【2017年整理】unit与6课件.ppt

That was in May. In November a cold, unseen stranger, whom the doctors called Pneumonia, stalked about the district, touching one here and there with his icy fingers. Johnsy was among his victims. ;D R _ Text 2; “A man?” said Sue. “Is a man worth — but, no, doctor; there is nothing of the kind.” “Well,” said the doctor. “I will do all that science can accomplish. But whenever my patient begins to count the carriages in her funeral procession I subtract 50 per cent from the curative power of medicines.” After the doctor had gone Sue went into the workroom and cried. Then she marched into Johnsy’s room with her drawing board, whistling a merry tune. Johnsy lay, scarcely making a movement under the bedclothes, with her face toward the window. She was looking out and counting — counting backward.; “Twelve,” she said, and a little later “eleven”; and then “ten,” and “nine”; and then “eight” and “seven,” almost together.; “Oh, I never heard of such nonsense. What have old ivy leaves to do with your getting well? Don’t be so silly. Why, the doctor told me this morning that your chances for getting well real soon were ten;That leaves just four. I want to see the last one fall before it gets dark. Then I’ll go, too. I’m tired of waiting. I’m tired of thinking. I want to turn loose my hold on everything, and go sailing down, down, just like one of those poor, tired leaves.” “Try to sleep,” said Sue. “I must call Behrman up to be my model for the old miner. I’ll not be gone a minute. ” Old Behrman was a painter who lived on the ground floor beneath them. He was past sixty and had a long white beard curling down over his chest. Despite looking the part, Behrman was a failure in art. For forty years he had been always about to paint a masterpiece, but had never yet begun it. ;He earned a little by serving as a model to those young artists who could not pay the price of a professional. He drank gin to excess, and still t