If you know Starkfield,Massachusetts,you know the post office there.If you know the post office,you have probably seen Ethan Frome driving up to it in his buggy (輕便馬車) and you have probably wondered who he was.

He was a noticeable figure.His tall,strong body was badly twisted,and much shorter on the right side than on the left.He moved slowly and painfully,pulling himself along.Just the few steps from his buggy to the post office were clearly difficult for him.His face had a sad,grim(陰冷的；嚴肅的) look.It was the face and body of an old man,and I was surprised to hear that he was only fifty-two.

I learnt this from Harmon Gow,a man who knew all the families around Starkfield.

“He's been like that since his bad accident,nearly twenty-four years ago,”said Harmon.“But the Fromes don't die young.Ethan'll live to a hundred,probably.”

“He looks like a dead man already,”I said.

“I guess he's been in Starkfield too many winters,”said Harmon.“Most smart people get out of here.”

“Why didn't he get out?”I asked.

“He had to stay and take care of his family—first his father got hurt,then his mother fell sick,then his wife.”

“And then the accident?”

Harmon gave a little smile.“That's right.He had to stay then.”

Ethan Frome used to drive in from his farm every day at about midday,and because I picked up my mail at about the same time,I often saw him.He came to the post office only for a newspaper,and sometimes for a packet from a medicine company for“Mrs Zeena Frome”.Starkfield's people understood that he did not want to stop and talk,and on most days Frome climbed slowly back into his buggy and drove away without a word to anyone.

At that time,my company had sent me to do an engineering job near Starkfield,and I was staying at the home of a lady called Mrs Ruth Hale.Ruth Hale enjoyed talking about her neighbors,and I hoped that she could tell me more about Ethan Frome.But when I asked her,she just looked unhappy.I asked other people,and everybody in Starkfield agreed that Ethan Frome had more troubles in his life than most people.But nobody explained why he had that sad,grim look on his face.

In the end,I learnt the story,piece by piece,from several people.As often happens,the story was different each time,but I slowly began to put it together.And my interest in Ethan Frome grew stronger when—a little later—I met the man himself.

It happened like this.Every day,I had to travel about three miles to the station,where I got my train to work.I usually hired a horse from Denis Eady,the rich village shopkeeper.But in the middle of winter,his and most of the other Starkfield horses caught an illness.For a day or two,I could not find a horse to hire anywhere,until Harmon Gow had an idea.

“Why don't you ask Ethan Frome to drive you?”He said.“His horse isn't sick,and he needs a dollar or two.That Frome's farm and saw-mill (大型鋸機) don't make enough money to keep a cat alive.”

So Ethan Frome agreed to drive me,and every day for a week,I sat beside him in his sleigh as his thin horse pulled us over the hard snow to the station.Then,in the icy evenings,he brought me back to Starkfield.

He was not unfriendly,but during the hour's drive,he never turned to look at me,and spoke very little.Once I said something about Florida and he told me that he had been there.Another time,he showed interest in a science book of mine,which I had left in his sleigh by mistake in the morning.But most of the time Frome drove without a word,and I began to feel that he was like the land around him.This sad,silent man and the snow-covered fields had the same kind of cold loneliness.Anything warm and alive inside him was locked away,under the deep icy cold of too many Starkfield winters.

Reading

Check

1.What can we know about Ethan Frome's appearance?

_____________________________________________________

2.Which words can be used to describe Ethan Frome's character?

_____________________________________________________

3.Underline sentences that impress you in the text and give your reasons.

_____________________________________________________