新视野大学英语(第二版)第三册unit5 graceful hands全文翻译与原文
授权委托书英文-入党申请书2012
新视野大学英语（第二版）第三册unit5 graceful hands全文翻译与原文
我从未见过克拉克夫人，但看过她的医疗记录和上一位值班医生交给我的报告
后，我知道她今晚
会去世。
她屋里唯一的光线来自一台医疗设备，它闪着红光，似乎在发出警告。
我站在那里，一股怪味刺激着我的鼻子，我想起了过去闻到过的腐烂的气味，我闭上了眼睛。
我嘴里有一股从胃里返上来的酸味。
我伸手去开灯。灯静静地照亮了整个病房，我走回病床边
，用无动于衷的、医生的目光观察
着病人。
克拉克夫人已奄奄一息了。
她一动不动
地躺着：骨瘦如柴的身体使她的头显得特别大；皮肤呈暗黄色，松松地裹在嶙峋
的、连毛毯也遮掩不住的
骨骼上；她的右臂平伸在床边，被无情地用胶带固定在一块板上，
以便能固定针头使液体滴入；左臂横放
在深陷的胸部，胸口随着不均匀的呼吸一起一伏。
我伸手去触摸她放在胸口的细长手指。
冰凉冰凉的。我忙将手移到她的手腕，去感觉那微弱的脉搏。
克拉克夫人将头稍稍转向我，微微地睁开眼。
我俯过身去，勉强听见她微弱的声音：“水。”
我从桌上拿起一杯水，用手指封着吸管的一端，滴了几滴凉凉的水到她的嘴里，以缓解她的
干渴
。
她没有用力去吞咽，因为力气不够。
“还要，”那干涩的声音说。
于是我们又重复了一次。这次她终于咽了一些，并轻轻说了声：“谢谢，你。”
她虚弱得没法交谈，因此没等她要求，我就开始做她所需要的。
我像抱孩子似的把她抱起来，给她翻了个身。
除了一件浅色的病号服，她什么也没穿。她又小又轻，像遭受了严重饥荒一样。
我打开护肤霜的瓶盖，揩了一些在手心。
为了不伤着她，我小心翼翼地把护肤霜擦在她发黄的
皮肤上。她的皮肤松松地在骨头上滑动，
背上每块骨头的轮廓都能清楚地摸到。
当我把枕头放
在她两腿之间时，发现它们也是冰凉的，直到把手移到她膝盖以上的部位，我
才感受到血液供给生命的热
度。
而后，我挪了把椅子面朝她坐在床边，握住她那只没被固定的手，此时我又一次注意到她细
长的手指。
很优雅。一时间，我突然想知道她是否有家庭，接着我发现病房里没有花，没有孩子们画
的
彩虹和蝴蝶，也没有卡片。
房间中没有任何迹象表明她是一个被人爱着的人。
她
似乎读懂了我的心思，平静地回答我说：“今天……我让……家里人……都……回家……
不想……他们…
…看见……”
她耗尽了最后的那点力气，再也说不下去了。但我已然明白她做了些什么。
我不知道说什么好，所以什么也没说。
她好像又看穿了我的心思：“你……留下……”
时间似乎停滞了。
在一片寂静中，我感觉自己的脉搏加快了，我听到自己的呼吸开始伴随着她
那不均匀的呼吸
一起一落。
我们互相对视，不知怎么的，我们都意识到，这是两个生命间的一个特殊时刻。
她那细长的手指很轻易地就拢住了我的手，我微笑着慢慢点了点头。
无需任何语言，我从她发黄的眼睛中感受到了她对我的谢意，她慢慢闭上了眼睛。
不知过了多长时间，她又睁开了双眼，只是这一次目光里没有任何反应，只有空洞的凝视。
没有一点先兆，她那细弱的呼吸停止了。很快，微弱的脉搏也消失了。
一颗泪珠从她的左眼中流出，滑过脸颊，落在枕上。
我开始轻声哭泣。
对这位迅速走进又走出我生活的陌生人，我心间涌起了一股感情。
她的痛苦结束了，可她的生命也结束了。
我依然握着她的手，渐渐地，我意识到我并不害怕这
种感情之战，意识到这实际是她赐予我
的特殊荣幸，而且我还乐意再来一次。
克拉克夫人没有让她的家人目睹这一幕他们或许无力面对的人生插曲，却与我分享了它。
她不想让家人看着她死去，然而她也不愿孤独地离去。
不应当有人孤独离去的，我很高兴能守候在她身边。
两天后，我在报上读到了克拉克夫人的消息。
原来她是7个孩子的母亲、18个孩子的祖母、
教会里的活跃分子、社区志愿者协会的领导
人、音乐会钢琴演奏家、从教30余年的钢琴教师。
是啊，她的手指是那样细长而优雅。
I have never seen
Mrs. Clark before, but I know from her medical
chart
and the report I received from the
preceding shift that tonight she will
die.
