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[American Story] 【整理】SENEWS-2007-0818-FEATURE

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American Story: Ciao(4)

Written by Patricia Collinge




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【整理】 -- by 春山如笑

As they ate, Mrs. Angle agreed with everything he said, but she was too quiet. Something had left her. It was as if someone had turned some of the lights off in the room. You could still see everything, but not so clearly.

He looked out of the window onto the street. Rome, rich in history, the warm night, the happy voices, the shouting voices, voices of mothers and fathers, of children, and even of visitors such as he and his wife, visitors who never really saw or understood all there is to see and understand. Then he knew what Mrs. Angle had been trying to do. She had been trying to understand, trying to get a little closer to the city and its people. She had been reaching her hand and her mind out to them. Now she sat across from him as she minded anywhere. New York City, Boston or Podunk. But this was Rome. He had closed the door to her happiness--her ideas of Rome. He had crushed her. That was the right word, crushed. And this was the last thing in the world he wanted to do to Mrs. Angle.

He breathed deeply and said in a voice louder than he wanted to. 'Conto, il conto!” He felt Mrs. Angle's eyes look at him as he paid the waiter for the food and gave him extra money for himself.

Out on the street, they walked near a mother holding a little girl. Mrs. Angle moved closer to the mother and said, 'Bella, bellissima(Beautiful, very beautiful)!' The woman lifted the little girl higher for Mrs. Angle to see. Mrs. Angle laughed and made a special wave, 'Ciao, ciao!' She looked at her husband and he saw her eyes were filled with happiness again.

Mr. Angle felt a strange lump in his throat and then he waved to the child in his own way. 'Ciao!' He said. And he felt his wife's arm as she moved closer to him and slipped it through his.

You have just heard the story 'Ciao' by Patricia Collinge. It was adapted by the Special English staff. Your storyteller was Shirley Griffith. This is Bob Doughty. Please listen next week for another program of American stories in VOA Special English.
支持普特英语听力就多多发帖吧!您们的参与是对斑竹工作最大的肯定与支持!如果您觉得还不错,推荐给周围的朋友吧~
Homework IV (最近白天好忙,只能晚上来练习听写了。 sad.gif )

As they ate, Mrs. Angle agreed with everything he said, but she was too quiet. Something had left her. It was as if someone had turned some of the light off in the room. You could still see everything, but not so clearly.

He looked out of the window onto the street. Rome, rich in history, the warm night, the happy voices, the shouting voices, voices of mothers and fathers, of children, and even the visitors such as he and his wife, visitors who never really saw or understood all there, is to see and understand.

Then he knew what Mrs. Angle had been trying to do. She had been trying to understand, trying to get a little closer to the city and its people. She had been reaching her hand and her mind out to them.

Now she sat across from him as she met anywhere. New York City, Boston or Podunk. But this was Rome. He had closed the door to her happiness---her ideas of Rome. He had crushed her. That was the right word "crushed". And this was the last thing in the world he wanted to do to Mrs. Angle.

He breathed deeply and said in a voice louder than he wanted to. "Conto, uconto! " He felt Mrs. Angle's eyes look at him. As he paid the waiter for the food and gave him extra money for himself.

Out on the street, they walked near a mother holding a little girl. Mrs. Angle moved closer to the mother and said, "Bella, belicima!" The woman lifted the little girl higher for Mrs. Angle to see. Mrs. Angle laughed and made a special wave, "Ciao, ciao!" She looked at her husband and he saw her eyes were filled with happiness again.

Mr. Angle felt a strange lump in his throat and then he waved to the child in his own way. "Ciao!" He said. And he felt his wife's arm as she moved closer to him and slipped it through his.

You have just heard the story "Ciao" by Patricia Colenge. It was adapted by the Special English staff. Your storyteller was Shirley Griffith. This is Bob Doughty. Please listen next week for another program of American stories in VOA Special English.

