The Portrait of a Lady 贵妇的画像 [平装] pdf epub mobi txt 电子书 下载 2025

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Henry James（亨利·詹姆斯） 著

图书标签:

• 小说
• 经典文学
• 美国文学
• 女性文学
• 心理小说
• 亨利·詹姆斯
• 19世纪文学
• 人物传记
• 爱情
• 社会小说

出版社： Penguin US

ISBN：9780451530523

版次：1

商品编码：19043427

包装：平装

丛书名： Signet Classics

出版时间：2007-07-03

用纸：胶版纸

页数：640

正文语种：英文

商品尺寸：10.92x2.79x17.27cm

编辑推荐

《贵妇的画像》是亨利·詹姆斯的早期代表作，被西方批评家看成是美国现代小说的一个发端。

内容简介

When Isabel Archer, a beautiful, spirited American, is brought to Europe by her wealthy Aunt Touchett, it is expected that she will soon marry. But Isabel, resolved to determine her own fate, does not hesitate to turn down two eligible suitors. She then finds herself irresistibly drawn to Gilbert Osmond, who, beneath his veneer of charm and cultivation, is cruelty itself. A story of intense poignancy, Isabel's tale of love and betrayal still resonates with modern audiences.
女主人公伊莎贝尔·阿切尔是一位年轻貌美的美国少女，父母双亡后，被她富有的姨母带出美国一个小城，到她梦魂萦绕的古老欧洲去见识大千世界。她在伦敦郊外的“花园山庄”里暂住，先后拒绝了英国贵族沃伯顿和美国富商戈德伍德的求婚。她的表兄拉尔夫也暗暗爱上她，但他知道自己患不治之症无法结婚，只是说服病危的父亲把一笔巨额遗产留给表妹。伊莎贝尔又结识了高雅华贵、才艺超群的梅尔夫人，对这位已彻底欧洲化了的美国女人十分倾倒。姨父故世后，伊莎贝尔得到遗产去意大利游历。她在陶醉于佛罗伦萨和罗马的历史遗迹的同时，也渐渐进入梅尔夫人精心布下的圈套之中。梅尔夫人介绍她认识了一位长期侨居意大利的美国“半吊子艺术家”奥斯蒙德，此人看来儒雅斯文，富有教养。伊莎贝尔为之动心；还有他那位楚楚动人的女儿帕茜，也引起她的爱怜。她不顾周围亲戚和朋友的一再警告和反对，自作主张地下嫁于他。婚后她渐渐发现自己受了骗，奥斯蒙德确实是一条自私伪善的花丛中的毒蛇。她还发现梅尔夫人早就是奥斯蒙德的情妇，帕茜便是他们的私生女。在万分痛苦之时，她强作欢颜，对外人隐瞒了婚姻不幸的实情。表兄拉尔夫在英国病危，伊莎贝尔不顾丈夫的反对赶去看他。拉尔夫死后，伊莎贝尔出乎众人的预料，又回到罗马。

作者简介

Henry James (1843-1916), born in New York City, was the son of noted religious philosopher Henry James, Sr., and brother of eminent psychologist and philosopher William James. He spent his early life in America and studied in Geneva, London and Paris during his adolescence to gain the worldly experience so prized by his father. He lived in Newport, went briefly to Harvard Law School, and in 1864 began to contribute both criticism and tales to magazines. In 1869, and then in 1872-74, he paid visits to Europe and began his first novel, Roderick Hudson. Late in 1875 he settled in Paris, where he met Turgenev, Flaubert, and Zola, and wrote The American (1877). In December 1876 he moved to London, where two years later he achieved international fame with Daisy Miller. Other famous works include Washington Square (1880), The Portrait of a Lady (1881), The Princess Casamassima (1886), The Aspern Papers (1888), The Turn of the Screw (1898), and three large novels of the new century, The Wings of the Dove (1902), The Ambassadors (1903) and The Golden Bowl (1904). In 1905 he revisited the United States and wrote The American Scene (1907). During his career, he also wrote many works of criticism and travel. Although old and ailing, he threw himself into war work in 1914, and in 1915, a few months before his death, he became a British subject. In 1916 King George V conferred the Order of Merit on him. He died in London in February 1916.

