KATE CHOPIN (1851-1904) The Story of an Hour Knowing heart trouble, great care that Mrs. Mallard was afflicted with a was taken to break to her as gently as possible the news of her husband s death, It her Josephine who told her, in broken sentences, veiled hints was sister that revealed in half concealing. Her husband's friend Richards was there, too. near her It was he who had been in the newspaper office when intelligence of the railroad disaster was received, with Brentiy Mallard's name leading the list of killed He had only taken the time to assure himself of its truth by a second telegram, and had hastened forestall any less careful. less tender friend in to bearing the sad message heard the same. with a She did not hear the story as many women have wild paralyzed inability to accept its significance She wept at once, with sudden,
went in her sister's arms when the storm of had speto itself she away to her room alene. She would have no one follow her this she stood. facing the open a comfortable, roomy armchair Into seemed sank, pressed down by a physical exhaustion that haunted her body and to reach into her soul She could see in the open square before her house the tops of trees that the re all aquiver with the new spring life. The delicious breath of rain in air. In the street below was ng which some a peddler was crying his wares. The of a distant notes were one was singing reached her faintly, and countless sparrows twittering in the eaves There were of blue sky showing here and there through the clouds that met and piled one above the other in the wes facing her window She sat with her head thrown back upon the of the chair, quite motionless cushion except when a sob came up into her throat and shook her as a child who has cried itself to sleep continues to in its dreams sob She was young. with a fair, calm face, whose lines bespoke repression and even a in strength But now there was stare her whose gaze a dull was fixed away off yonder on one of those patches of blue sky It was not a nce of reflection, but rather indicated a suspension of intelligent thought There was something coming her and she was waiting for i fearfully to what was it? She did not know: it was subtle and elusive to name But she too felt it, creeping out of the sky, reaching toward her through the the soun scents, the color that filled the air. Now her bosom rose and fell tumultuously. She was beginning to recognize this thing was aching to possess her, and she was striving beat i to back with her will-as powerless as her two white slender hands would hav been When he abandoned herself a little whispered word eseaped her slightly parted lips She said it over and over under her breath: "free, free, free!" Th terror that had followed it went from her eyes. The vacant stare and the look of stayed keen and bright Her pulses beat fast, and the coursing blood warmed and relaxed every inch of her body She did not stop to ask if it were or were not a monstrous that held joy her A clear and exalted perception enabled her to dismiss the suggestion as trivial She knew that she would weep again when she saw the kind, tender hands folded in death, the face that had never looked save with love upon her, fixed and gray and dead. But she saw beyond that bitter moment a long procession years to come that would belong to her absolutely And she opened and spread her arms out to them in welcome There would be no one to live for her during those coming years she would live for herself. There would be no powerful will bending hers in that persistence with which men and women believe they have a right to a private will upon a fellow-creature, A kind intention or a cruel intention made the act seem no less a crime as she looked upon i in that brief moment of illumination And yet she had loved him sometimes Ofen she had not. What did it 15 muter! What could love, the unsolved mystery, count for in face of this possession
went in her sister's arms when the storm of had speto itself she away to her room alene. She would have no one follow her this she stood. facing the open a comfortable, roomy armchair Into seemed sank, pressed down by a physical exhaustion that haunted her body and to reach into her soul She could see in the open square before her house the tops of trees that the re all aquiver with the new spring life. The delicious breath of rain in air. In the street below was ng which some a peddler was crying his wares. The of a distant notes were one was singing reached her faintly, and countless sparrows twittering in the eaves There were of blue sky showing here and there through the clouds that met and piled one above the other in the wes facing