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homework
As they ate, Mrs Engel agreed with everything he said. But she was too quiet. Something had left her. It was as if someone had turned some of the lights off in the room. You could still see everything, but not so clearly. He looked out of the window onto the street .Rome, rich in history, the warm night, the happy voices ,the shouting voices. Voices of mothers and fathers, of children, and even the visitors such as he and his wife, visitors who never really saw or understood, all there is to see and understand. Then he knew what Mrs Engel had been trying to do. She had been trying to understand, trying to get a little closer to the city and its people. She had been reaching her hand and her mind out to them.
Now she set across from him as she might anywhere, New York city, Boston, or… But this was Rome. He had closed the door to her happiness, her ideas of Rome. He had crashed her, that was the right word, crashed ,and this was the last thing in the world he wanted to do to Mrs Engel. He breathed deeply, and said in a voice louder than he wanted to "…" He felt Mrs Engel's eyes look at him, as he paid the waiter for the food and gave his extra money for himself.
Out on the street they walked near a mother holding a little girl. Mrs Engel moved closer to the mother and said,"…" .The woman lifted the little girl higher for Mrs Engel to see. Mrs Engel laughed and made the special wave, "Ciao,ciao" she looked at her husband and he saw her eyes were filled with happiness again. Mr Engel felt a strange lump in his throat, and then he waved to the child in his own way."Ciao", he said, and he felt his wife's arm as she moved closer to him, and slipped through his.
You have just heard the story "Ciao" by FC. It was adapted by the special English staff. Your story teller was CG.This is BB. Please listen next week for another program of American stories in VOA special English.
实现无障碍英语沟通
homework
As they ate, Mrs angle agreed with everything he said. But she was too quiet, something had left her. It was this someone had turned some of the lights off in the room. You could still see everything, but not so clearly. He looked out of the window onto the street. Rome ,rich in history, the warm night, the happy voices, the shouting voices, voices of mothers and fathers, of children, and even of visitors such as he and his wife. Visitors who never really saw or understood all there is to see and understand. Then he knew what Mrs angle was trying to do. She had been trying to understand, trying to be a little closer to the city and its people. She had been reaching her hand and mind out to them. Now she set across for him as she might anywhere, New York city , Boston , or Potunk. But this was Rome. He had closed the door to her happiness, her ideas of Rome. He had crushed her, that was the right word, crushed, and this was the last thing in the world he wanted to do to Mrs angle. He breathed deeply, and said in a voice louder than he wanted to. “canto, ucanto” he felt Mrs angle’s eyes look at him as he paid the waiter for the food and gave extra money for himself. Old on the street, they walked near a mother holding a little girl. Mrs angle moved closer to the mother and said, “beler,be li sa mor.” The woman lifted the litter girl higher for Mrs angle to see. Mrs angle laughed and made the special wave. “CIAO,CIAO.” she looked at her husband and he saw her eyes was filled with happiness again. Mr angle felt her strange lonpnet throat and then he waved to the child in his own way. “CIAO,” he said. And he felt his wife’s arm as she moved closer to him and slipped trough his.
You have just heard the story “ciao” by pc. It was adapted by the special English staff. Your storyteller was tg. This is BD. Please listen next week for another programme of American stories in VOA special English.
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on snail358(Good job! smile.gif )

As they ate, Mrs. Angle agreed with everything he said, but she was too quiet. Something had left her. It was as if someone had turned some of the light off in the room. You could still see everything, but not so clearly.

He looked out of the window onto the street. Rome, rich in history, the warm night, the happy voices, the shouting voices, voices of mothers and fathers, of children, and even the visitors such as he and his wife, visitors who never really saw or understood. All there is to see and understand.

Then he knew what Mrs. Angle had been trying to do. She had been trying to understand, trying to get a little closer to the city and its people. She had been reaching her hand and her mind out to them.

Now she sat across from him as she might anywhere. New York City, Boston or Podunk. But this was Rome. He had closed the door to her happiness---her ideas of Rome. He had crushed her. That was the right word "crushed". And this was the last thing in the world he wanted to do to Mrs. Angle.

He breathed deeply and said in a voice louder than he wanted to. "Conto, uconto! " He felt Mrs. Angle's eyes look at him as he paid the waiter for the food and gave him extra money for himself.

Out on the street, they walked near a mother holding a little girl. Mrs. Angle moved closer to the mother and said, "Bella, belicima!" The woman lifted the little girl higher for Mrs. Angle to see. Mrs. Angle laughed and made a special wave, "Ciao, ciao!" She looked at her husband and he saw her eyes were filled with happiness again.