亨利·詹姆斯(Henry James, 1843年4月15日- 1916年2月28日、享年73岁)，英国-美国作家，出身于纽约的上层知识分子家庭，父亲老亨利·詹姆斯是著名学者，兄长威廉·詹姆斯是知名的哲学家和心理学家。詹姆斯本人长期旅居欧洲，对19世纪末美国和欧洲的上层生活有细致入微的观察。詹姆斯是同性恋者。他与同时代的美国女作家伊迪丝·华顿保持着长期的友谊。

精彩书摘

Under certain circumstances there are few hours in life more agreeable than the hour dedicated to the ceremony known as afternoon tea. There are circumstances in which, whether you partake of the tea or not—some people of course never do,—the situation is in itself delightful. Those that I have in mind in beginning to unfold this simple history offered an admirable setting to an innocent pastime. The implements of the little feast had been disposed upon the lawn of an old English country-house, in what I should call the perfect middle of a splendid summer afternoon. Part of the afternoon had waned, but much of it was left, and what was left was of the finest and rarest quality. Real dusk would not arrive for many hours; but the flood of summer light had begun to ebb, the air had grown mellow, the shad- ows were long upon the smooth, dense turf. They lengthened slowly, however, and the scene expressed that sense of leisure still to come which is perhaps the chief source of one’s enjoyment of such a scene at such an hour. From five o’clock to eight is on certain occasions a little eternity; but on such an occasion as this the interval could be only an eternity of pleasure. The persons concerned in it were taking their pleasure quietly, and they were not of the sex which is supposed to furnish the regular votaries of the ceremony I have mentioned. The shadows on the perfect lawn were straight and angular; they were the shadows of an old man sitting in a deep wicker-chair near the low table on which the tea had been served, and of two younger men strolling to and fro, in desultory talk, in front of him. The old man had his cup in his hand; it was an unusually large cup, of a different pattern from the rest of the set and painted in brilliant colours. He disposed of its contents with much circumspection, holding it for a long time close to his chin, with his face turned to the house. His companions had either finished their tea or were indifferent to their privilege; they smoked cigarettes as they continued to stroll. One of them, from time to time, as he passed, looked with a certain attention at the elder man, who, unconscious of observation, rested his eyes upon the rich red front of his dwelling. The house that rose beyond the lawn was a structure to repay such consideration and was the most characteristic object in the peculiarly English picture I have attempted to sketch. It stood upon a low hill, above the river—the river being the Thames at some forty miles from London. A long gabled front of red brick, with the complexion of which time and the weather had played all sorts of pictorial tricks, only, however, to improve and refine it, presented to the lawn its patches of ivy, its clustered chimneys, its windows smothered in creepers. The house had a name and a history; the old gentleman taking his tea would have been delighted to tell you these things: how it had been built under Edward the Sixth, had offered a night’s hospitality to the great Elizabeth (whose august person had extended itself upon a huge, magnificent and terribly angular bed which still formed the principal honour of the sleeping apartments), had been a good deal bruised and defaced in Cromwell’s wars, and then, under the Restoration, repaired and much enlarged; and how, finally, after having been remodelled and disfigured in the eighteenth century, it had passed into the careful keeping of a shrewd American banker, who had bought it originally because (owing to circumstances too complicated to set forth) it was offered at a great bargain: bought it with much grumbling at its ugliness, its antiquity, its incommodity, and who now, at the end of twenty years, had become conscious of a real ?sthetic passion for it, so that he knew all its points and would tell you just where to stand to see them in combination and just the hour when the shadows of its various protuberances—which fell so softly upon the warm, weary brickwork—were of the right measure. Besides this, as I have said, he could have counted off most of the successive owners and occupants, several of whom were known to general fame; doing so, however, with an undemonstrative conviction that the latest phase of its destiny was not the least honourable. The front of the house overlooking that portion of the lawn with which we are concerned was not the entrance-front; this was in quite another quarter. Privacy here reigned supreme, and