Our story today is called "A Munici

Our story today is called "A Municipal Report." It was written by O. Henry and first published in nineteen-oh-four. Here is Shep O'Neal with the story.
(MUSIC)
STORYTELLE: It was raining as I got off the train in Nashville, Tennessee -- a slow, gray rain. I was tired so I went straight to my hotel.
A big, heavy man was walking up and down in the hotel lobby. Something about the way he moved made me think of a hungry dog looking for a bone. He had a big, fat, red face and a sleepy expression in his eyes. He introduced himself as Wentworth Caswell -- Major Wentworth Caswell -- from "a fine southern family." Caswell pulled me into the hotel's barroom and yelled for a waiter. We ordered drinks. While we drank, he talked continually about himself, his family, his wife and her family. He said his wife was rich. He showed me a handful of silver coins that he pulled from his coat pocket.
By this time, I had decided that I wanted no more of him. I said good night.
I went up to my room and looked out the window. It was ten o'clock but the town was silent. "A nice quiet place," I said to myself as I got ready for bed. Just an ordinary, sleepy southern town."
I was born in the south myself. But I live in New York now. I write for a large magazine. My boss had asked me to go to Nashville. The magazine had received some stories and poems from a writer in Nashville, named Azalea Adair. The editor liked her work very much. The publisher asked me to get her to sign an agreement to write only for his magazine.
I left the hotel at nine o'clock the next morning to find Miss Adair. It was still raining. As soon as I stepped outside I met Uncle Caesar. He was a big, old black man with fuzzy gray hair.
Uncle Caesar was wearing the strangest coat I had ever seen. It must have been a military officer's coat. It was very long and when it was new it had been gray. But now rain, sun and age had made it a rainbow of colors. Only one of the buttons was left. It was yellow and as big as a fifty cent coin.
Uncle Caesar stood near a horse and carriage. He opened the carriage door and said softly, "Step right in, sir. I'll take you anywhere in the city."
"I want to go to eight-sixty-one Jasmine Street," I said, and I started to climb into the carriage. But the old man stopped me. "Why do you want to go there, sir? "
"What business is it of yours?" I said angrily. Uncle Caesar relaxed and smiled. "Nothing, sir. But it's a lonely part of town. Just step in and I'll take you there right away."
Eight-sixty-one Jasmine Street had been a fine house once, but now it was old and dying. I got out of the carriage.
"That will be two dollars, sir," Uncle Caesar said. I gave him two one-dollar bills. As I handed them to him, I noticed that one had been torn in half and fixed with a piece of blue paper. Also, the upper right hand corner was missing.
Azalea Adair herself opened the door when I knocked. She was about fifty years old. Her white hair was pulled back from her small, tired face. She wore a pale yellow dress. It was old, but very clean.
Azalea Adair led me into her living room. A damaged table, three chairs and an old red sofa were in the center of the floor.
Azalea Adair and I sat down at the table and began to talk. I told her about the magazine's offer and she told me about herself. She was from an old southern family. Her father had been a judge.
Azalea Adair told me she had never traveled or even attended school. Her parents taught her at home with private teachers. We finished our meeting. I promised to return with the agreement the next day, and rose to leave.
At that moment, someone knocked at the back door. Azalea Adair whispered a soft apology and went to answer the caller. She came back a minute later with bright eyes and pink cheeks. She looked ten years younger. "You must have a cup of tea before you go," she said. She shook a little bell on the table, and a small black girl about twelve years old ran into the room.
Azalea Aair opened a tiny old purse and took out a dollar bill. It had been fixed with a piece of blue paper and the upper right hand corner was missing. It was the dollar I had given to Uncle Caesar. "Go to Mister Baker's store, Impy," she said, "and get me twenty-five cents' worth of tea and ten cents' worth of sugar cakes. And please hurry."
The child ran out of the room. We heard the back door close. Then the girl screamed. Her cry mixed with a man's angry voice. Azalea Adair stood up. Her face showed no emotion as she left the room. I heard the man's rough voice and her gentle one. Then a door slammed and she came back into the room.
"I am sorry, but I won't be able to offer you any tea after all," she said. "It seems that Mister Baker has no more tea. Perhaps he will find some for our visit tomorrow."
We said good-bye. I went back to my hotel.
Just before dinner, Major Wentworth Caswell found me. It was impossible to avoid him. He insisted on buying me a drink and pulled two one-dollar

Kết quả (Anh) 1:

