研究生英语课文Love Story

[FoxMe]

哪位还记得那篇课文是这样的吗？我觉得应该是的。

也是情侣吵架，但很快和好了。但是我没能学以致用。
"Love means not ever having to say you're sorry"似乎出自这里。


=============================================

大学英语（第五册）复习（原文及全文翻译）——Unit 7 - Love Story（爱情故事）

Unit 7 - Love Story
Oliver Barrett IV, a Harvard student from a wealthy WASP family, fell in love with Jennifer, a Radcliffe music major, daughter of a pastry chef of Italian descent. Jennifer returned his love. The two of them started talking about marriage, thinking they were made for each other. A banker and a squeamish parent, Oliver Barrett III refused to give his blessing to the proposed alliance. Oliver and Jennifer thereupon went ahead on their own, contented with their "love in a cottage".

We join the novel in Chapter 13, three years after Oliver married Jennifer regardless of his father's fierce opposition. One day, they received an invitation from Oliver's parents to the old man's sixtieth birthday party. Jennifer preferred accepting the invitation, regarding it as a good opportunity for a reconciliation between father and son. But Oliver wouldn't give it a thought. Thus the two of them had a violent quarrel…

Love Story

Erich Segal

CHAPTER 13

Mr. And Mrs. Oliver Barrett III

request the pleasure of your company

at a dinner in celebration of

Mr. Barrett's sixtieth birthday

Saturday, the sixth of March

at seven o'clock

Dover House, Ipswich, Massachusetts

R. S. V. P.

"Well?" asked Jennifer.

"Do you even have to ask?" I replied. I was in the midst of abstracting The State v. Percival, a very important precedent in criminal law. Jenny was sort of waving the invitation to bug me.

"I think it's about time, Oliver," she said.

"For what?"

"For you know very well that," she answered. "Does he have to crawl here on his hands and knees?"

I kept working as she worked me over.

"Ollie -- he's reaching out to you!"

"Bullshit, Jenny. My mother addressed the envelope."

"I thought you said you didn't look at it!" she sort of yelled.

Okay, so I did glance at it earlier. Maybe it had slipped my mind. I was, after all, in the midst of abstracting The State v. Percival, and in the virtual shadow of exams. The point was she should have stopped haranguing me.

"Ollie, think," she said, her tone kind of pleading now. "Sixty goddamn years old. Nothing says he'll still be around when you're finally ready for the reconciliation."

I informed Jenny in the simplest possible terms that there would never be a reconciliation and would she please let me continue my studying. She sat down quietly, squeezing herself onto a corner of the sofa where I had my feet. Although she didn't make a sound, I quickly became aware that she was looking at me very hard. I glanced up.

"Someday," she said, "when you're being bugged by Oliver V --"

"He won't be called Oliver, be sure of that!" I snapped at her. She didn't raise her voice, though she usually did when I did.

"Listen, Ollie, even if we name him Bozo the Clown that kid's still going to resent you because you were a big Harvard athlete. And by the time he's a freshman, you'll probably be in the Supreme Court!"

I told her that our son would definitely not resent me. She then inquired how I could be so certain of that. I couldn't produce evidence. I mean, I simply knew our son would not resent me, I couldn't say precisely why. Jenny then remarked:

"Your father loves you too, Oliver. Her loves you just the way you'll love Bozo. But you Barretts are so damn proud and competitive, you'll go through life thinking you hate each other."

"If it weren't for you," I said jokingly.

"Yes," she said.

"The case is closed," I said, being, after all, the husband and head of household. My eyes returned to The State v. Percival and Jenny got up. But then she remembered.

"There's still the matter of the RSVP."

I said that a Radcliffe music major could probably compose a nice little negative RSVP without professional guidance.

"Listen, Oliver," she said, "I've probably lied or cheated in my life. But I've never deliberately hurt anyone. I don't think I could."

Really, at that moment she was only hurting me, so I asked her politely to handle the RSVP in whatever manner she wished, as long as the essence of the message was that we wouldn't show unless hell froze over. I returned once again to The State v. Percival.

"What's the number?" I heard her say very softly. She was at the telephone.

"Can't you just write a note?"

"In a minute I'll lose my nerve. What's the number?"

I told her and was instantly immersed in Percival's appeal to the Supreme Court. I was not listening to Jenny. That is, I tried not to. She was in the same room, after all.

"Oh -- good evening, sir," I heard her say.

She had her hand over the mouthpiece.

