护国军魂传奇电视剧描述性英语作文

2021年1月18日发(作者：朱彝)

My New Roommate
It was
my
first day at the
institute
．
I got
into
the building
where 1 was going to
live
．
My eyes searched carefully from the door of one bedroom to that of another for
my name which ought to have been pasted on the door of one of these bedroo
ms
．
At
last I found it
．
On stepping into the bedroom I found there was already in it a student
who was making his bed
．





Having
exchanged
with
me
a
few
words
of
greetings
，
he
resumed
his
arrangement
of
bedding
and
no
longer
paid
any
attention
to
me
．
“
What
a
stuck-up
fellow
．
”
I thought and began to survey the room
．
It looked quite similar to any other
bedroom in the building
．
Even the furniture in all bedrooms was uniform
．
It seemed
my bedroom had already been thoroughly cleaned by my new roommate
．





He was thin
，
short and dark-skinned
．
His hair looked like a bundle of straw
．
His
dirty clothes and lusterless eyes clearly indicated that he had had a long journey
．
His
clothes were made of cheap cloth
．
His coat was too short
，
and the legs of his trousers
were too loose
．
He wore a pair of unfashionable rubber shoes
．
Thus he did not look
like a smart freshman at a11.
“
A yokel,
”

I concluded
．

The second time he spoke
，
his accent told me that he was from the south
．
“
May
I help you get your luggage from the office?
”

I
did
not
decline
his
help
because
I
really
needed
it
．
He
was
quick
in
movement
．

He
walked
out
of
the
room
and
was
soon
far
ahead
of
me
in
the
corridor
．

“
A good guy
,
”

I said to myself
．
“
I will make friends with him
．
”
I hurried
and caught up with him
．









1

My English T
eacher




I like most of my teachers in college
．
They were
，
for the most part
，
friendly and
competent, willing
to help students
．
I
liked them
—
but I don
’
t remember them
very
well
，
except for Mr. Jones
，
my freshman English teacher
．
He was an enthusiastic
，

sensitive
man
，
who knew
his subject and was determined that we would
learn
it and

love it, too
．





Mr.
Jones
was
a
tall
，
slender
man
in
his
mid-forties
with
gray
,
thinning
hair
．
Perched precariously on his nose
，
his glasses gave him a serious look
．
But they
didn
’
t remain there long
，
for he was always either taking them off and polishing their
two pieces of
glass or putting
either of the two earpieces
in
his
mouth when
he
was

meditating a response to some question raised by a student
．
When on
his way to our
classroom
，
he always
carried two or
three books
with strips of paper sticking out of
them
，
which were for marking the passages he wanted to read to us
．
I remember, too
，

his cardigan sweaters
．
He
must
have
had a dozen of them
．
On
rainy days
he
would
have a blue raincoat on
．
But what is most tenacious in my memory is his smile
．
When
he smiled
，
his whole face lit up
；
his eyes sparkled
．
His smile made you feel good
，
at ease
，
and somehow reassured
．

Though
habitually
friendly
and
at
ease
with
everybody
,
he
was
a
bit
prim
in
classroom
，
and
he
could
be
stem
on
occasions
．
He
never
called
us
by
our
first
names
．
He
obviously
enjoyed
his
work
and
loved
his
students
，
but
he
kept
his
distance
．
He
never deliberately or publicly
embarrassed a student by
using sarcastic
language
．
Nevertheless he could distinctly reveal his displeasure in his own way
．
He
’
d
look
steadily
at
an
offending
student
for
quite
a
few
freezing
seconds
．
That
was
usually
enough
for
the
little
culprit
to
be
cowed
．
But
if
it
didn
’
t
work
，
he
’
d
say
something to the student in a lowered tone of voice
．
He didn
’
t do this often, though
．

Mr. Jones had personality, integrity
, vitality
—
a11 of which made him popular
；
but
what
I
liked
most
about
him
was
that
he
was
a
fine
teacher
It
was
true
that
he
cared about his students
，
but he cared more about teaching them his subject
．
And that

meant homework
，
lots of it
，
and pop quizzes now and then to keep them current on the

2

reading
．
He
lectured
occasionally
to
provide
background
information
whenever
we
moved on
to a
new
literary period
．
After a brief
glance at
his
notes
，
he
’
d begin to

move around as
he
talked
to the blackboard
to the
window, back to
the 1ectem
．
But

he preferred discussion
，
a Socratic dialogue
．
He
’
d write several questions on the board
for the next day
’
s discussion
，
and he
’
d expect you to be prepared to discuss them
．
He
directed the discussion, but he
didn’t
dominate it
：
for he was a good listener and made
sure we all
had a chance to respond, whether
we wanted to or not
．
If
he was pleased
with a response
，
he
’
d nod his head and smile
．
Occasionally he
’
d read a student
’
s essay
,
praising
its
good points and
then
winking at the writer as
he passed
it back
．
But
he
was tough-minded
，
too
，
as I suggested before
．
He really nailed you for sloppy work
or inattention
．
When you got an A from him
，
you really felt good
，
for he wasn
’
t an
easy
grader
．
We
used
to complain about
his
grading standards
，
usually
to
no avail,
though he would change a grade if he thought he had been unfair
．

