if the fellow were dead it would be all right,"said Almayer to the verandah.

He stirred a little,and scratching his nose thoughtfully,revelled in a short flight of fancy,showing him his own image crouching in a big boat,that floated arrested--say fifty yards off--abreast of Willems'landing-place.In the bottom of the boat there was a gun.A loaded gun.One of the boatmen would shout,and Willems would answer--from the bushes.c The rascal would be suspicious.Of course.Then the man would wave a piece of paper urging Willems to come to the landing-place and receive an important message."From the Rajah Laut"the man would yell as the boat edged in-shore,and that would fetch Willems out.

Wouldn't it?Rather!And Almayer saw himself jumping up at the right moment,taking aim,pulling the trigger--and Willems tumbling over,his head in the water--the swine!

He seemed to hear the report of the shot.It made him thrill from head to foot where he stood...How simple!...

Unfortunate...Lingard...He sighed,shook his head.

Pity.Couldn't be done.And couldn't leave him there either!

Suppose the Arabs were to get hold of him again--for instance to lead an expedition up the river!Goodness only knows what harm would come of it...

The balance was at rest now and inclining to the side of immediate action.Almayer walked to the door,walked up very close to it,knocked loudly,and turned his head away,looking frightened for a moment at what he had done.After waiting for a while he put his ear against the panel and listened.Nothing.

He composed his features into an agreeable expression while he stood listening and thinking to himself:I hear her.Crying.

Eh?I believe she has lost the little wits she had and is crying night and day since I began to prepare her for the news of her husband's death--as Lingard told me.I wonder what she thinks.

It's just like father to make me invent all these stories for nothing at all.Out of kindness.Kindness!Damn!...She isn't deaf,surely.

He knocked again,then said in a friendly tone,grinning benevolently at the closed door--"It's me,Mrs.Willems.I want to speak to you.I have...have...important news..."

"What is it?"

"News,"repeated Almayer,distinctly."News about your husband.

Your husband!...Damn him!"he added,under his breath.

He heard a stumbling rush inside.Things were overturned.

Joanna's agitated voice cried--

"News!What?What?I am coming out."

"No,"shouted Almayer."Put on some clothes,Mrs.Willems,and let me in.It's...very confidential.You have a candle,haven't you?"She was knocking herself about blindly amongst the furniture in that room.The candlestick was upset.Matches were struck ineffectually.The matchbox fell.He heard her drop on her knees and grope over the floor while she kept on moaning in maddened distraction.

"Oh,my God!News!Yes...yes...Ah!where...where candle.Oh,my God!...I can't find...Don't go away,for the love of Heaven...""I don't want to go away,"said Almayer,impatiently,through the keyhole;"but look sharp.It's coni...it's pressing."He stamped his foot lightly,waiting with his hand on the door-handle.He thought anxiously:The woman's a perfect idiot.

Why should I go away?She will be off her head.She will never catch my meaning.She's too stupid.

同类推荐
  • Cousin Maude

    Cousin Maude

    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。
  • The Vicomte de Bragelonne

    The Vicomte de Bragelonne

    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。
  • 高拱诗选

    高拱诗选

    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。
  • 上巳日曲江有感

    上巳日曲江有感

    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。
  • 禅秘要法经

    禅秘要法经

    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。
热门推荐
  • 用制度管人 按制度办事:财务工作规范化管理推行实务

    用制度管人 按制度办事:财务工作规范化管理推行实务

    工作要点、工作流程、制度模板、实用表单、执行标准的系统整合是本书最突出的五大特点。本书旨在解决企业管理整体规范和执行细节问题,将财务管理完全规范化和精细化,为财务工作者提供规范的制度模板、实用的工具表单、标准的工作流程。本书内容包括财务部门工作职责与职能、财务部组织机构设置与管理、财务制度设计与管理、财务部日常核算工作管理、财务预算与计划管理、财务筹资管理、财务投资管理、财务风险管理、货币资金管理、有形资产管理、无形资产管理、财务分析管理、财务控制管理、财务审计管理、财务成本管理、利润中心管理、财务帐款管理、外汇管理、并购管理、清算管理、税务筹划、薪资管理。
  • 穿为贱婢压六宫