"Ollie, does it have to be negative?"

The nod of my head indicated that it had to be, the wave of my hand indicated that she should hurry up.

"I'm terribly sorry," she said into the phone. "I mean, we're terribly sorry, sir…"

We're! Did she have to involve me in this? And why can't she get to the point and hang up?

"Oliver!"

She had her hand on the mouthpiece again and was talking very loud.

"He's wounded, Oliver! Can you just sit there and let you father bleed?"

Had she not been in such an emotional state, I could have explained once again that stones do not bleed. But she was very upset. And it was upsetting me too.

"Oliver," she pleaded, "could you just say a word?"

To him? She must be going out of her mind!

"I mean, like just maybe 'hello'?"

She was offering the phone to me. And trying not to cry.

"I will never talk to him. Ever," I said with perfect calm.

And now she was crying. Nothing audible, but tears pouring down her face. And then she -- she begged.

"For me, Oliver. I've never asked you for anything. Please."

Three of us. There of us just standing (I somehow imagined my father being there as well) waiting for something. What? For me?

I couldn't do it.

Didn't Jenny understand she was asking the impossible? That I would have done absolutely anything else? As I looked at the floor, shaking my head in adamant refusal and extreme discomfort, Jenny addressed me with a kind of whispered fury I had never heard from her:

"You are a heartless bastard,' she said. And then she ended the telephone conversation with my father saying:

"Mr. Barrett, Oliver does want you to know that in his own special way…"

She paused for breath. She had been sobbing, so it wasn't easy. I was much too astonished to do anything but await the end of my alleged "message."

"Oliver loves you very much," she said, and hung up very quickly.

There is no rational explanation for my actions in the next split second. I must never be forgiven for what I did.

I ripped the phone from her hand, then from the socket -- and hurled it across the room.

"God damn you, Jenny! Why don't you get the hell out of my life!"

I stood still, panting like the animal I had suddenly become. Jesus Christ! What the hell had happened to me? I turned to look at Jen.

But she was gone.

I mean absolutely gone, because I didn't even hear footsteps on the stairs. Christ, she must have dashed out the instant I grabbed the phone. Even her coat and scarf were still there. The pain of not knowing what to do was exceeded only by that of knowing what I had done.

I searched everywhere.

In the Law School library, I prowled the rows of grinding students, looking and looking. Up and back, at least half a dozen times. Though I didn't utter a sound, I knew my glance was so intense, my face so fierce, I was disturbing the whole place. Who cares?

But Jenny wasn't there.

Then all through Harkness Commons, the lounge, the cafeteria. Then a wild sprint to look around Agassiz Hall at Radcliffe. Not there, either. I was running everywhere now, my legs trying to catch up with the pace of my heart.

Paine Hall? (Ironic goddamn name!) Downstairs are piano practice rooms. I know Jenny. When she's angry, she pounds the keyboard. Right? But how about when she's scared to death?

It's crazy walling down the corridor, practice rooms on either side. The sounds of Mozart and Bartok, Bach and Brahms filter out from the doors and blend into this weird infernal sound.

Jenny's got to be here!

Instinct made me stop at a door where I heard the pounding (angry?) sound of a Chopin prelude. I paused for a second. The playing was lousy -- stops and starts and many mistakes. At one pause I heard a girl's voice mutter, "Shit!" It had to be Jenny. I flung open the door.

A Radcliffe girl was at the piano. She looked up. Au ugly, big-shouldered hippie Radcliffe girl, annoyed at my invasion.

"What's the matter, man?" she asked.

"Sorry," I replied, and closed the door again.

Then I tried Harvard Square. Nothing.

Where would Jenny have gone?

I just stood there, lost in the darkness of Harvard Square, not knowing where to go or what to do next. A colored guy approached me and inquired if I was in need of a fix. I kind of absently replied, "No, thank you sir."

I wasn't running now. I mean, what was the rush to return to the empty house? It was very late -- almost 1 A. M. -- and I was numb -- more with fright than with the cold (although it wasn't warm, believe me). From several yards off, I thought I saw someone sitting on the top of the steps. This had to be my eyes playing tricks, because the figure was motionless.

But it was Jenny.

She was sitting on the top step.

I was too tired to panic, too relieved to speak. Inwardly I hoped she had some blunt instrument with which to hit me.

"Jen?"

"Ollie?"

We both spoke so quietly, it was impossible to take an emotional reading.

"I forgot my key," Jenny said.