her window She sat with her head thrown back upon the of the chair, quite motionless cushion except when a sob came up into her throat and shook her as a child who has cried itself to sleep continues to in its dreams sob She was young. with a fair, calm face, whose lines bespoke repression and even a in strength But now there was stare her whose gaze a dull was fixed away off yonder on one of those patches of blue sky It was not a nce of reflection, but rather indicated a suspension of intelligent thought There was something coming her and she was waiting for i fearfully to what was it? She did not know: it was subtle and elusive to name But she too felt it, creeping out of the sky, reaching toward her through the the soun scents, the color that filled the air. Now her bosom rose and fell tumultuously. She was beginning to recognize this thing was aching to possess her, and she was striving beat i to back with her will-as powerless as her two white slender hands would hav been When he abandoned herself a little whispered word eseaped her slightly parted lips She said it over and over under her breath: "free, free, free!" Th terror that had followed it went from her eyes. The vacant stare and the look of stayed keen and bright Her pulses beat fast, and the coursing blood warmed and relaxed every inch of her body She did not stop to ask if it were or were not a monstrous that held joy her A clear and exalted perception enabled her to dismiss the suggestion as trivial She knew that she would weep again when she saw the kind, tender hands folded in death, the face that had never looked save with love upon her, fixed and gray and dead. But she saw beyond that bitter moment a long procession years to come that would belong to her absolutely And she opened and spread her arms out to them in welcome There would be no one to live for her during those coming years she would live for herself. There would be no powerful will bending hers in that persistence with which men and women believe they have a right to a private will upon a fellow-creature, A kind intention or a cruel intention made the act seem no less a crime as she looked upon i in that brief moment of illumination And yet she had loved him sometimes Ofen she had not. What did it 15 muter! What could love, the unsolved mystery, count for in face of this possession
vely. For example, Chopin does not explain why Mrs Mallard suffers a heart attack end of this story. is the shock of seeing her "dead husband simply too much for this woman 'afflicted with a heart trouble? Does she die of what the doctors call a joy that kills because she was so glad her husband? Is she so expense that profoundly guilty about feeling "free at her husband's reaction she has a heart attack? Is her death kind of willed suicide in on to her loss of freedom? a which details Your answers to these questions will depend kinds you emphasize in your interpretation of the story and the the of perspectives and values you bring to it. If, for example, you rea story from a feminist perspective, you would be likely to pay close attention to Chopin s comments about marriage in paragraph i4 or if you read the story as an oblique attack on the insensitivity of period, you might want to find if Chopin wrote elsewhere about doctors she did) out and compare her comments with historic sources. A number o Critical Strategies for Reading" including feminist and historical approaches appear in Chapter 30.) Reading responsively makes you an active participant in the process of creating meaning in a literary work, the experience that you and the author create will most likely not be identical to another reader's encounter with the same work, but then that's true of nearly any experience you'll have and part, of the pleasure of reading Indeed, talking and writing about literature is a way of sharing responses that they can be enriched and so deepened EXPLORATIONS AND FORMULAS Each time we pick up a work of fiction, go to the theater, or turn on the television, we have a trace of the same magical expectation that can be heard in the voice of a child who be Tell me a story," Human beings have enjoyed stories ever since they learned to speak whatever the motive even if simply to delight or instruct for creating stories the basic human impulse to tell and hear stories existed long before the development of written language Myths about the origins of the world and legends about the heroic exploits of demigods were among the earliest forms of storytelling to develop into oral traditions, which were eventually written down. These narratives are the ancestors of the stories we read on the printed page today Unlike the early listeners to ancient myths and legends, we read our stories ently, but the pleasure derived from the mysterious power of someone else's artfully arranged words remains largely the same Every one of us likes a good story The stories that appear in anthologies for college students are generally chosen for their high literary quality such stories can affect us at the deepest tional level, reveal new insights into ourselves or the world, and stretch us by exercising our imaginations They warrant careful reading and close