    穿为贱婢压六宫

    爱情,兄弟情,姐妹情,孰重孰轻?当你与自己的姐妹或者是兄弟爱上同一个人的时候,你,会如何抉择?华丽丽的宫斗即将上演~~~女主获得最终胜利~~~穿越就穿越了,古代就古代,可是为什么还是古代的皇宫,穿成一个人人可以踩在脚底下的宫女呢?那身份成谜,却对自己细心周到青衣的男子到底是谁;皇后说的那番话又是什么意思;爱上君王是该还是不该?她不知道。她只知,为了爱人,为了生存,只能站到风头浪尖去拼出一条活路。言官叱责如何?罪孽深重又如何?且看她在这宫中搏出一片天地!第一次写宫斗的文,简介不会写,亲相信某樱的话就花几秒钟点进去看一些章节吧~~~~收藏和票票和留言是写作的动力,无限期待中~~~【关于更新】遇到了很多看官们都在问更新的问题,这里樱统一地回答:本文一般情况下(特殊情况会标明),一天更新两次。PS:本文长期征求简介,写了这么多了,大概的意思相信亲已经看出个门道了,能帮樱写简介的话就大恩不言谢,樱实在是不会写简介,汗~~~
  • 重生:夫人至尊

    重生:夫人至尊

    上一世,她是尚书千金,才倾天下。父亲骄纵,庶母温厚,长姐婉约,长兄呵护。她以为自己就是那天上月,人中凤。一场论辩,她选中了他做夫君。从此吟诗作对,如胶似漆。直到她临产,最爱的他八抬大轿娶妻,眼睁睁看着她被灌堕胎药。产下足月死婴,浑身是血的她被庶母拒之门外,长兄为她请了大夫,哄她喝下毒药。临死前,长姐狞笑着踩着她残破的身体。她才明白恩爱无双不过是彻头彻尾的一场笑话,家人的宠爱不过是逢场作戏。她的死,完全是蓄谋已久的一场阴谋。一朝重生,重回十岁。小小年纪,心怀诡谲,步步为营。她发誓要那些利用她欺骗她的人,挫骨扬灰。仇恨的火焰吞噬下,一切成为焦土……
  • 重生之豪门名媛

    重生之豪门名媛

    【完结】 原本以为自己找到了真爱,没想到,却被自己的妹妹逼死。既然有幸重来一世,那么,上一世的恩怨情仇,将在这一世做个了结!但是,为什么我竟有婚约在身?还被别扭小孩穷追?哼!老娘还是有人要的啊!那么渣男就赶紧滚一边去吧!
  • 超神冒险团

    超神冒险团

    当各种游戏降临异世界时,带来的究竟是变革,进步,亦或毁灭?而身为游戏玩家的王耀,无意间来到异世界后,才发现自己居然也变成了游戏中的角色。看着眼前的这片土地上,已经被各种乱入的游戏人物和怪物占领。王耀神色复杂,当即回头看了一眼身后的一票人,他松了口气:“呼!幸好我还带着一群dnf的神装满级大佬。”选材:dnf、拳皇、恶魔城、红色警戒、英雄联盟、魔兽、cf、枪神纪、qq飞车,孤岛危机、生化危机、辐射、暗黑破坏神等(待添加),不保证全部写到。
  • 第五个目标

    第五个目标

    一个神秘冷酷的复仇者,一场精心策划的连环杀局,四个极尽完美的死亡陷阱。令警方陷入空前未有的困境,唯独能阻止凶手的,只有一个因心理创伤隐退多年的天才心理画像师——离职女警岑镜。然而,当岑镜重拾破碎的信念,逐渐拨开真相的迷雾时,却发现危险早已近在咫尺,等待她的,是另一场殊死博弈……当死亡的时钟仅剩分秒,她要如何追击破碎的真相。无边黑暗,如影随形,爱与毁灭,只在一念。
  • 精明女人会当家