I stood there at the bottom of the steps, afraid to ask how long she had been sitting, knowing only that I had wronged her terribly.

"Jenny, I'm sorry --"

"Stop!" she cut off my apology, then said very quietly, "Love means not ever having to say you're sorry."

I climbed up the stairs to where she was sitting.

"I'd like to go to sleep. Okay?" she said.

"Okay."

We walked up to our apartment. As we undressed, she looked at me reassuringly.

"I meant what I said, Oliver."

And that was all.

————————————————
版权声明：本文为CSDN博主「预见未来to50」的原创文章，遵循CC 4.0 BY-SA版权协议，转载请附上原文出处链接及本声明。
原文链接：https://blog.csdn.net/hpdlzu80100/artic ... /120217221

[wh]

没学过这篇课文。读了一下，感觉就是通俗畅销小说的路子啊，很煽情，但不太合理，也不耐嚼。即使jennifer怎么想让oliver和他爸和好，她也不该当着oliver的面给他老爸打电话说oliver爱他。这完全是不尊重oliver的意愿，一厢情愿地做老好人。oliver发火，jennifer出走，oliver再无比愧疚地到处找她，这都很俗套，没有对这个冲突的更多反思，好像只要爱就可以遮掩一切矛盾冲突。那么合理的结局是这一对会不断冲突到分手为止。

你也不必太内疚。分手不是你一个人的事（错）。如果你俩在一起，也可能有更多争吵，也难说结局怎样。要相信现在的一切是最好的

哪位还记得那篇课文是这样的吗？我觉得应该是的。

也是情侣吵架，但很快和好了。但是我没能学以致用。
"Love means not ever having to say you're sorry"似乎出自这里。


=============================================

大学英语（第五册）复习（原文及全文翻译）——Unit 7 - Love Story（爱情故事）

Unit 7 - Love Story
Oliver Barrett IV, a Harvard student from a wealthy WASP family, fell in love with Jennifer, a Radcliffe music major, daughter of a pastry chef of Italian descent. Jennifer returned his love. The two of them started talking about marriage, thinking they were made for each other. A banker and a squeamish parent, Oliver Barrett III refused to give his blessing to the proposed alliance. Oliver and Jennifer thereupon went ahead on their own, contented with their "love in a cottage".

We join the novel in Chapter 13, three years after Oliver married Jennifer regardless of his father's fierce opposition. One day, they received an invitation from Oliver's parents to the old man's sixtieth birthday party. Jennifer preferred accepting the invitation, regarding it as a good opportunity for a reconciliation between father and son. But Oliver wouldn't give it a thought. Thus the two of them had a violent quarrel…

Love Story

Erich Segal

CHAPTER 13

Mr. And Mrs. Oliver Barrett III

request the pleasure of your company

at a dinner in celebration of

Mr. Barrett's sixtieth birthday

Saturday, the sixth of March

at seven o'clock

Dover House, Ipswich, Massachusetts

R. S. V. P.

"Well?" asked Jennifer.

"Do you even have to ask?" I replied. I was in the midst of abstracting The State v. Percival, a very important precedent in criminal law. Jenny was sort of waving the invitation to bug me.

"I think it's about time, Oliver," she said.

"For what?"

"For you know very well that," she answered. "Does he have to crawl here on his hands and knees?"

I kept working as she worked me over.

"Ollie -- he's reaching out to you!"

"Bullshit, Jenny. My mother addressed the envelope."

"I thought you said you didn't look at it!" she sort of yelled.

Okay, so I did glance at it earlier. Maybe it had slipped my mind. I was, after all, in the midst of abstracting The State v. Percival, and in the virtual shadow of exams. The point was she should have stopped haranguing me.

"Ollie, think," she said, her tone kind of pleading now. "Sixty goddamn years old. Nothing says he'll still be around when you're finally ready for the reconciliation."

I informed Jenny in the simplest possible terms that there would never be a reconciliation and would she please let me continue my studying. She sat down quietly, squeezing herself onto a corner of the sofa where I had my feet. Although she didn't make a sound, I quickly became aware that she was looking at me very hard. I glanced up.

"Someday," she said, "when you're being bugged by Oliver V --"

"He won't be called Oliver, be sure of that!" I snapped at her. She didn't raise her voice, though she usually did when I did.

"Listen, Ollie, even if we name him Bozo the Clown that kid's still going to resent you because you were a big Harvard athlete. And by the time he's a freshman, you'll probably be in the Supreme Court!"