Mr. Angle felt a strange lump in his throat and then he waved to the child in his own way. "Ciao!" He said. And he felt his wife's arm as she moved closer to him and slipped it through his.

You have just heard the story "Ciao" by Patricia Colenge. It was adapted by the Special English staff. Your storyteller was Shirley Griffith. This is Bob Doughty. Please listen next week for another program of American stories in VOA Special English.

We are stronger when we are together.
Disfrutar la vida~~~

on angel0404

As they ate, Mrs. Angle agreed with everything he said, but she was too quiet. Something had left her. It was as if someone had turned some of the lights off in the room. You could still see everything, but not so clearly.
He looked out of the window onto the street. Rome, rich in history, the warm night, the happy voices, the shouting voices, voices of mothers and fathers, of children, and even of visitors such as he and his wife, visitors who never really saw or understood. All there is to see and understand.
Then he knew what Mrs. Angle had been trying to do. She had been trying to understand, trying to get a little closer to the city and its people. She had been reaching her hand and her mind out to them.
Now she sat across from him as she might anywhere. New York City, Boston or Podunk. But this was Rome. He had closed the door to her happiness---her ideas of Rome. He had crushed her. That was the right word "crushed". And this was the last thing in the world he wanted to do to Mrs. Angle.
He breathed deeply and said in a voice louder than he wanted to. "Conto, uconto! " He felt Mrs. Angle's eyes look at him as he paid the waiter for the food and gave him extra money for himself.
Out on the street, they walked near a mother holding a little girl. Mrs. Angle moved closer to the mother and said, "Bella, belicima! " The woman lifted the little girl higher for Mrs. Angle to see. Mrs. Angle laughed and made a special wave, "Ciao, ciao! " She looked at her husband and he saw her eyes were filled with happiness again.
Mr. Angle felt a strange lump in his throat and then he waved to the child in his own way. "Ciao! " He said. And he felt his wife's arm as she moved closer to him and slipped it through his.
You have just heard the story "Ciao" by Patricia Colenge. It was adapted by the Special English staff. Your storyteller was Shirley Griffith. This is Bob Doughty. Please listen next week for another program of American stories in VOA Special English.
on angel0404

As they ate, Mrs. Angle agreed with everything he said, but she was too quiet. Something had left her. It was as if someone had turned some of the lights off in the room. You could still see everything, but not so clearly.
He looked out of the window onto the street. Rome, rich in history, the warm night, the happy voices, the shouting voices, voices of mothers and fathers, of children, and even of visitors such as he and his wife, visitors who never really saw or understood. All there is to see and understand.
Then he knew what Mrs. Angle had been trying to do. She had been trying to understand, trying to get a little closer to the city and its people. She had been reaching her hand and her mind out to them.
Now she sat across from him as she might anywhere. New York City, Boston or Podunk. But this was Rome. He had closed the door to her happiness---her ideas of Rome. He had crushed her. That was the right word "crushed". And this was the last thing in the world he wanted to do to Mrs. Angle.
He breathed deeply and said in a voice louder than he wanted to. "Conto, uconto! " He felt Mrs. Angle's eyes look at him as he paid the waiter for the food and gave him extra money for himself.
Out on the street, they walked near a mother holding a little girl. Mrs. Angle moved closer to the mother and said, "Bella, belicima! " The woman lifted the little girl higher for Mrs. Angle to see. Mrs. Angle laughed and made a special wave, "Ciao, ciao! " She looked at her husband and he saw her eyes were filled with happiness again.
Mr. Angle felt a strange lump in his throat and then he waved to the child in his own way. "Ciao! " He said. And he felt his wife's arm as she moved closer to him and slipped it through his.
You have just heard the story "Ciao" by Patricia Colenge. It was adapted by the Special English staff. Your storyteller was Shirley Griffith. This is Bob Doughty. Please listen next week for another program of American stories in VOA Special English.
实现无障碍英语沟通
As they ate, Mrs. Angle agreed with everything he said, but she was too quiet. Something had left her. It was as if someone had turned some of the light off in the room. You could still see everything, but not so clearly.