the wide carpet of turf that covered the level hill-top seemed but the extension of a luxurious interior. The great still oaks and beeches flung down a shade as dense as that of velvet curtains; and the place was furnished, like a room, with cushioned seats, with rich-coloured rugs, with the books and papers that lay upon the grass. The river was at some distance; where the ground began to slope the lawn, properly speaking, ceased. But it was none the less a charming walk down to the water. The old gentleman at the tea-table, who had come from America thirty years before, had brought with him, at the top of his baggage, his American physiognomy; and he had not only brought it with him, but he had kept it in the best order, so that, if necessary, he might have taken it back to his own country with perfect confidence. At present, obviously, nevertheless, he was not likely to displace himself; his journeys were over and he was taking the rest that precedes the great rest. He had a narrow, clean-shaven face, with features evenly distributed and an expression of placid acuteness. It was evidently a face in which the range of representation was not large, so that the air of contented shrewdness was all the more of a merit. It seemed to tell that he had been successful in life, yet it seemed to tell also that his success had not been exclusive and invidious, but had had much of the inoffensiveness of failure. He had certainly had a great experience of men, but there was an almost rustic simplicity in the faint smile that played upon his lean, spacious cheek and lighted up his humorous eye as he at last slowly and carefully deposited his big tea-cup upon the table. He was neatly dressed, in well-brushed black; but a shawl was folded upon his knees, and his feet were encased in thick, embroidered slippers. A beautiful collie dog lay upon the grass near his chair, watching the master’s face almost as tenderly as the master took in the still more magisterial physiognomy of the house; and a little bristling, bustling terrier bestowed a desultory attendance upon the other gentlemen. One of these was a remarkably well-made man of five-and-thirty, with a face as English as that of the old gentleman I have just sketched was something else; a noticeably handsome face, fresh-coloured, fair and frank, with firm, straight features, a lively grey eye and the rich adornment of a chestnut beard. This person had a certain fortunate, brilliant exceptional look—the air of a happy temperament fertilised by a high civilisation—which would have made almost any observer envy him at a venture. He was booted and spurred, as if he had dismounted from a long ride; he wore a white hat, which looked too large for him; he held his two hands behind him, and in one of them—a large, white, well-shaped fist—was crumpled a pair of soiled dog-skin gloves. His companion, measuring the length of the lawn beside him, was a person of quite a different pattern, who, although he might have excited grave curiosity, would not, like the other, have provoked you to wish yourself, almost blindly, in his place. Tall, lean, loosely and feebly put together, he had an ugly, sickly, witty, charming face, furnished, but by no means decorated, with a straggling moustache and whisker. He looked clever and ill—a combination by no means felicitous; and he wore a brown velvet jacket. He carried his hands in his pockets, and there was something in the way he did it that showed the habit was inveterate. His gait had a shambling, wandering quality; he was not very firm on his legs. As I have said, whenever he passed the old man in the chair he rested his eyes upon him; and at this moment, with their faces brought into relation, you would easily have seen they were father and son. The father caught his son’s eye at last and gave him a mild, responsive smile. “I’m getting on very well,” he said. “Have you drunk your tea?” asked the son. “Yes, and enjoyed it.” “Shall I give you some more?” The old man considered, placidly. “Well, I guess I’ll wait and see.” He had, in speaking, the American tone. “Are you cold?” the son enquired. The father slowly rubbed his legs. “Well, I don’t know. I can’t tell till I feel.” “Perhaps some one might feel for you,” said the younger man, laughing. “Oh, I hope some one will always feel for me! Don’t you feel for me, Lord Warburton?” “Oh yes, immensely,” said the gentleman addressed as Lord Warburton, promptly. “I’m bound to say you look wonderfully comfortable.” “Well, I suppose I am, in most respects.” And the old man looked down at his green shawl and smoothed it over