Our story today is called "A Municipal Report." It was written by o. Henry and first published in nineteen-oh-four. Here is Shep O'Neal with the story. (MUSIC) STORYTELLE: It was raining as I got off the train in Nashville, Tennessee--a slow, gray rain. I was tired so I went straight to my hotel. A big, heavy man was walking up and down in the hotel lobby. Something about the way he moved made me think of a hungry dog looking for a bone. He had a big, fat, red face and a sleepy expression in his eyes. He introduced himself as Wentworth Caswell-Caswell-Wentworth-Major-from "a fine southern family." Caswell pulled me into the hotel's barroom and yelled for a waiter. We ordered drinks. While we drank, he continually talked about himself, his family, his wife and her family. He said his wife was rich. He showed me a handful of silver coins that he pulled from his coat pocket. By this time, I had decided that I wanted no more of him. I said good night. I went up to my room and looked out the window. It was ten o'clock but the town was silent. "A nice quiet place," I said to myself as I got ready for bed. Just an ordinary, sleepy southern town. " I was born in the south myself. But I live in New York now. I write for a large magazine. My boss had asked me to go to Nashville. The magazine had received some stories and poems from a writer in Nashville, named Azalea Adair. The editor liked her work very much. The publisher asked me to get her to sign an agreement to write only for his magazine. I left the hotel at nine o'clock the next morning to find Miss Adair. It was still raining. As soon as I stepped in outside I met Uncle Julius Caesar. He was a big, old black man with a fuzzy gray hair. Uncle Caesar was wearing the strangest coat I had ever seen. It must have been a military officer's coat. It was very long and when it was new it had been gray. But now the rain, sun and age had made it a rainbow of colors. Only one of the buttons was left. It was yellow and as big as a fifty cent coin. Uncle Caesar stood near a horse and carriage. He opened the carriage door and said softly, "Step right in, sir. I'll take you anywhere in the city. " "I want to go to eight-sixty-one at Jasmine Street," I said, and I started to climb into the carriage. But the old man stopped me. "Why do you want to go there, sir?" "What business is it of yours?" I said angrily. Uncle Caesar relaxed and smiled. "Nothing, sir. But it's a lonely part of town. Just step in and I'll take you there right away. " Eight-sixty-one at Jasmine Street had been a fine house once, but now it was old and dying. I got out of the carriage. "That will be two dollars, sir," Uncle Caesar said. I gave him two one-dollar bills. As I handed them to him, I noticed that one had been torn in half and fixed with a piece of blue paper. Also, the upper right hand corner was missing. Azalea Adair herself opened the door when I knocked. She was about fifty years old. Her white hair was pulled back from her small, tired face. She wore a pale yellow dress. It was old, but very clean. Azalea Adair led me into her living room. A damaged table, three chairs and an old red sofa were in the center of the floor. Azalea Adair and I sat down at the table and began to talk. I told her about the magazine's offer and she told me about herself. She was from an old southern family. Her father had been a judge. Azalea Adair told me she had never traveled or even attended school. Her parents her self-taught at home with private teachers. We finished our meeting. I promised to return with the agreement the next day, and rose to leave. At that moment, someone knocked at the back door. Azalea Adair whispered a soft apology and went to answer the caller. She came back a minute later with bright eyes and pink cheeks. She looked ten years younger. "You must have a cup of tea before you go," she said. She shook a little bell on the table, and a small black girl about twelve years old ran into the room. Azalea Aair opened a tiny old purse and took out a dollar bill. It had been fixed with a piece of blue paper and the upper right hand corner was missing. It was the dollar I had given to Uncle Julius Caesar. "Go to Mister Baker's store, Impy," she said, "and get me twenty-five cents ' worth of tea and ten cents ' worth of sugar cakes. And please hurry. " The child ran out of the room. We heard the back door close. Then the girl screamed. Her cry mixed with a man's angry voice. Azalea Adair stood up. Her face showed no emotion as she left the room. I heard the man's rough voice and her gentle one. Then a door slammed and she came back into the room. "I am sorry, but I won't be able to offer you any tea after all," she said. "It seems that Mister Baker has no more tea. Perhaps he will find some for our visit tomorrow. " We said good-bye. I went back to my hotel. Just before dinner, Major Wentworth Caswell found me. It was impossible to avoid him. He insisted on buying me a drink and pulled two one-dollar

Kết quả (Anh) 2:

