Good words and sentences in the first chapter of Jane Eyre

it was impossible to go out for a walk that day. In fact, we walked in the bare bush for an hour in the morning, but since lunch (Mrs. Reed had lunch early when no guests visited), the cold wind blew in winter, and then it was overcast and rainy, so outdoor activities had to be abandoned.

I'd love to. I have never liked taking long walks, especially in chilly afternoons. Imagine coming home in the cold dusk, my hands and feet were frozen, and I was scolded by the nanny Bei Yin, and I felt that my body was not as good as Eliza, John and georgiana, and I was sad and ashamed. It was really terrible.

At this moment, Eliza, John and georgiana mentioned just now are all in the living room, surrounded by their mothers. She leans on the sofa by the fire, sitting beside her little babies (neither quarreling nor crying at the moment), enjoying her family happiness. As for me, she granted me that I didn't have to sit with them, saying that she was sorry and had to leave me alone. If I hadn't heard it from Bessie with my own eyes and seen it with my own eyes, I was really trying my best to develop a simple and easy-going habit, a lively and lovely behavior, that is, more cheerful, more straightforward and more natural, then she really wouldn't let me enjoy the privileges that only children who deserve happiness and contentment.

"What did Bein say I did?" I asked.

"Jane, I don't like people who find fault or get to the bottom of things, what's more, it's really annoying for children to talk back to adults like this. Find a place to sit, and don't open your mouth if you can't talk kindly. "

next to the living room is a small dining room, and I slipped in. There is a bookshelf in it. In a short time, I took a book from it, specially selected many illustrations, climbed onto the windowsill, contracted my feet, sat cross-legged like a Turk, drew the red corrugated curtains almost completely, and concealed myself twice.

On my right, the crimson curtain folds my view; On the left, the bright glass window sheltered me from the gloomy weather in November, and I was not isolated from the outside world. In the gap between books, I looked up and looked at the scenery in the winter afternoon. I saw a vast expanse of white clouds in the distance, a wet meadow and shrubs hit by wind and rain nearby. A persistent and piercing gust of wind drove the torrential rain back across the sky.

I looked down at my book again. It was Ben Beuyik's History of British Birds. I am generally not interested in the text, but there are several pages of introduction. Although I am a child, I don't want to turn them over as empty pages. It wrote about the place where seabirds live; I wrote about the "lonely rocks and headlands" where only seabirds live; I wrote about the Norwegian coast, which is all over the island from Nice, Lin Nasi, or Nass, to the North Point:

There, a huge whirlpool set off by the Arctic Ocean roared around the bare and desolate island in the polar region. The turbulent waves of the Atlantic Ocean poured into the raging hebrides.

There are other places that I can't look at without looking over, that is, the desolate coasts of Lapland, Siberia, Spitsbergen Islands, Niigata, Iceland and Greenland mentioned in the book. "vast expanse's Arctic and those bleak barren land are like a repository of ice and snow. The hard ice accumulated by thousands of winters, like the peaks of the Alps, is smooth and crystal clear, surrounding the ends of the earth and bringing the growing cold together. " I have a certain view of these dead white areas, but it is elusive for a while, as if some children's incomprehensible thoughts are looming in their minds, but they are surprisingly vivid. These pages in the introduction match the illustrations behind, making the solitary rocks standing in the waves of the sea, the wrecked ships stranded on the desolate coast, and the faint moonlight overlooking the sunken ships through the clouds more meaningful.

I can't tell you what kind of mood pervades the lonely cemetery: an engraved tombstone, a gate, two trees, a low horizon and a broken wall. A rising crescent moon indicates that it is dusk.

two ships are moored on the quiet sea. I thought they were ghosts at sea.

The devil held the thief's backpack from behind, which was really terrible. I quickly turned it over.

equally frightening is the black monster with horns on his head, standing alone on the rock, overlooking a large group of people around the gallows.

Every painting is a story. Because of my lack of understanding and limited appreciation, they often appear mysterious, but they are all interesting, just like the stories that Bessie tells when she happens to be in a good mood on some winter nights. When this happens, Bein will move the ironing table to the fireplace in the nursery and let us sit around it. While ironing the lace of Mrs. Reed's mesh to make the edge of the nightcap wrinkle, she made us eagerly listen to her love and adventure stories, which were taken from ancient myths and legends and older ballads, or, as I later discovered, from Pamela and Henry, Count Moran.

At that time, I was in a good mood with Beyouik's book on my knee, at least enjoying myself, and I was afraid of being disturbed by others. But the interruption came quickly, and the dining room door opened.

"shh! Miss distress! " John reid shouted, then stopped, apparently finding that the room was empty.