his knees. “The fact is I’ve been comfortable so many years that I suppose I’ve got so used to it I don’t know it.” “Yes, that’s the bore of comfort,” said Lord Warburton. “We only know when we’re uncomfortable.” “It strikes me we’re rather particular,” his companion remarked. “Oh yes, there’s no doubt we’re particular,” Lord Warburton murmured. And then the three men remained silent a while; the two younger ones standing looking down at the other, who presently asked for more tea. “I should think you would be very unhappy with that shawl,” Lord Warburton resumed while his companion filled the old man’s cup again. “Oh no, he must have the shawl!” cried the gentleman in the velvet coat. “Don’t put such ideas as that into his head.” “It belongs to my wife,” said the old man simply. “Oh, if it’s for sentimental reasons—” And Lord Warburton made a gesture of apology. “I suppose I must give it to her when she comes,” the old man went on. “You’ll please to do nothing of the kind. You’ll keep it to cover your poor old legs.” “Well, you mustn’t abuse my legs,” said the old man. “I guess they are as good as yours.” “Oh, you’re perfectly free to abuse mine,” his son replied, giving him his tea. “Well, we’re two lame ducks; I don’t think there’s much difference.” “I’m much obliged to you for calling me a duck. How’s your tea?” “Well, it’s rather hot.” “That’s intended to be a merit.” “Ah, there’s a great deal of merit,” murmured the old man, kindly. “He’s a very good nurse, Lord Warburton.” “Isn’t he a bit clumsy?” asked his lordship. “Oh no, he’s not clumsy—considering that he’s an invalid himself. He’s a very good nurse—for a sick-nurse. I call him my sick-nurse because he’s sick himself.” “Oh, come, daddy!” the ugly young man exclaimed. “Well, you are; I wish you weren’t. But I suppose you can’t help it.” “I might try: that’s an idea,” said the young man. “Were you ever sick, Lord Warburton?” his father asked. Lord Warburton considered a moment. “Yes, sir, once, in the Persian Gulf.” “He’s making light of you, daddy,” said the other young man. “That’s a sort of joke.” “Well, there seem to be so many sorts now,” daddy replied, serenely. “You don’t look as if you had been sick, any way, Lord Warburton.” “He’s sick of life; he was just telling me so; going on fearfully about it,” said Lord Warburton’s friend. “Is that true, sir?” asked the old man gravely. “If it is, your son gave me no consolation. He’s a wretched fel- low to talk to—a regular cynic. He doesn’t seem to believe in anything.” “That’s another sort of joke,” said the person accused of cynicism. “It’s because his health is so poor,” his father explained to Lord Warburton. “It affects his mind and colours his way of looking at things; he seems to feel as if he had never had a chance. But it’s almost entirely theoretical, you know; it doesn’t seem to affect his spirits. I’ve hardly ever seen him when he wasn’t cheerful—about as he is at present. He often cheers me up.” The young man so described looked at Lord Warburton and laughed. “Is it a glowing eulogy or an accusation of levity? Should you like me to carry out my theories, daddy?” “By Jove, we should see some queer things!” cried Lord Warburton. “I hope you haven’t taken up that sort of tone,” said the old man. “Warburton’s tone is worse than mine; he pretends to be bored. I’m not in the least bored; I find life only too interesting.” “Ah, too interesting; you shouldn’t allow it to be that, you know!” “I’m never bored when I come here,” said Lord Warburton. “One gets such uncommonly good talk.” “Is that another sort of joke?” asked the old man. “You’ve no excuse for being bored anywhere. When I was your age I had never heard of such a thing.” “You must have developed very late.” “No, I developed very quick; that was just the reason. When I was twenty years old I was very highly developed indeed. I was working tooth and nail. You wouldn’t be bored if you had something to do; but all you young men are too idle. You think too much of your pleasure. You’re too fastidious, and too indolent, and too rich.” “Oh, I say,” cried Lord Warburton, “you’re hardly the person to accuse a fellow-creature of being too rich!” “Do you mean because I’m a banker?” asked the old man. “Because of that, if you like; and because you have—haven’t you?—such unlimited means.” “He isn’t very rich,” the other young man mercifully pleaded. “He has given away an immense deal of money.” “Well, I suppose it was his own,” said Lord Warburton; “and in that case could there be a better proof of wealth? Let not a public benefactor talk of one’s being too fond of pleasure.”