The only light in her room is coming from
a piece of medical equipment,
which is
flashing its red light as if in warning. As I
stand there, the
smell hits my nose, and I
close my eyes as I remember the smell of decay
from past experience. In my mouth I have a
sour, vinegar taste coming from
the pit of my
stomach. I reach for the light switch, and as it
silently
lights the scene, I return to the bed
to observe the patient with an
unemotional,
medical eye.
Mrs. Clark is dying. She lies
motionless: the head seems unusually
large on
a skeleton body; the skin is dark yellow and hangs
loosely around
exaggerated bones that not even
a blanket can hide; the right arm lies
straight out at the side, taped cruelly to a
board to secure a needle so
that fluid may
drip in; the left arm is across the sunken chest,
which
rises and falls with the uneven breaths.
I reach for the long, thin fingers
that are lying on the chest. They
are ice
cold, and I quickly move to the wrist and feel for
the faint pulse.
Mrs. Clark's eyes open
somewhat as her head turns toward me slightly. I
bend close to her and scarcely hear as she
whispers,
glass of water from the table, I put
my finger over the end of the straw
and allow
a few drops of the cool moisture to slide into her
mouth and
ease her thirst. She makes no
attempt to swallow; there is just not enough
strength.
time she does manage to swallow
some liquid and weakly says, you.
She is
too weak for conversation, so without asking, I go
about
providing for her needs. Picking her up
in my arms like a child, I turn
her on her
side. Naked, except for a light hospital gown, she
is so very
small and light that she seems like
a victim of some terrible famine. I
remove the
lid from a jar of skin cream and put some on the
palm of my
hand. Carefully, to avoid injuring
her, I rub cream into the yellow skin,
which
rolls freely over the bones, feeling perfectly the
outline of each
bone in the back. Placing a
pillow between her legs, I notice that these
too are ice cold, and not until I run my hand
up over her knees do I feel
any of the life-
giving warmth of blood.
When I am
finished, I pull a chair up beside the bed to face
her and,
taking her free hand between mine,
again notice the long, thin fingers.
Graceful.
I wonder briefly if she has any family, and then I
see that there
are neither flowers, nor
pictures of rainbows and butterflies drawn by
children, nor cards. There is no hint in the
room anywhere that this is
a person who is
loved. As though she is a mind reader, Mrs. Clark
answers
my thoughts and quietly tells me,
tonight ... didn't want ... them ... to see
...
ounce of strength she cannot go on, but I
have understood what she has
done. Not
knowing what to say, I say nothing. Again she
seems to sense
my thoughts, …stay …
Time seems to stand still. In the total silence, I
feel my own pulse
quicken and hear my
breathing as it begins to match hers, breath for
uneven
breath. Our eyes meet and somehow,
together, we become aware that this
is a
special moment between two human beings ... Her
long fingers curl
easily around my hand and I
nod my head slowly, smiling. Without words,
through yellowed eyes, I receive my thank you
and her eyes slowly close.
Some unknown
interval of time passes before her eyes open
again, only
this time there is no response in
them, just a blank stare. Without warning,
her
shallow breathing stops, and within a few moments,
the faint pulse
is also gone. One single tear
flows from her left eye, across the cheek
and
down onto the pillow. I begin to cry quietly.
There is a swell of
emotion within me for this
stranger who so quickly came into and went from
my life. Her suffering is done, yet so is the
life. Slowly, still holding
her hand, I become
aware that I do not mind this emotional battle,
that
in fact, it was a privilege she has
allowed me, and I would do it again,
gladly.
Mrs. Clark spared her family an episode that
perhaps they were
not equipped to handle and
instead shared it with me. She had not wanted
to have her family see her die, yet she did
not want to die alone. No one
should die
alone, and I am glad I was there for her.
Two days later, I read about Mrs. Clark in the
newspaper. She was the
mother of seven,
grandmother of eighteen, an active member of her
church,
a leader of volunteer associations in
her community, a concert piano
player, and a
piano teacher for over thirty years.