Our story today is gọi "A Municipal Report." It was Written by O. Henry and first published in nineteen-oh-four. Here is Shep O'Neal with the story.
(MUSIC)
STORYTELLE: It was raining as I got off the train in Nashville, Tennessee - a slow, gray rain. I was tired than I Went straight to my hotel.
A big, heavy man was walking up and down in the hotel lobby. Something about the way he moved made ​​me think of a hungry dog looking for a bone. He had a big, fat, red face and a sleepy expression in his eyes. He introduced Himself as Wentworth Caswell - Major Wentworth Caswell - from "a fine Southern family." Caswell pulled me Into the hotel's barroom and yelled for a waiter. We ordered drinks. We drank the while, he Talked about Himself Continually, his family, his wife and the her family. He said his wife was rich. He showed me a handful of silver coins he pulled from his có coat pocket.
By this time, I decided Had That I wanted no more of him. I said good night.
I Went up to my room and Looked out the window. It was ten o'clock but the town was silent. "A nice quiet place," I said to myself as I got ready for bed. Just an ordinary, sleepy Southern town. "
I was born in the south myself. But I live in New York now. I write for a large magazine. My boss Had Asked me to go to Nashville. The magazine received some stories and poems Had from a writer in Nashville, named Azalea Adair. The editor liked the her work very much. The publisher Asked me to get the her to sign an agreement to write only for his magazine.
I left the hotel at nine o'clock the next morning to find Miss Adair. It was still raining. As soon as I stepped outside I met Uncle Caesar. He was a big, old black man with fuzzy gray hair.
Uncle Caesar was wearing the strangest coat I Ever Had seen. It must haves được a military officer's coat. It was very long and khi it was new it Had Been gray. But now rain, sun and age Had made ​​it a rainbow of colors. Only one of the buttons was left. It was yellow and as big as a fifty cent coin.
Uncle Caesar stood near a horse and carriage. He opened the carriage door and said softly, "Step right in, sir. I'll take you anywhere in the city. "
" I want to go to eight-sixty-one Jasmine Street, "I said, and I replied to to climb Into the carriage. But the old man stopped me." Why do you want to go there, sir? "
" What business is it of yours? "I said angrily. Uncle Caesar relaxed and smiled." Nothing, sir. But it's a lonely part of town. Just step in and I'll take you there right away. "
Eight-sixty-one Jasmine Street Had Been a fine house once, but now it was old and dying. I got out of the carriage.
" That Will Be two dollars, sir, "said Uncle Caesar. I Gave two one-dollar bills, photographing. As I handed add to photographing, I noticed one có được có torn in half and fixed with a piece of blue paper. Also, the upper right hand corner was missing .
Azalea Adair opened the door herself khi I knocked. She was about fifty years old. Her white hair was pulled back from the her small, tired face. She wore a pale yellow dress. It was old, but very clean.
Azalea Adair led me Into the her living room. A Damaged table, three chairs and an old red sofa là in the center of the floor.
Azalea Adair and I sat down at the table and Began to talk. I Told the her about the magazine's offer and She told me about herself. She was from an old Southern family. Her father Had Been a judge.
Azalea Adair Had Told me SHE never traveled or attended school even level. Her parents Taught at home with private teachers the her. We finished our meeting. I promised to return the next day with the agreement, and rose to leave.
At có moment, someone knocked at the back door. Azalea Adair whispered a soft apology and Went to answer the caller. She Came back a minute later with bright eyes and pink cheeks. She Looked ten years younger. "Phải have a cup of tea is before you go," She said. She shook a little bell on the table, and a small black girl about twelve years old ran Into the room.
Azalea Aair opened a tiny old purse and took out a dollar bill. It Had Been fixed with a piece of blue paper and the upper right hand corner was missing. It was given to the dollars I Had Uncle Caesar. "Go to Mister Baker's store, Impy," She said, "twenty-five and get me cents 'worth of tea and ten cents' worth of sugar cakes. And please hurry."
The child ran out of the room. We Heard the back door close. Then the girl screamed. Her cry mixed with a man's angry voice. Azalea Adair stood up. Her face showed no emotion as SHE left the room. I heard the man's rough voice and her Do gentle one. Then a door slammed and SHE Came back Into the room.
"I am sorry, but I will not offer you any thể tea after all," She said. "It Seems That Mister Baker has no more tea. Perhaps he sẽ find some for our visit tomorrow."
We said good-bye. I Went back to my hotel.
Just the before dinner, Major Wentworth Caswell found me. It was impossible to avoid him. He insisted on buying me a drink and pulled two one-dollar