He looked out of the window onto the street. Rome, rich in history, the warm night, the happy voices, the shouting voices, voices of mothers and fathers, of children, and even the visitors such as he and his wife, visitors who never really saw or understood all there, is to see and understand.

Then he knew what Mrs. Angle had been trying to do. She had been trying to understand, trying to get a little closer to the city and its people. She had been reaching her hand and her mind out to them.

Now she sat across from him as she met anywhere. New York City, Boston or Podunk. But this was Rome. He had closed the door to her happiness---her ideas of Rome. He had crushed her. That was the right word "crushed". And this was the last thing in the world he wanted to do to Mrs. Angle.

He breathed deeply and said in a voice louder than he wanted to. "Conto, uconto! " He felt Mrs. Angle's eyes look at him. As he paid the waiter for the food and gave him extra money for himself.

Out on the street, they walked near a mother holding a little girl. Mrs. Angle moved closer to the mother and said, "Bella, belicima!" The woman lifted the little girl higher for Mrs. Angle to see. Mrs. Angle laughed and made a special wave, "Ciao, ciao!" She looked at her husband and he saw her eyes were filled with happiness again.

Mr. Angle felt a strange lump in his throat and then he waved to the child in his own way. "Ciao!" He said. And he felt his wife's arm as she moved closer to him and slipped it through his.

You have just heard the story "Ciao" by Patricia Colenge. It was adapted by the Special English staff. Your storyteller was Shirley Griffith. This is Bob Doughty. Please listen next week for another program of American stories in VOA Special English.
普特听力大课堂
20070818Story4
Homework

As they ate, Mrs. Angle agreed with everything he said, but she was too quiet. Something had left her. It was as if someone had turned some of the lights off in the room. You could still see everything, but not so clearly.

He looked out of the window onto the street. Rome, rich in history, the warm night, the happy voices, the shouting voices, voices of mothers and fathers, of children, and even of visitors such as he and his wife, visitors who never really saw or understood all there is to see and understand. Then he knew what Mrs. Angle had been trying to do. She had been trying to understand, trying to get a little closer to the city and its people. She had been reaching her hand and her mind out to them. Now she sat across from him as she minded anywhere, New York City, Boston or Podunk. But this was Rome. He had closed the door to her happiness--her ideas of Rome. He had crushed her. That was the right word, crushed. And this was the last thing in the world he wanted to do to Mrs. Angle.

He breathed deeply and said in a voice louder than he wanted to. "Conto, il conto!” He felt Mrs. Angle's eyes look at him as he paid the waiter for the food and gave him extra money for himself.

Out on the street, they walked near a mother holding a little girl. Mrs. Angle moved closer to the mother and said, "Bella, bellissima(Beautiful, very beautiful)!" The woman lifted the little girl higher for Mrs. Angle to see. Mrs. Angle laughed and made a special wave, "Ciao, ciao!" She looked at her husband and he saw her eyes were filled with happiness again.

Mr. Angle felt a strange lump in his throat and then he waved to the child in his own way. "Ciao!" He said. And he felt his wife's arm as she moved closer to him and slipped it through his.

You have just heard the story "Ciao" by Patricia Collinge. It was adapted by the Special English staff. Your storyteller was Shirley Griffith. This is Bob Doughty. Please listen next week for another program of American stories in VOA Special English.
好栏目推荐之美国口语俚语
Homework: ph34r.gif

As they ate, Mrs.Angle agreed with everything he said, but she was too quiet. Something had left her. It was as if someone had turned some of the lights off in the room. You could still see everything, but not so clearly. He looked out of the window onto the street. Rome, rich in history, the warm light, the happy voices, the shouting voices, voices of mothers and fathers, of children, and even of visitors such as he and his wife, visitors who never really saw or understood all there to see and understand. Then he knew what Mrs.Angle had been trying to do. She had been trying to understand, trying to get a little closer to the city and its people. She had been reaching her hand and her mind out to them. Now she sat across from him as she might anywhere, New York city, Boston, or Podunk, but this was Rome. He had closed the door to her happiness, her ideas of Rome. He had crashed her. That was the right word, crashed, and this was the last thing in the world he wanted to do to Mrs.Angle. He breathed deeply, and said in a voice louder than he wanted to, "Conto, il conto". He felt Mrs.Angle's eyes look at him as he paid the waiter for the food and gave him extra money for himself.

