Контрольная работа на тему Художественный анализ художественного текста

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CHAPTER
I There was no possibility of taking a
walk that day. (Hyperbole)

We had been wandering, indeed, in the leafless
shrubbery an hour in the morning; but since dinner (Mrs. Reed, when there was
no company, dined early) the cold winter wind had brought with it
clouds so sombre, and a rain so penetrating, that further out-door exercise was
now out of the question. (Hyperbole)

I was glad of it: I never liked long walks, especially
on chilly afternoons: dreadful to me was the coming home in the raw twilight,
with nipped fingers and toes, and a heart saddened by the chidings of Bessie,
the nurse, and humbled by the consciousness of my physical inferiority to
Eliza, John, and Georgiana Reed.

The said Eliza, John, and Georgiana were now clustered
round their mama in the drawing-room: she lay reclined on a sofa by the
fireside, and with her darlings about her (for the time neither quarrelling nor
crying) looked perfectly happy.

Me, she had dispensed from joining the group; saying, “She regretted
to be under the necessity of keeping me at a distance; but that until she heard
from Bessie, and could discover by her own observation, that I was endeavouring
in good earnest to acquire a more sociable and childlike disposition, a more
attractive and sprightly manner — something lighter, franker, more natural, as it were — she really
must exclude me from privileges intended only for contented, happy, little
children.”

“What does Bessie say I have done?” (Litotes)

I asked.

“Jane, I don’t like
cavillers or questioners; besides, there is something truly forbidding in a
child taking up her elders in that manner.

Be seated somewhere; and until you can speak
pleasantly, remain silent.”

A breakfast-room adjoined the drawing-room, I slipped
in there.

It contained a bookcase: I soon possessed myself of a
volume, taking care that it should be one stored with pictures.

I mounted into the window-seat:
gathering up my feet, I sat cross-legged, like a Turk (Comparison); and, having
drawn the red moreen curtain nearly close, I was shrined in double retirement.

Folds of scarlet drapery shut in my view to the right
hand; to the left were the clear panes of glass, protecting, but not separating
me from the drear November day.

At intervals, while turning over the leaves of my book,
I studied the aspect of that winter afternoon. Afar, it
offered a pale blank of mist and cloud; near a scene of wet lawn and storm-beat
shrub, with ceaseless rain sweeping away wildly before a long and lamentable
blast.

I returned to my book — Bewick’s History of
British Birds: the letterpress thereof I cared little for, generally speaking;
and yet there were certain introductory pages that, child as I was, I
could not pass quite as a blank. (Comparison)

They were those which treat of the haunts of sea-fowl;
of “the solitary
rocks and promontories”
by them only inhabited; of the coast of Norway, studded with isles from
its southern extremity, the Lindeness, or Naze, to the North Cape —

“Where the
Northern Ocean, in vast whirls,

Boils round the naked, melancholy isles

Of farthest Thule; and the Atlantic surge