เคทโชแปง (1851-1904) เรื่องของการชั่วโมงรู้หัวใจ ดูแลดีที่เป็ดมัลลาร์ดนางถูกทรมานด้วยการถูกนำมาทำลายเธอเบา ๆ เป็นข่าวตาย s สามีของเธอ เธอ Josephine ที่บอกเธอ ในเสียประโยค คำแนะนำ veiled ก็น้องสาวที่เปิดเผยใน concealing ครึ่ง เพื่อนของสามีริชาร์ดได้ เกินไป ใกล้เธอเป็นผู้ที่ได้รับในสำนักงานหนังสือพิมพ์เมื่อปัญญาภัยรถไฟรับ ชื่อ Brentiy เป็ดมัลลาร์ดนำรายฆ่าเขาได้เพียงใช้เวลาเพื่อให้มั่นใจว่าความจริงของตัวเอง โดยโทรเลขสอง และมี hastened ขัดขวางใด ๆ น้อยระวัง ชำระเงินน้อยกว่าเพื่อนในเรืองความเศร้าได้ยินเหมือนกัน กับเธอได้ยินเรื่องผู้หญิงหลายคนมีป่าอัมพาตไม่สามารถยอมรับความสำคัญของเธอร้องไห้ทันที โดยฉับพลัน ไปในอ้อมแขนของน้องเมื่อ speto เองมีพายุของเธอไปที่ห้อง alene ของเธอ เธอจะมีใครตามเธอนี้เธอยืน หันหน้าเปิดเก้าอี้นวมสบาย เซฟลงในดูเหมือน จม กดลง โดยผ่านทางกายภาพที่ร่างกายของเธอที่บ้านผีสิง และถึงในชีวิตของเธอเธอสามารถเห็นในสี่เหลี่ยมเปิดก่อนบ้านบนสุดของต้นไม้ที่เรื่องทั้งหมด aquiver ชีวิตสปริงใหม่ ลมหายใจที่อร่อยของฝนในอากาศ ถนนด้านล่างเป็น ng ซึ่งบาง peddler ที่ได้ร้องไห้ตำง ๆ ของเขา การบันทึกระยะไกลถูกหนึ่งร้องเพลงถึงเธอรำไร และนกกระจอกมากมายที่ twittering ในชายคาบ้านของฟ้าแสดงความผ่านเมฆที่พบ และชั้นสูงกว่าอื่น ๆ ในเวสที่หันหน้าไปทางหน้าต่างของเธอ มีที่เธอนั่งกับเธอหัวตามเก้าอี้ เบาะค่อนข้างนิ่งยกเว้นเมื่อเป็น sob มาเป็นเธอกรอก และสั่นเครือเธอเป็นเด็กที่มีร้องเพื่อ นอนยังคงใน sob ความฝันของเธอเป็นหนุ่ม ด้วยเป็นธรรม สงบหน้า บรรทัดที่ bespoke ปราบปราม และแม้มีแรง แต่ตอน นี้มีมองเธอมีสายตาหมองคล้ำได้คงไปปิด yonder หนึ่งที่ปรับปรุงของฟ้ามันถูกไม่ nce พล็อต แต่ค่อนข้าง ระบุถูกระงับความคิดที่อัจฉริยะมีสิ่งมาเธอ และเธอถูกรอส่วนชาวเป็นสิ่งถูก เธอไม่รู้: เปรียวชื่อ และรายละเอียด แต่เธอเกินไปรู้สึกมัน เลื้อยออกจากท้องฟ้า ถึงเธอผ่านไป soun scents สีที่เติมอากาศ ตอนนี้เธออกกุหลาบ และตก tumultuously เธอได้เริ่มรู้จักสิ่งนี้ถูก aching มั่งเธอ และเธอชนะแสวงเป็นคืนของเธอจะ-เป็นอำนาจเหมือนมือสเลนเดอร์สีขาวของเธอสอง hav ได้เมื่อเขาถูกทอดทิ้งตัวเอง eseaped เกมส์คำเล็กน้อยริมฝีปากของเธอเล็กน้อย parted เธอกล่าวซ้ำ ๆ ภายใต้ลมหายใจของเธอ: "ฟรี ฟรี ฟรี" Th ความหวาดกลัวที่ได้ตามไปจากตาของเธอ จ้องว่างและลักษณะของดีกระตือรือร้น และสว่างกะพริบของเธอชนะได้อย่างรวดเร็ว และเลือด coursing warmed และผ่อนคลายทุกตารางนิ้วของร่างกายของเธอเธอก็ไม่ได้หยุดถามถ้าได้ หรือไม่ไบค์ที่จัดความสุขของเธอ A ชัดเจน และยกย่องรู้หล่อนไล่แนะนำเป็นเล็กน้อย เธอรู้ว่า เธอจะร้องอีกครั้งเมื่อเธอเห็นชนิดพับในมือชำระเงิน บันทึกหน้าที่ไม่เคยได้ดู ด้วยความรักเธอ ถาวร และสีเทา และตาย แต่เธอเห็นเกินก็ขมปีขบวนยาวมาที่จะเป็นของเธอจริง ๆ และเธอเปิด และกระจายแขนออกไปในการต้อนรับที่จะมีหนึ่งไม่มีอยู่สำหรับเธอในช่วงปีมาเธอจะอยู่ในตัวเอง มีจะไม่มีประสิทธิภาพจะดัดเธอที่มีอยู่ที่ชายและหญิงเชื่อว่า พวกเขามีสิทธิที่จะส่วนตัวจะตามตัวคนสัตว์ เจตนาดีหรือเจตนาโหดร้ายที่ทำการกระทำที่ดูเหมือนไม่น้อยอาชญากรรม เป็นเธอที่มองฉันในขณะนั้นโดยย่อของรัศมี และได้ เธอได้รักเขาบางครั้ง Ofen เธอก็ไม่ สิ่งที่ได้มัน 15 muter อะไรไม่ รัก ความลึกลับที่ยังไม่ได้แก้ไข นับสำหรับ in face of นี้ครอบครอง went in her sister's arms when the storm of had speto itself she away to her room alene. She would have no one follow her this she stood. facing the open a comfortable, roomy armchair Into seemed sank, pressed down by a physical exhaustion that haunted her body and to reach into her soul She could see in the open square before her house the tops of trees that the re all aquiver with the new spring life. The delicious breath of rain in air. In the street below was ng which some a peddler was crying his wares. The of a distant notes were one was singing reached her faintly, and countless sparrows twittering in the eaves There were of blue sky showing here and there through the clouds that met and piled one above the other in the wes facing her window She sat with her head thrown back upon the of the chair, quite motionless cushion except when a sob came up into her throat and shook her as a child who has cried itself to sleep continues to in its dreams sob She was young. with a fair, calm face, whose lines bespoke repression and even a in strength But now there was stare her whose gaze a dull was fixed away off yonder on one of those patches of blue sky It was not a nce of reflection, but rather indicated a suspension of intelligent thought There was something coming her and she was waiting for i fearfully