The Egg by Sherwood Anderson 中英对照.docVIP

The Egg [1876-1941]MY FATHER was, I am sure, intended by nature to be a cheerful, kindly man. Until he was thirty-four years old he worked as a farmhand for a man named Thomas Butterworth whose place lay near the town of Bidwell, Ohio. He had then a horse of his own and on Saturday evenings drove into town to spend a few hours in social intercourse with other farmhands. In town he drank several glasses of beer and stood about in Ben Heads saloon--crowded on Saturday evenings with visiting farmhands. Songs were sung and glasses thumped on the bar. At ten oclock father drove home along a lonel