"Damn it, where did it go?" He went on to say. "Lizzy! Georgie! " (Shouting to his sister) "Joan is not here. Tell mom that she ran into the rain, you bad beast!"

"It's a good thing I closed the curtains," I thought. I really hope he can't find my hiding place. John reid can't find out for himself. His eyes are not sharp and his mind is ineffective. It's a pity that Eliza poked her head in from outside the door and said,

"She's on the windowsill. She must be right, Jack."

I came out at once, because I trembled at the thought of being dragged out by this Jack.

"what is it?" I asked, embarrassed and uneasy.

"What is it, Master Reed?" "Is the answer I got. "I want you to come here," he sat down in an armchair and made a sign for me to walk over and stand in front of him.

john reid is a 14-year-old pupil, four years older than me, because I am only ten years old. In terms of age, he is big and fat, but his skin is dark and morbid. Wide face, thick facial features, fat limbs and swollen hands. I also like to overeat, and I get angry, my eyes are dull, and my cheeks are slack. He should have stayed at school these days, but his mother brought him back and stayed for two months, saying it was because he was "weak." However, his teacher, Mr. Myers, asserted that everything would be fine if he sent less cakes and sweets at home. The mother hated such unkind words and tended to a more easygoing idea that John worked too hard, perhaps because he was homesick.

John has little affection for his mother and sisters, but he hates me. He bullied me and abused me, not twice a week or once or twice a day, but often. Every nerve in me is afraid of him. When he is lucky, every muscle in my bones will contract. Sometimes I am scared by him, because in the face of his threats and bullying, I have nowhere to cry. The servants didn't want to take my side to offend their young master, while Mrs. Reed pretended to be deaf and dumb. My son hit me and scolded me, but she turned a blind eye, even though he always did so in front of her, and needless to say, when he was behind her back.

I'm used to being submissive to John, so I went to his chair. It took him about three minutes to stick out his tongue at me desperately, but he didn't break the base of his tongue. I knew he would do it at once, worried about being beaten, and staring at the disgusting gaffes of the man who was about to do it. I don't know if he read my mind, but he suddenly hit me hard without saying anything. I stumbled and stepped back a step or two from his chair before I stood firm.

"This will teach you a lesson. You were so rude to talk back to your mother just now," he said. "You sneaked behind the curtain. You had that ghost look in your eyes two minutes ago, you mouse!"

I'm used to john reid's abuse, and I never want to pay attention to it. I just want to put up with the beatings that will inevitably follow after the abuse.

"What are you doing behind the curtain?" He asked.

"reading."

"bring me the book."

I went back to the window to get the book.

"You have no right to touch our books. Mom said, you depend on others to support you, you have no money, and your father left you nothing. You should go begging, instead of living with children of decent families like us, eating the same food with us and wearing clothes that mom paid for. Now I'm going to teach you a lesson and let you know the benefits of rummaging through our bookshelf. These books are all mine, even the whole house, but they will be mine in a few years. Go away, stand by the door and stay away from the mirror and window. "

I did as he said, and I didn't know his intention at first. But when he lifted the book, held it firmly, and stood up to pose for throwing it, I screamed and instinctively flashed aside, but it was too late. The book had been thrown and hit me right. I fell down, hit my head on the door, and the pain was unbearable. My fear has crossed the limit and been replaced by other emotions.

"You are a vicious and cruel child!" I said. "You look like a murderer-you are a slave supervisor-you look like the Roman emperor!"

I've read the History of Rome by Goldsmith, when Nero, caligula and other figures had their own opinions and made an analogy secretly, but I never thought I would say it so loudly.

"what! What! " He made a hullabaloo about "Is that what she said? Eliza and georgiana, did you hear what she said? Will I not tell mom? But I have to-"

He rushed at me, and I just felt that he grabbed my hair and shoulders, and he wrestled with a desperate guy. I found that he was really a tyrant and a murderer. I felt a drop or two of blood running down my neck from my head, and I felt a sharp pain. These feelings prevailed for a while, and I was no longer afraid, but fought with him like crazy. I don't know exactly what my hands did, but I heard him call me "mouse!" Rat! " Howling like a pig. His helper was close at hand, Eliza and georgiana had already run out for help, and Mrs. Reed went up the stairs and came to the scene, followed by Bessie and the maid Abbott. We pulled them apart, and I only heard them say,

"Oh dear! Oh dear! I was so angry with Master John: "

" Who has ever seen such a rage! "

Then Mrs. Reed added,

"Take her to the red house and lock her up." So immediately there were two hands holding me down and pushing me upstairs.

this article was transferred from [reading for middle school students]:/article/29/2937 _ 14525.html

Take your time. I don't think what I chose is right for you. Hope to adopt