Yes,
they were long and graceful fingers.
新视野大学英语（第二版）第三册unit5 graceful
hands全文翻译与原文
我从未见过克拉克夫人，但看过她的医疗记录和上一位值班医生交给我的报
告
后，我知道她今晚会去世。
她屋里唯一的光线来自一台医疗设备，它闪着红光，似乎在发出警告。
我站在那里，一股怪味刺激着我的鼻子，我想起了过去闻到过的腐烂的气味，我闭上了眼睛。
我嘴里有一股从胃里返上来的酸味。
我伸手去开灯。灯静静地照亮了整个病房，我走回病床边
，用无动于衷的、医生的目光观察
着病人。
克拉克夫人已奄奄一息了。
她一动不动
地躺着：骨瘦如柴的身体使她的头显得特别大；皮肤呈暗黄色，松松地裹在嶙峋
的、连毛毯也遮掩不住的
骨骼上；她的右臂平伸在床边，被无情地用胶带固定在一块板上，
以便能固定针头使液体滴入；左臂横放
在深陷的胸部，胸口随着不均匀的呼吸一起一伏。
我伸手去触摸她放在胸口的细长手指。
冰凉冰凉的。我忙将手移到她的手腕，去感觉那微弱的脉搏。
克拉克夫人将头稍稍转向我，微微地睁开眼。
我俯过身去，勉强听见她微弱的声音：“水。”
我从桌上拿起一杯水，用手指封着吸管的一端，滴了几滴凉凉的水到她的嘴里，以缓解她的
干渴
。
她没有用力去吞咽，因为力气不够。
“还要，”那干涩的声音说。
于是我们又重复了一次。这次她终于咽了一些，并轻轻说了声：“谢谢，你。”
她虚弱得没法交谈，因此没等她要求，我就开始做她所需要的。
我像抱孩子似的把她抱起来，给她翻了个身。
除了一件浅色的病号服，她什么也没穿。她又小又轻，像遭受了严重饥荒一样。
我打开护肤霜的瓶盖，揩了一些在手心。
为了不伤着她，我小心翼翼地把护肤霜擦在她发黄的
皮肤上。她的皮肤松松地在骨头上滑动，
背上每块骨头的轮廓都能清楚地摸到。
当我把枕头放
在她两腿之间时，发现它们也是冰凉的，直到把手移到她膝盖以上的部位，我
才感受到血液供给生命的热
度。
而后，我挪了把椅子面朝她坐在床边，握住她那只没被固定的手，此时我又一次注意到她细
长的手指。
很优雅。一时间，我突然想知道她是否有家庭，接着我发现病房里没有花，没有孩子们画
的
彩虹和蝴蝶，也没有卡片。
房间中没有任何迹象表明她是一个被人爱着的人。
她
似乎读懂了我的心思，平静地回答我说：“今天……我让……家里人……都……回家……
不想……他们…
…看见……”
她耗尽了最后的那点力气，再也说不下去了。但我已然明白她做了些什么。
我不知道说什么好，所以什么也没说。
她好像又看穿了我的心思：“你……留下……”
时间似乎停滞了。
在一片寂静中，我感觉自己的脉搏加快了，我听到自己的呼吸开始伴随着她
那不均匀的呼吸
一起一落。
我们互相对视，不知怎么的，我们都意识到，这是两个生命间的一个特殊时刻。
她那细长的手指很轻易地就拢住了我的手，我微笑着慢慢点了点头。
无需任何语言，我从她发黄的眼睛中感受到了她对我的谢意，她慢慢闭上了眼睛。
不知过了多长时间，她又睁开了双眼，只是这一次目光里没有任何反应，只有空洞的凝视。
没有一点先兆，她那细弱的呼吸停止了。很快，微弱的脉搏也消失了。
一颗泪珠从她的左眼中流出，滑过脸颊，落在枕上。
我开始轻声哭泣。
对这位迅速走进又走出我生活的陌生人，我心间涌起了一股感情。
她的痛苦结束了，可她的生命也结束了。
我依然握着她的手，渐渐地，我意识到我并不害怕这
种感情之战，意识到这实际是她赐予我
的特殊荣幸，而且我还乐意再来一次。
克拉克夫人没有让她的家人目睹这一幕他们或许无力面对的人生插曲，却与我分享了它。
她不想让家人看着她死去，然而她也不愿孤独地离去。
不应当有人孤独离去的，我很高兴能守候在她身边。
两天后，我在报上读到了克拉克夫人的消息。
原来她是7个孩子的母亲、18个孩子的祖母、
教会里的活跃分子、社区志愿者协会的领导
人、音乐会钢琴演奏家、从教30余年的钢琴教师。
是啊，她的手指是那样细长而优雅。
I have never seen
Mrs. Clark before, but I know from her medical
chart
and the report I received from the
preceding shift that tonight she will
die.