I told her that our son would definitely not resent me. She then inquired how I could be so certain of that. I couldn't produce evidence. I mean, I simply knew our son would not resent me, I couldn't say precisely why. Jenny then remarked:

"Your father loves you too, Oliver. Her loves you just the way you'll love Bozo. But you Barretts are so damn proud and competitive, you'll go through life thinking you hate each other."

"If it weren't for you," I said jokingly.

"Yes," she said.

"The case is closed," I said, being, after all, the husband and head of household. My eyes returned to The State v. Percival and Jenny got up. But then she remembered.

"There's still the matter of the RSVP."

I said that a Radcliffe music major could probably compose a nice little negative RSVP without professional guidance.

"Listen, Oliver," she said, "I've probably lied or cheated in my life. But I've never deliberately hurt anyone. I don't think I could."

Really, at that moment she was only hurting me, so I asked her politely to handle the RSVP in whatever manner she wished, as long as the essence of the message was that we wouldn't show unless hell froze over. I returned once again to The State v. Percival.

"What's the number?" I heard her say very softly. She was at the telephone.

"Can't you just write a note?"

"In a minute I'll lose my nerve. What's the number?"

I told her and was instantly immersed in Percival's appeal to the Supreme Court. I was not listening to Jenny. That is, I tried not to. She was in the same room, after all.

"Oh -- good evening, sir," I heard her say.

She had her hand over the mouthpiece.

"Ollie, does it have to be negative?"

The nod of my head indicated that it had to be, the wave of my hand indicated that she should hurry up.

"I'm terribly sorry," she said into the phone. "I mean, we're terribly sorry, sir…"

We're! Did she have to involve me in this? And why can't she get to the point and hang up?

"Oliver!"

She had her hand on the mouthpiece again and was talking very loud.

"He's wounded, Oliver! Can you just sit there and let you father bleed?"

Had she not been in such an emotional state, I could have explained once again that stones do not bleed. But she was very upset. And it was upsetting me too.

"Oliver," she pleaded, "could you just say a word?"

To him? She must be going out of her mind!

"I mean, like just maybe 'hello'?"

She was offering the phone to me. And trying not to cry.

"I will never talk to him. Ever," I said with perfect calm.

And now she was crying. Nothing audible, but tears pouring down her face. And then she -- she begged.

"For me, Oliver. I've never asked you for anything. Please."

Three of us. There of us just standing (I somehow imagined my father being there as well) waiting for something. What? For me?

I couldn't do it.

Didn't Jenny understand she was asking the impossible? That I would have done absolutely anything else? As I looked at the floor, shaking my head in adamant refusal and extreme discomfort, Jenny addressed me with a kind of whispered fury I had never heard from her:

"You are a heartless bastard,' she said. And then she ended the telephone conversation with my father saying:

"Mr. Barrett, Oliver does want you to know that in his own special way…"

She paused for breath. She had been sobbing, so it wasn't easy. I was much too astonished to do anything but await the end of my alleged "message."

"Oliver loves you very much," she said, and hung up very quickly.

There is no rational explanation for my actions in the next split second. I must never be forgiven for what I did.

I ripped the phone from her hand, then from the socket -- and hurled it across the room.

"God damn you, Jenny! Why don't you get the hell out of my life!"

I stood still, panting like the animal I had suddenly become. Jesus Christ! What the hell had happened to me? I turned to look at Jen.

But she was gone.

I mean absolutely gone, because I didn't even hear footsteps on the stairs. Christ, she must have dashed out the instant I grabbed the phone. Even her coat and scarf were still there. The pain of not knowing what to do was exceeded only by that of knowing what I had done.

I searched everywhere.

In the Law School library, I prowled the rows of grinding students, looking and looking. Up and back, at least half a dozen times. Though I didn't utter a sound, I knew my glance was so intense, my face so fierce, I was disturbing the whole place. Who cares?

But Jenny wasn't there.

Then all through Harkness Commons, the lounge, the cafeteria. Then a wild sprint to look around Agassiz Hall at Radcliffe. Not there, either. I was running everywhere now, my legs trying to catch up with the pace of my heart.

Paine Hall? (Ironic goddamn name!) Downstairs are piano practice rooms. I know Jenny. When she's angry, she pounds the keyboard. Right? But how about when she's scared to death?

It's crazy walling down the corridor, practice rooms on either side. The sounds of Mozart and Bartok, Bach and Brahms filter out from the doors and blend into this weird infernal sound.

