阅读理解
John Blanchard stood up from the bench, straightened his
Army uniform, and studied the crowd of people making their way through Grand
Central Station. He looked for the girl whose heart he knew, but whose face he
didn't, the girl with the rose.
His interest in her had begun thirteen months before in a
Florida library. Taking a book off the shelf he found himself intrigued, not
with the words of the book, but with the notes penciled in the margin. The soft
handwriting reflected a thoughtful soul and insightful mind. In the front of
the book, he discovered the previous owner's name, Miss Hollis Maynell. With
time and effort he located her address. She lived in New York City. He wrote
her a letter introducing himself and inviting her to correspond. The next day
he was shipped overseas for service in World War II.
During the next year and one month the two grew to know each
other through the mail. Each letter was a seed falling on a fertile heart. A
romance was budding. Blanchard requested a photograph, but she refused. She
felt that if he really cared, it wouldn't matter what she looked like.
When the day finally came for him to return from Europe,
they scheduled their first meeting -- 7:00 PM at the Grand Central Station in
New York. "You'll recognize me," she wrote, "by the red rose I'll
be wearing on my lapel." So at 7:00 he was in the station looking for a
girl whose heart he loved, but whose face he'd never seen.
I'll let Mr. Blanchard tell you what happened: A young woman
was coming toward me, her figure long and slim. Her blonde hair lay back in
curls from her delicate ears; her eyes were blue as flowers. Her lips and chin
had a gentle firmness, and in her pale green suit she was like springtime come
alive. I started toward her, entirely forgetting to notice that she was not
wearing a rose. As I moved, a small, attractive smile curved her lips. "Going
my way, sailor?" she murmured.
Almost uncontrollably I made one step closer to her, and
then I saw Hollis Maynell. She was standing almost directly behind the girl. A
woman well past 40, she had graying hair tucked under a worn hat. She was more
than plump, her thick-ankled feet thrust into low-heeled shoes. The girl in the
green suit was walking quickly away. I felt as though I was split in two, so
keen was my desire to follow her, and yet so deep was my longing for the woman
whose spirit had truly companioned me and upheld my own.
And there she stood. Her pale, plump face was gentle and
sensible, her gray eyes had a warm and kindly twinkle. I did not hesitate. My
fingers gripped the small worn blue leather copy of the book that was to
identify me to her.
This would not be love, but it would be something precious,
something perhaps even better than love, a friendship for which I had been and
must ever be grateful. I squared my shoulders and saluted and held out the book
to the woman, even though while I spoke I felt choked by the bitterness of my
disappointment. "I'm Lieutenant(中尉)John
Blanchard, and you must be Miss Maynell. I am so glad you could meet me; may I
take you to dinner?"
The woman's face broadened into a tolerant smile. "I
don't know what this is about, son," she answered, "but the young
lady in the green suit who just went by, she begged me to wear this rose on my
coat. And she said if you were to ask me out to dinner, I should go and tell
you that she is waiting for you in the big restaurant across the street. She
said it was some kind of test!"
It's not difficult to understand and admire Miss Maynell's
wisdom. The true nature of a heart is seen in its response to the unattractive.
"Tell me whom you love," Houssaye wrote, "And I will tell you
who you are."