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前言/序言

《玫瑰与匕首：维多利亚时代晚期的社会图景与女性命运》 一部深入剖析十九世纪末英格兰上流社会复杂人际关系、道德困境与女性自我觉醒的宏大叙事。 内容提要： 本书以详实的史料和细腻的笔触，构建了一幅十九世纪维多利亚时代晚期英国贵族与中产阶级交织的社会全景图。故事围绕着一桩看似完美的婚姻破裂及其引发的连锁反应展开，聚焦于身处财富、地位与个人自由之间的微妙平衡点上的几位核心人物。我们跟随主角——一位拥有新式教育、渴望独立思考的年轻女性伊莎贝拉·福克斯，观察她如何在新旧观念的碰撞中挣扎求存；同时，深入探索一个看似光鲜亮丽的家族——坎贝尔家族，他们光辉的表面下隐藏着关于财产继承、家族责任以及难以启齿的秘密。 本书不仅仅是关于爱情与婚姻的叙事，更是对当时社会结构、法律体系（尤其针对女性的财产继承权和婚姻中的法律地位）以及新兴道德观念的一次深刻反思。通过对沙龙、舞会、乡间庄园和伦敦社交圈的细致描绘，读者得以窥见那个时代特有的礼仪、潜规则以及权力运作的微妙机制。 核心主题与章节概述： 第一部分：华美的囚笼——身份与期望的重压 本部分着力刻画伊莎贝拉·福克斯的成长背景。她出生于一个崇尚自由思想的家庭，却被卷入了与老牌贵族家族的联姻漩涡。伊莎贝拉的教育让她对外部世界充满好奇，渴望超越传统女性的“家庭天使”角色。我们详细描绘了当时的教育体系如何塑造（或压抑）女性的志向。重点在于描述她与未婚夫——一位典型的英国绅士，阿奇博尔德·布莱克伍德——之间，在价值观上的第一次裂痕。阿奇博尔德代表着根深蒂固的父权观念和对女性行为的严格规范，而伊莎贝拉则在暗中阅读那些挑战传统观念的哲学著作。 章节聚焦： 伦敦社交季的浮华与虚伪；对“得体行为”的社会契约分析；早期女权思潮在私密信件中的隐秘传播。 第二部分：遗产的阴影——金钱、法律与父权结构 随着故事的深入，焦点转向坎贝尔家族对巨额遗产的争夺。这部分内容是对当时英国继承法，特别是针对女性继承权的详细剖析。我们引入了律师托马斯·格兰特先生的角色，他代表着法律的冷峻与理性。通过一系列复杂的法律文书和家族密会的场景，揭示了财富如何在男性继承人之间流动，以及女性在婚姻中对自身财产的控制力是何等微弱。伊莎贝拉发现，她的“嫁妆”实际上是她未来丈夫控制力的象征。这一部分的叙事节奏加快，充满了悬念，关于一份被隐藏的遗嘱和一段被刻意遗忘的往事逐渐浮出水面。 章节聚焦： 维多利亚时代遗嘱的法律效力；“夫权对妻权的吸收”在法律实践中的体现；乡村庄园的经济运营与家族责任的捆绑。 第三部分：道德的十字路口——诱惑、审判与选择 伊莎贝拉在社交场中遇到了富有魅力的异乡人——一位来自欧洲大陆的艺术家，儒利安·德·马尔萨克。儒利安以其对艺术和个性的狂热追求，深深吸引了渴望挣脱束缚的伊莎贝拉。这段关系并非简单的浪漫出逃，而是一场关乎个体自由意志与社会责任的严肃辩论。当这段关系因流言蜚语而暴露时，伊莎贝拉面临着社会舆论近乎残酷的审判。本书细致描绘了当时“体面社会”如何利用流言蜚语作为一种无形的武器来维护其既有秩序。伊莎贝拉必须在屈从于家族期望、保全“名声”与坚持内心对真实情感的追求之间做出选择。 章节聚焦： 维多利亚时代的双重道德标准（针对男女的差异）；流言蜚语在信息不发达时代的力量；“体面”的社会成本分析。 第四部分：黄昏的觉醒——回归与重塑 故事的后半部分着重于对先前选择的后果进行处理。伊莎贝拉最终决定不以牺牲自我完整性的方式去“修复”她的社会地位。她与阿奇博尔德的婚姻走向终结，但这次分离并非传统意义上的“失败”。通过与格兰特先生（律师）之间关于法律与人性的探讨，伊莎贝拉开始探索如何在既有的社会框架内，为自己和与她有类似境遇的女性开辟新的道路。她最终将目光投向了教育事业，利用自己继承的、但现在由自己完全掌控的小笔财产，投身于为那些没有良好家庭背景的女性提供职业培训。 章节聚焦： 离婚在当时社会中的污名化及其法律限制；女性在失去婚姻庇护后的经济生存策略；从社交名媛到社会改革者的身份转型。 文学风格与特色： 本书的叙事语言力求典雅、精准，继承了十九世纪现实主义小说的传统，注重环境细节的描摹和人物内心活动的深度挖掘。作者擅长运用对比手法，将乡村的宁静与伦敦的喧嚣、旧道德的束缚与新思想的萌芽并置，形成强烈的张力。书中大量引用了当时的信件、日记片段以及当时的报纸评论，使得历史背景的再现具有极强的真实感和沉浸感。人物对话机智且充满潜台词，充分展现了那个时代社交场合下语言的艺术性与策略性。 本书价值： 《玫瑰与匕首》不仅为读者提供了对维多利亚时代晚期社会风貌的详尽记录，更通过伊莎贝拉的命运，探讨了跨越时代的议题：个体自由与社会责任的界限，女性在父权结构下的生存智慧，以及真正的独立和自我价值的实现，究竟意味着什么。它是一部关于忍耐、抗争、最终自我确立的女性史诗。