Jenny's got to be here!

Instinct made me stop at a door where I heard the pounding (angry?) sound of a Chopin prelude. I paused for a second. The playing was lousy -- stops and starts and many mistakes. At one pause I heard a girl's voice mutter, "Shit!" It had to be Jenny. I flung open the door.

A Radcliffe girl was at the piano. She looked up. Au ugly, big-shouldered hippie Radcliffe girl, annoyed at my invasion.

"What's the matter, man?" she asked.

"Sorry," I replied, and closed the door again.

Then I tried Harvard Square. Nothing.

Where would Jenny have gone?

I just stood there, lost in the darkness of Harvard Square, not knowing where to go or what to do next. A colored guy approached me and inquired if I was in need of a fix. I kind of absently replied, "No, thank you sir."

I wasn't running now. I mean, what was the rush to return to the empty house? It was very late -- almost 1 A. M. -- and I was numb -- more with fright than with the cold (although it wasn't warm, believe me). From several yards off, I thought I saw someone sitting on the top of the steps. This had to be my eyes playing tricks, because the figure was motionless.

But it was Jenny.

She was sitting on the top step.

I was too tired to panic, too relieved to speak. Inwardly I hoped she had some blunt instrument with which to hit me.

"Jen?"

"Ollie?"

We both spoke so quietly, it was impossible to take an emotional reading.

"I forgot my key," Jenny said.

I stood there at the bottom of the steps, afraid to ask how long she had been sitting, knowing only that I had wronged her terribly.

"Jenny, I'm sorry --"

"Stop!" she cut off my apology, then said very quietly, "Love means not ever having to say you're sorry."

I climbed up the stairs to where she was sitting.

"I'd like to go to sleep. Okay?" she said.

"Okay."

We walked up to our apartment. As we undressed, she looked at me reassuringly.

"I meant what I said, Oliver."

And that was all.

————————————————
版权声明：本文为CSDN博主「预见未来to50」的原创文章，遵循CC 4.0 BY-SA版权协议，转载请附上原文出处链接及本声明。
原文链接：https://blog.csdn.net/hpdlzu80100/artic ... /120217221

[drifter]

可能还不如琼瑶水平 不如现在的网文

[cng]

没学过这篇课文。读了一下，感觉就是通俗畅销小说的路子啊，很煽情，但不太合理，也不耐嚼。即使jennifer怎么想让oliver和他爸和好，她也不该当着oliver的面给他老爸打电话说oliver爱他。这完全是不尊重oliver的意愿，一厢情愿地做老好人。oliver发火，jennifer出走，oliver再无比愧疚地到处找她，这都很俗套，没有对这个冲突的更多反思，好像只要爱就可以遮掩一切矛盾冲突。那么合理的结局是这一对会不断冲突到分手为止。

你也不必太内疚。分手不是你一个人的事（错）。如果你俩在一起，也可能有更多争吵，也难说结局怎样。要相信现在的一切是最好的

雖然俗套卻在現實生活中不斷重演。我一個朋友因遺產和他哥哥鬧翻但他太太卻不斷的想方設法替他轉圓直到今年他父親去世她被我朋友的嫂子狠狠的擺了一道才明白我朋友是對的。一厢情愿的老好人是做不得的。

[FoxMe]

哈哈。当时觉得电影很好看，歌也很好听。

没学过这篇课文。读了一下，感觉就是通俗畅销小说的路子啊，很煽情，但不太合理，也不耐嚼。即使jennifer怎么想让oliver和他爸和好，她也不该当着oliver的面给他老爸打电话说oliver爱他。这完全是不尊重oliver的意愿，一厢情愿地做老好人。oliver发火，jennifer出走，oliver再无比愧疚地到处找她，这都很俗套，没有对这个冲突的更多反思，好像只要爱就可以遮掩一切矛盾冲突。那么合理的结局是这一对会不断冲突到分手为止。

你也不必太内疚。分手不是你一个人的事（错）。如果你俩在一起，也可能有更多争吵，也难说结局怎样。要相信现在的一切是最好的

[Savage]