    精明女人会当家

    《精明女人会当家》主要内容:朱德庸说:“女人天生灵敏。”在琐碎与俗常的家庭生活中,女人的“灵敏”更会发挥得恰到好处。它只需要女性将自身的温柔、内敛、善解人意、沉着、细腻、坚忍挖掘出来,只需女性在点点滴滴的日常生活中打磨和修炼自己,达到从内而外的提升,成为精明女人,成为聪明女人,营建幸福家庭。
  • 顾先生晚上见

    顾先生晚上见

    某天,当顾玺把苏无双拐回家之后,眼底满是笑意。“你长得好萌,虽然不是很好看,但很合我意,可惜就是胸小了点,可是我还是想睡你,怎么办?”“……”苏无双内心吐槽:【把胸小那句话藏起来,她会很感动的!可是她现在只想打人!往死里打!只是粉丝们表打她就好了啊!】小剧场:苏无双跟顾玺对视着,两人深情款款的看着对方,就在这时,顾玺助理的声音响起,“我拍了啊!”顾玺就在最后一刻,直接吻上了苏无双,苏无双没有反应过来,双眼不可思议的瞪着顾玺,随后推开。“我靠!装情侣公布恋情罢了!为毛要亲我。”“做情侣就要像一些,反正拍戏也是亲。”“你不是不拍吻戏的吗?初吻给我了?”“是的。”“······”直到晚上,苏无双看着躺在自己身边的顾玺,不爽的心情怒吼道。“你他妈的不就是个假装情侣吗?还要同居?同居就算了,你这把我吃了是怎么回事。”“履行情侣该做的事情。”【mmp的!想打人。】——————————————————已有旧文《王牌娇宠:军少带妻种田》《快穿:带着萌宝闯古代》小号依情雪见《国民小天后:军少宠入怀》《倾世宠妃:锦绣红妆》
  • 农家弃妃

    农家弃妃

    她是一个山村里走出来的农家女孩,平凡充满爱心,富有正义感,因下晚班在回家的路上,抱不平而遭遇横死。再次醒来,她身为王妃,可却被丈夫幽闭囚禁,休妻驱逐。净身出户后,这才发现居然怀孕,本决定独自宁静的生活在一片山水之间,可是有一天,宁静终于被闯入的前夫再次打断,被强行的带回了王府。【书房】“这次算你赢了。”东方明昊说道。“那是当然的,为了赢你,我可是好不容易才说服柳雪儿,让她能配合我的计划。”“你确定,你现在真的没有爱上她?”“我会爱上她?这是绝对不可能的,赌约就是赌约,我已经和万花楼的婆子说好了,只要等她生下孩子之时,便是她真正悲催生活的开始……”门外的她,悲痛欲绝的悄悄离去。生下孩子后,为了逃离前夫的掌控,正准备中途用计逃离时,却被柳侧妃勾结的山贼劫走了,为了自保,最后走投无路的她,无奈的跳进了一个黑洞,世人传说那就是通往地狱的死亡大门。三年后“萱儿,原来你还活着……”湖边的美男一脸欣喜的说道。“nnd,我当然是活的,你丫才是死的,大过年的,你居然敢诅咒我,邪!!!他诅咒我,揍他。”失去记忆的她,怒极的对身旁一脸宠溺看着她的男子说道。于是,美男瞬间就变成了国宝大熊猫,还被扔进了进湖里成了落汤鸡,而她,却开心的靠在叫邪的男子怀里,潇洒的任凭男子带着她飞离湖边飘然离去。繁华的大街上,一个绝世美男此时就像一个男保姆,背上背着一个小女孩,左手抱着一个小男孩,右手还牵着一个一脸表现不爽的男孩,只见绝世美男一脸深情的走到一个天仙般的女子面前,一脸温柔凄惨兮兮的说道:“娘子,你不记得我了,这是我们的孩子,求你不要离开我们,要是你走了,可让我们父子四人怎么过……”面对前夫的苦苦哀求和三个孩子,是回心转意吃回头草,还是选择对她无条件付出,视她为珍宝的男人呢?本文故事曲折,此文有些许慢热,请亲们耐心往下看。
  • 权限战争

    权限战争

    人的信仰是一种力量,当你相信一个世界存在时,它就有可能成为现实。