The only light in her room is coming from
a piece of medical equipment,
which is
flashing its red light as if in warning. As I
stand there, the
smell hits my nose, and I
close my eyes as I remember the smell of decay
from past experience. In my mouth I have a
sour, vinegar taste coming from
the pit of my
stomach. I reach for the light switch, and as it
silently
lights the scene, I return to the bed
to observe the patient with an
unemotional,
medical eye.
Mrs. Clark is dying. She lies
motionless: the head seems unusually
large on
a skeleton body; the skin is dark yellow and hangs
loosely around
exaggerated bones that not even
a blanket can hide; the right arm lies
straight out at the side, taped cruelly to a
board to secure a needle so
that fluid may
drip in; the left arm is across the sunken chest,
which
rises and falls with the uneven breaths.
I reach for the long, thin fingers
that are lying on the chest. They
are ice
cold, and I quickly move to the wrist and feel for
the faint pulse.
Mrs. Clark's eyes open
somewhat as her head turns toward me slightly. I
bend close to her and scarcely hear as she
whispers,
glass of water from the table, I put
my finger over the end of the straw
and allow
a few drops of the cool moisture to slide into her
mouth and
ease her thirst. She makes no
attempt to swallow; there is just not enough
strength.
time she does manage to swallow
some liquid and weakly says, you.
She is
too weak for conversation, so without asking, I go
about
providing for her needs. Picking her up
in my arms like a child, I turn
her on her
side. Naked, except for a light hospital gown, she
is so very
small and light that she seems like
a victim of some terrible famine. I
remove the
lid from a jar of skin cream and put some on the
palm of my
hand. Carefully, to avoid injuring
her, I rub cream into the yellow skin,
which
rolls freely over the bones, feeling perfectly the
outline of each
bone in the back. Placing a
pillow between her legs, I notice that these
too are ice cold, and not until I run my hand
up over her knees do I feel
any of the life-
giving warmth of blood.
When I am
finished, I pull a chair up beside the bed to face
her and,
taking her free hand between mine,
again notice the long, thin fingers.
Graceful.
I wonder briefly if she has any family, and then I
see that there
are neither flowers, nor
pictures of rainbows and butterflies drawn by
children, nor cards. There is no hint in the
room anywhere that this is
a person who is
loved. As though she is a mind reader, Mrs. Clark
answers
my thoughts and quietly tells me,
tonight ... didn't want ... them ... to see
...
ounce of strength she cannot go on, but I
have understood what she has
done. Not
knowing what to say, I say nothing. Again she
seems to sense
my thoughts, …stay …
Time seems to stand still. In the total silence, I
feel my own pulse
quicken and hear my
breathing as it begins to match hers, breath for
uneven
breath. Our eyes meet and somehow,
together, we become aware that this
is a
special moment between two human beings ... Her
long fingers curl
easily around my hand and I
nod my head slowly, smiling. Without words,
through yellowed eyes, I receive my thank you
and her eyes slowly close.
Some unknown
interval of time passes before her eyes open
again, only
this time there is no response in
them, just a blank stare. Without warning,
her
shallow breathing stops, and within a few moments,
the faint pulse
is also gone. One single tear
flows from her left eye, across the cheek
and
down onto the pillow. I begin to cry quietly.
There is a swell of
emotion within me for this
stranger who so quickly came into and went from
my life. Her suffering is done, yet so is the
life. Slowly, still holding
her hand, I become
aware that I do not mind this emotional battle,
that
in fact, it was a privilege she has
allowed me, and I would do it again,
gladly.
Mrs. Clark spared her family an episode that
perhaps they were
not equipped to handle and
instead shared it with me. She had not wanted
to have her family see her die, yet she did
not want to die alone. No one
should die
alone, and I am glad I was there for her.
Two days later, I read about Mrs. Clark in the
newspaper. She was the
mother of seven,
grandmother of eighteen, an active member of her
church,
a leader of volunteer associations in
her community, a concert piano
player, and a
piano teacher for over thirty years.
Yes,
they were long and graceful fingers.