to what was it? She did not know: it was subtle and elusive to name But she too felt it, creeping out of the sky, reaching toward her through the the soun scents, the color that filled the air. Now her bosom rose and fell tumultuously. She was beginning to recognize this thing was aching to possess her, and she was striving beat i to back with her will-as powerless as her two white slender hands would hav been When he abandoned herself a little whispered word eseaped her slightly parted lips She said it over and over under her breath: "free, free, free!" Th terror that had followed it went from her eyes. The vacant stare and the look of stayed keen and bright Her pulses beat fast, and the coursing blood warmed and relaxed every inch of her body She did not stop to ask if it were or were not a monstrous that held joy her A clear and exalted perception enabled her to dismiss the suggestion as trivial She knew that she would weep again when she saw the kind, tender hands folded in death, the face that had never looked save with love upon her, fixed and gray and dead. But she saw beyond that bitter moment a long procession years to come that would belong to her absolutely And she opened and spread her arms out to them in welcome There would be no one to live for her during those coming years she would live for herself. There would be no powerful will bending hers in that persistence with which men and women believe they have a right to a private will upon a fellow-creature, A kind intention or a cruel intention made the act seem no less a crime as she looked upon i in that brief moment of illumination And yet she had loved him sometimes Ofen she had not. What did it 15 muter! What could love, the unsolved mystery, count for in face of this possession vely. For example, Chopin does not explain why Mrs Mallard suffers a heart attack end of this story. is the shock of seeing her "dead husband simply too much for this woman 'afflicted with a heart trouble? Does she die of what the doctors call a joy that kills because she was so glad her husband? Is she so expense that profoundly guilty about feeling "free at her husband's reaction she has a heart attack? Is her death kind of willed suicide in on to her loss of freedom? a which details Your answers to these questions will depend kinds you emphasize in your interpretation of the story and the the of perspectives and values you bring to it. If, for example, you rea story from a feminist perspective, you would be likely to pay close attention to Chopin s comments about marriage in paragraph i4 or if you read the story as an oblique attack on the insensitivity of period, you might want to find if Chopin wrote elsewhere about doctors she did) out and compare her comments with historic sources. A number o Critical Strategies for Reading" including feminist and historical approaches appear in Chapter 30.) Reading responsively makes you an active participant in the process of creating meaning in a literary work, the experience that you and the author create will most likely not be identical to another reader's encounter with the same work, but then that's true of nearly any experience you'll have and part, of the pleasure of reading Indeed, talking and writing about literature is a way of sharing responses that they can be enriched and so deepened EXPLORATIONS AND FORMULAS Each time we pick up a work of fiction, go to the theater, or turn on the television, we have a trace of the same magical expectation that can be heard in the voice of a child who be Tell me a story," Human beings have enjoyed stories ever since they learned to speak whatever the motive even if simply to delight or instruct for creating stories the basic human impulse to tell and hear stories existed long before the development of written language Myths about the origins of the world and legends about the heroic exploits of demigods were among the earliest forms of storytelling to develop into oral traditions, which were eventually written down. These narratives are the ancestors of the stories we read on the printed page today Unlike the early listeners to ancient myths and legends, we read our stories ently, but the pleasure derived from the mysterious power of someone else's artfully arranged words remains largely the same Every one of us likes a good story The stories that appear in anthologies for college students are generally chosen for their high literary quality such stories can affect us at the deepest tional level, reveal new insights into ourselves or the world, and stretch us by exercising our imaginations They warrant careful reading and close
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