都是大众套路。

现在来写，就diverse多了，双方吵架之后：

a.
1. 欧立佛直接把詹妮弗按倒。。。or
2. 欧立佛找到詹妮弗，再车里按倒。。。or
3. 詹妮弗找到欧立佛的死党，被按倒。。。

b.
1. 第二天，詹妮弗的尸体被发现。。。or
2. 第二天，欧立佛的尸体被发现。。。or
3. 第二天，詹妮弗和欧立佛的尸体被发现。。。

c.
欧立佛独自吟诵 to love or not to love, that is the question。。。
詹妮弗独自吟诵 假如男人欺骗了你。。。

d.
詹妮弗使出九阴白骨爪
欧立佛亮出九阳神功
双方重伤力竭之际，服下奇淫合欢散，同归于尽

[wh]

都是大众套路。

现在来写，就diverse多了，双方吵架之后：

a.
1. 欧立佛直接把詹妮弗按倒。。。or
2. 欧立佛找到詹妮弗，再车里按倒。。。or
3. 詹妮弗找到欧立佛的死党，被按倒。。。

b.
1. 第二天，詹妮弗的尸体被发现。。。or
2. 第二天，欧立佛的尸体被发现。。。or
3. 第二天，詹妮弗和欧立佛的尸体被发现。。。

c.
欧立佛独自吟诵 to love or not to love, that is the question。。。
詹妮弗独自吟诵 假如男人欺骗了你。。。

d.
詹妮弗使出九阴白骨爪
欧立佛亮出九阳神功
双方重伤力竭之际，服下奇淫合欢散，同归于尽

哈哈这么巧，今天是莎士比亚诞辰哎

[wh]

雖然俗套卻在現實生活中不斷重演。我一個朋友因遺產和他哥哥鬧翻但他太太卻不斷的想方設法替他轉圓直到今年他父親去世她被我朋友的嫂子狠狠的擺了一道才明白我朋友是對的。一厢情愿的老好人是做不得的。

我舅妈有八个兄弟姐妹，平时热乎得很，结果老爸一死，遗产争得头破血流，把我舅妈都气哭了。

[wh]

哈哈。当时觉得电影很好看，歌也很好听。

我也记得电影非常煽情，看得难受坏了，印象很深。看的时候还小，也不知道到底好不好……

[Savage]

哈哈这么巧，今天是莎士比亚诞辰哎

辣么牛逼？佩服一下自己

[Savage]

哈哈这么巧，今天是莎士比亚诞辰哎

忘了问了，你喜欢哪个module (a/b/c/d)?

[wh]

忘了问了，你喜欢哪个module (a/b/c/d)?

a！

[曾经5段]

oliver和他富豪老爸的矛盾, 有点莫名其妙, 老爸处处迁就, Oliver一直作对, 不明白哪来的深仇大恨?

[Savage]

a！

不愧是文青呀

[Savage]

oliver和他富豪老爸的矛盾, 有点莫名其妙, 老爸处处迁就, Oliver一直作对, 不明白哪来的深仇大恨?

这就可以大做文章了。。。

可以拍一个Love Story前传：

a. 他老爸出轨
b. 他妈不是亲妈
c. 他的初恋被老爸买断分手，其实初恋是老爸出轨的女儿

[WarmFall]

记得研究生老师推荐读 animal farm， 觉得写的真好，只有我们研究生才能看到。

后来发现娃的老师也给他们读....

[Dancerock]

"Love means not ever having to say you're sorry"

这句话很煽情也很误导　不过电影的主题歌真好听

[pinfish]

不要考验人性呐

我舅妈有八个兄弟姐妹，平时热乎得很，结果老爸一死，遗产争得头破血流，把我舅妈都气哭了。

[YouHi]

都是大众套路。

现在来写，就diverse多了，双方吵架之后：

a.
1. 欧立佛直接把詹妮弗按倒。。。or
2. 欧立佛找到詹妮弗，再车里按倒。。。or
3. 詹妮弗找到欧立佛的死党，被按倒。。。

b.
1. 第二天，詹妮弗的尸体被发现。。。or
2. 第二天，欧立佛的尸体被发现。。。or
3. 第二天，詹妮弗和欧立佛的尸体被发现。。。

c.
欧立佛独自吟诵 to love or not to love, that is the question。。。
詹妮弗独自吟诵 假如男人欺骗了你。。。

d.
詹妮弗使出九阴白骨爪
欧立佛亮出九阳神功
双方重伤力竭之际，服下奇淫合欢散，同归于尽

你牛逼。

这一共有多少组合？

[wh]

记得研究生老师推荐读 animal farm， 觉得写的真好，只有我们研究生才能看到。

后来发现娃的老师也给他们读....

好像是初中生的书目？因为都是动物……