Mr. Jones was a competent teacher
．
He knew what he was doing in classroom
，
and
he could conduct
his class
very
well
．
But
what
was
more
important
was that
he
made
his
students
fall
in
love
with
the
course
he
offered
．
He
led
us
to
take
the
initiative in delving into it on out own
．










3

Mariak Anagian
She
was
ninety-two
years
old
when
I
met
her,
a
gentle
，
diminutive
lady
in
European dress
．
Her
face was deeply
lined
，
and
her coarse
grey
hair
had
yellowed
with
the
years
．
She
spoke
softly
in
a
quivering
voice
in
half
English
and
half
American
．
Her
gnarled
hands
testified
to
the
years of
hard work on
the
farm
in
her
homeland
．
Y
et
．
in
her
dark
eyes
and
in
her
gentle
manner
there
was
a
childlike
simplicity as
she told
me
her story
．
I
thought
“
she
has
the wisdom that comes with
years of experience and the gentle purity of a child
—
that was a wonderful but strange
combination of traits
．
”
I knew that l would never forget her
．





Her
name was Mariak Anagian When she was a
young woman
，
her
homeland
was invaded by foreign troops
．
She had been keeping house for her father, brothers
，

husband
，
and
her
two
young
children
．
One
day
she
returned
from
the
market
and
found the mutilated
（残缺不全的）
bodies of her father and one of her brothers on her
doorstep
．
They were among the many victims of the war
．
Mariak
’
s husband was much
older
than
she
，
and
he
soon
succumbed
to
the
rigorous
demands
of
field
work
and
mental
strain
，
leaving
Mariak
alone
in
the
world
to
take
care
of
her
two
small
children
．
Many of the
town’
s people helped her, and she was able to produce enough
on the small farm to feed her family
．
Shortly after the turn of the century
, her daughter
married
and
went
to
America
．
A
few
years
later
，
Mariak
’
s
daughter
sent
her
some
money which enabled her to come to the United States
．
Thus Mariak came to
live
in
the United States for thirty years
．





As Mariak told her story
, her eyes grew large with fear and her breath quickened
with
excitement
．
Then she
wept
．
After a short
time
，
she sat silently with
her
head
bowed
．
Suddenly, she rose from the chair, lifted her skirt to just above her ankles
，
and
began
to
dance
in
short
，
jerky
steps
．
She
sang
almost
inaudibly
in
her
native
language
，
but I knew it was a children
’
s song
．
Her simple melody and simple dance
steps
were
typically
those of an average child
．
Her eyes shone
with
youthful
gaiety
,
and her voice was light and happy
．
Her grandson appeared at this time
，
spoke to her
affectionately, and led her away from the room
．


4

My Dormitory Bedroom

My
dormitory
bedroom
on
the
second
floor
of
Bienville
Hall
is
small
and

cluttered up
．
Its dark green walls and dirty white ceiling make it look gloomy and thus
even smaller than it is
．
On entering the bedroom
．
one would find my bed is right in his
way because
it
takes
up
half
of
the
room
．
The
two
large
windows over
my bed
are
obstructed from view by the golden heavy drapes
．
Against the left wall is a large book
case extending
into
the comer
which
is behind
the
head of
my bed
．
The bookcase
is
crammed with piles of sheets of paper, books
，
and knickknacks
．
Wedged in between
the bookcase and the wall opposite the bed is a small grey metal desk
．
Near the desk
stands a brown wooden chair which fills up the left end of the room
．
Stuffed under the
desk
is
a
wastepaper
basket
overflowing
with
tom
pieces
of
Paper
and
refuse
．
The
wall above the bookcase and desk is completely taken up with two small posters
．
On
the right side of the room is a narrow closet with clothes
，
shoes
，
hats
，
tennis racquets
，

and boxes bulging out of its sliding doors
．
Every time 1 walk out of my bedroom
．
I
think to myself, Now I know what it is like to live in a closet
．
”













5

Subways




Subways are
long
，
dark
，
gloomy
, sooty tunnels
under the ground
．
Trains with
many
cars
clatter
on
steel
tracks
through
these
tunnels
．
The
automatic
doors
open
noisily, one at each end and another
in
the
middle of the
car
．
The trains
have bright
electric
lights
and
long
benches
for
passengers
’

comfort
．
There
are
many
colorful
posters
on
the
damp
metal
walls
of
the
trains
．
Some
advertise
toothpaste
for
the
family
．
Many posters plead for support for charity organizations
．
A lot of posters urge
subway
riders
to buy a
special
lime-scented deodorant or a particular
lemon-oil
haft
tonic
．
A few posters ask readers to buy this soap or that shoe polish
．
Most of the riders
read the posters
．
A
few of them read books or newspapers
．
Not
many
riders talk to
their
fellow
travelers
as
they
burrow
through
the
earth
from
one
end
of
the
city
to
another
．















6