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拿到这本《The Portrait of a Lady 贵妇的画像 [平装]》时，我脑海里首先浮现的是詹姆斯·麦克尼尔·惠特尼笔下那些神秘而优雅的肖像画。我总觉得，一本以“画像”命名的书籍，必定会在人物的塑造上投入巨大的心力，力求将笔下的人物描绘得栩栩如生，仿佛跃然纸上。我期待作者能够运用细腻的笔触，去刻画那位“贵妇”的音容笑貌，她的眼神中流露出的喜怒哀乐，她的举手投足间所展现出的修养与气质。我更期待的，是透过这幅“画像”，能够看到她内心世界的波澜起伏，她所经历的挣扎与抉择，她对于生活、对于爱情、对于自由的理解与追求。在这个信息爆炸的时代，我们往往习惯了快餐式的阅读，但有时，一本能够让你沉浸其中，细细品味的文学作品，反而更能触动人心。平装的格式，或许也暗示着一种朴素的力量，不需要华丽的外衣，内容本身就足以打动读者。我希望这本书能够带给我一次深刻的阅读体验，让我能够与书中的人物产生共鸣，甚至在某个瞬间，感受到自己也成为了故事的一部分。

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第一次注意到《The Portrait of a Lady 贵妇的画像 [平装]》这本书，是在一家书店里。那简洁而富有质感的封面设计，以及“贵妇的画像”这个书名，立刻吸引了我的目光。我一直对那些能够深入刻画人物内心世界的作品情有独钟，而“画像”这个词，在我看来，本身就蕴含着一种对细节的极致追求。我猜想，这本书一定会在人物的塑造上下足功夫，通过细腻的笔触，将那位“贵妇”的形象，无论是外在的神韵，还是内在的情感，都描绘得淋漓尽致。我很好奇，在这幅“画像”之下，究竟隐藏着怎样的故事？是关于爱情的甜蜜与苦涩，是关于梦想的追求与幻灭，还是关于个体在社会洪流中的挣扎与抉择？平装的书籍，往往有一种亲切感，仿佛它不是高高在上的艺术品，而是可以和你促膝长谈的朋友。我期待这本书能够带给我一次意想不到的阅读惊喜，让我能够沉浸在其中，与书中的人物一同经历人生的起伏，去感受那个时代的独特魅力。