Out on the street they walked near a mother holding a little girl. Mrs.Angle moved closer to the mother and said, "B,Bl". The woman lifted the little girl higher for Mrs.Angle to see. Mrs.Angle laughed and made a special wave, "Ciao, ciao", she looked at her husband and he saw her eyes were filled with happiness again. Mr.Angle felt a strange lump in his throat, and then he waved to the child in his own way. "Ciao", he said. And he felt his wife's arm as she moved closer to him and slipped it through his.

You have just heard the story Ciao by Patricia Collinge. It was adapted by the Special English staff. Your story teller was SG
Homework

“Ask day eat.” Mr. Angle created what everything her said. But she was too quiet, something had left her. It was as if someone has turned some of light off in the room. You could still say everything but not so clearly.

He looked out of the window onto the street, roam, rich in history, the warm night, the happy voices, the shouting voices, voices of fathers and mothers, and children and even the visitors such as he and his wife. Visitors who never really saw or understood or there is to say under understand. Then he knew what Mrs. Angle had been trying to do. She had been trying to understand, trying to get a little closer to the city and its people. She had reached her hand under her mind out of them. Now she sat across from him as she might anywhere. New York city, Boston, or Poduck, but this was Rome. He had closed the door to her happiness, her ideas of Rome. He had crashed her that was right word: crash.

And this was last thing at world you wanted to do to Mrs. Angle. He breathed deeply and said in the voice louder than he wanted to. “Conto, il conto.” He felt Mr. Angle’s eyes looked at him, as he paid the waiter for the food and gave him extra money for himself.

Out of the street, they walked near a mother holding a little gril. Mrs. Angle moved closer and said: “Bller, blisaup.” The woman lifted the little girl higher for Mrs. Angle to see. Mrs. Angle loved and made a special wave. “Ciao, ciao.” She looked at her husband and he saw her eyes were fill happiness again. Mr. Angle felt a strange love in his throat and then he waved the child in his own way. “Ciao.” He said. And he felt his wife’s arm as she moved close to him and slipped to through his.

You have just heard the story – Ciao by Patricia Collonge. It was adapted by the special English staff. Your story teller was Shirley Griffith. This is Pop Doly. Please listen next week for another program of American stories in VOA Special English.
Homework:

As they ate, Mrs. Angle agreed with everything he said. But she was too quiet, something had left her. It was that this someone had turned some of the lights off in the room. You could still see everything, but not so clearly.

He looked out of the window onto the street, wrong Rome, rich in history, the warm night, the happy voices, the shouting voices. Voices of mothers and fathers, the children, and even of visitors fached he his wife. Visitors who never really saw or understood, all there is to see and understand. Then, he knew what Mrs. Angle had been trying to do. She had been trying to understand, trying to get a little closer to the city and its people. She had been rich in her hand and her mind out to them. Now she said across from him that she met anywhere, New York City, Boston, Poduc Podunk, but this was Rome. He had closed the door to her happiness, her ideas of Rome. He had crushed her. That was the right word, crushed, and this was the last thing in the world he wanted to do to Mrs. Angle. He breathed deeply, and said in the voice louder than he wanted to.

Counto, you Counto. He felt Mrs. Angle’s eyes looked at him as he paid away of the food and gave in the extra money for himself. Out on the street, they walked near a mother holding a little girl. Mrs. Angle moved closer to the mother and said: bala, belicema. The woman lifted the little girl higher for Mrs. Angle to see. Mrs. Angle laughed, and made the special wave. Ciao, Ciao, she looked at her husband, and he saw her eyes were filled with happiness again. Mr. Angle felt a strange love lump been a throwt throat, and then he waved to the child in his own way. Ciao, he said, and he felt his wife’s arm as she moved close to him and slipped it through his.

You have just heard the American Story Ciao by P.C. It was adapted by the Special English Step. Your Storyteller was S.G. This is B.D. Please listen next week or another program of American Stories in VOA Special English.
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