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我是在一个偶然的机会，翻开这本《The Portrait of a Lady 贵妇的画像 [平装]》的。我一直以来都对19世纪末期的欧洲社会有着浓厚的兴趣，尤其是那些生活在那段繁华又暗流涌动的时代背景下的女性命运。这本书的书名本身就充满了古典的韵味，"贵妇的画像"这几个字，在我脑海中勾勒出一幅幅精致的画面，让我忍不住想要一探究竟，这幅画像究竟描绘了怎样的灵魂，又隐藏了怎样的故事。我尤其好奇，在这个以男性为主导的时代，一位“贵妇”的画像，是否意味着我们可以窥见女性在那个时代有限的空间里，所展现出的独特的光辉，或是无声的反抗？书的装帧选择了平装，这倒是出乎我的意料，我原以为会是一本厚重的精装本，充满了历史的沉淀感。然而，平装的设定反而让它显得更加触手可及，仿佛是一本可以随时带在身边，在某个午后阳光正好，或者某个安静的夜晚，慢慢品读的书籍。我期待它能够带领我穿越时空，去感受那个时代的氛围，去理解那些复杂的人性，去体会一段属于“贵妇”的，或许不为人知的，生命轨迹。这本书在我书架上已经静静地躺了一段时间，每次看到它，都有一种莫名的期待感，感觉它蕴含着一个等待我去发现的宝藏。

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我对于《The Portrait of a Lady 贵妇的画像 [平装]》这本书的兴趣，很大程度上源于其标题所蕴含的象征意义。在我看来，“画像”不仅仅是对一个人外在形象的描摹，更是对其内心世界、精神状态的一种解读和呈现。而“贵妇”这一身份，则自带了一种阶级、财富、地位以及与之相伴随的某种规范和期望。我好奇的是，当这二者结合时，作者究竟想要揭示一个怎样的图景？是一位身处优渥生活中的女性，如何在这个由社会规则构筑的框架内，寻找自我，实现价值？还是说，这幅“画像”本身，就是一种对社会身份的审视，是对传统女性角色的挑战？平装的出版形式，让我觉得这本书可能并没有试图以一种高高在上的姿态去呈现，而是更倾向于与读者进行一种平等、亲切的交流。我期待在阅读的过程中，能够跟随作者的笔触，深入到那个“贵妇”的灵魂深处，去理解她的孤独，她的渴望，她的坚韧，或者她可能拥有的，不为人知的另一面。这不仅仅是对一个人物的了解，更是对一个时代，一种生活方式的窥探。

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我是在一个朋友的书单里看到了《The Portrait of a Lady 贵妇的画像 [平装]》。朋友的品味我一向很信赖，而且这个书名本身就有一种莫名的吸引力，仿佛是一个古老的故事，在等待着被讲述。我尤其喜欢那些能够描绘出特定时代背景下，人物情感细腻变化的文学作品。我对于“贵妇”这个词，有着复杂的情感。一方面，它代表着优雅、精致和物质上的富足；但另一方面，我也知道，在很多情况下，这种身份也伴随着束缚、责任和不为人道的牺牲。因此，我非常好奇，作者会如何去呈现这位“贵妇”的形象？她的生活是否真的如外界所见的那么光鲜亮丽？她内心深处，又有着怎样的波澜？平装的版本，让我觉得这本书可能更适合在闲暇时光，泡一杯茶，静静地翻阅，让思绪随着文字慢慢舒展开来。我期待这本书能够带给我一种沉浸式的阅读体验，让我仿佛置身于那个时代，亲眼目睹这位“贵妇”的人生故事，去感受她的喜怒哀乐，去思考她所面临的选择与命运。

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使你心胸顿时豁然开朗，感到世界是那么美好，人间是那么可爱。 读书的感觉真好。

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书就像人类的精神营养剂，缺了它，生活必缺陷。让我们别留下遗憾，拿起书吧！

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学习和掌握一些读书的方法，这不是人生的第一大快事吗？下面，我就和大家分享读书的各种乐趣吧！

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亨利。詹姆斯盛年巅峰之作，可与《红楼梦》较高下，夏济安先生也有同感。

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书是我们精神的巢穴，生命的源泉。古今中外有成就的人，到与书结下了不解之缘，

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在京东上买书也是很方便的

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不错

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提高人的综合能力；读书可豪情满怀，使人精神更加振奋；读书可泣人泪下，

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还不错还不错还不错还不错还不错还不错还不错还不错