lid
n. a cover for the open part of a box, pot or other container 盖子

majority
n. most of the people or things in a particular group 多数

midway
n. half way between two places

moderately
adv. fairly but not very

oddly
adv. in a strange way

outline
v. to describe sth. in a general way without giving all the details 略述……要点

part
v. to leave each other; to separate 分手

partner
n. (used in informal AmE)a male friend

pocket
v. to put sth. into a pocket

release
v. to stop holding sth.

scar
n. a mark left on the skin after you have had a cut or wound 伤疤

sharply
adv. in a severe and disapproving way 厉声地

simultaneous
adj. happening or done at exactly the same time 同时发生的

spectator
n. an onlooker 旁观者

square-jawed
adj. 宽下巴的

telegraph
v. 打电报

steady
adj. 平稳的；不颤抖的

superiority
n. an attitude that shows you are better than others 优越感；自信

tiepin
n. 领带别针

track
n. to lose ～ : fail to keep contact with sb. 失去联系；断了线索

tremble
v. to shake slightly with fear that one can not control 震颤

unfold
v. to open (the piece of paper) so that it becomes flat

watchful
adj. careful to notice what is happening 警觉的

TEXT B

A Man Who Had No Eyes MacKinlay Kantor

A beggar was coming down the avenue just as Mr. Parsons emerged from his hotel.
He was a blind beggar, carrying the traditional odd stick cane, and thumping his way before him with the cautious, half-furtive effort of the sightless. He was an untidy, thick-necked fellow with long hair; his coat was greasy about the pockets, and his hand rested over the stick with a futile sort of clinging. He wore a small bag slung over his shoulder. Apparently he had something to sell.
The air was rich with spring; the sun was warm and yellowed on the asphalt. Mr. Parsons, standing there in front of his hotel and noting the clack-clack approach of the sightless man, felt a sudden and foolish sort of pity for all blind creatures.
And, thought Mr. Parsons, he was very glad to be alive. A few years ago he had been little more than a skilled laborer; now he was successful, respected, admired ... Insurance ... And he had done it alone, unaided, struggling beneath handicaps ... And he was still young. The blue air of spring, fresh from its memories of windy pools and beautiful trees, could excite him with eagerness.
He took a step forward just as the tap-tapping blind man passed him by. Quickly the shabby fellow turned.
"Listen, guv'nor. Just a minute of your time."
Mr. Parsons said, "It's late. I have an appointment. Do you want me to give you something?"
"I ain't no beggar, guv'nor. You bet I ain't. I got a handy little article here"—he fumbled until he could press a small object into Mr. Parsons' hand— "that I sell. One buck. Best cigarette lighter made."
Mr. Parsons stood there, somewhat annoyed and embarrassed. He was a handsome figure with his neat gray suit and gray hat and expensive stick. Of course the man with the cigarette lighters could not see him... "But I don't smoke," he said.
"Listen. I bet you know plenty of people who smoke. It would be a nice little present," said the man. "And, mister, you wouldn't mind helping a poor guy out?" He clung to Mr. Parsons' sleeve.
Mr. Parsons sighed and felt in his vest pocket. He brought out two half dollars and pressed them into the man's hand. "Certainly. I'll help you out. As you say, I can give it to someone. Maybe the elevator boy would—" He hesitated, not wishing to be rude and inquisitive, even with a blind peddler. "Have you lost your sight entirely?"
The shabby man pocketed the two half dollars. "Fourteen years, guv'nor." Then he added with an insane sort of pride: "Westbury, sir. I was one of 'em."
"Westbury," repeated Mr. Parsons. "AR, yes. The chemical explosion ... The papers haven't mentioned it for years. But at the time it was supposed to be one of the greatest disasters in—"
"They've all forgot about it." The fellow shifted his feet wearily. "I tell you, guv'nor, a man who was in it don't forget about it. Last thing I ever saw was C shop going up in one grand smudge, and that damn' gas pouring in at all the broken windows."
Mr. Parsons coughed. But the blind peddler was caught up with the train of his one dramatic story. And, also, he was thinking that there might be more half dollars in Mr. Parsons' pocket.
"Just think about it, guv'nor. There was a hundred and eight people killed, about two hundred injured, and over fifty of them lost their eyes. Blind as bats—" He groped forward until his dirty hand rested against Mr. Parsons'coat. "I tell you, sir, there was nothing worse than that in the war. If I had lost my eyes in the war, okay. I would have been well taken care of. But I was just a workman, working for what was in it. And I got it. You' re damn' right I got it, while the capitalists were making their dough! They were insured, don't worry about that. They—"
"Insured," repeated his listener. "Yes. That's what I sell—"
"You want to know how I lost my eyes?" cried the man. "Well, here it is!" His words fell with the bitter and studied drama of a story often told, and told for money. "I was there in the C shop, last of all the folks rushing out. Out in the air there was a chance, even with buildings exploding right and left. A lot of guys made it safe out the door and got away. And just when I was about there, crawling along between those big vats, a guy behind me grabs my leg. He says, 'Let me past, you—!' Maybe he was mad. I don't know. I try to forgive him in my heart, guv'nor. But he was bigger than me. He pulls me back and climbs right over me! Tramples me into the dirt. And he gets out, and I lie there with all that poison gas pouring down on all sides of me, and flame and stuff..." He swallowed—a studied sob—and stood silently expectant. He could imagine the next words: Tough luck, my man. Damned tough. Now, I want to—
"That's the story, guv'nor."
The spring wind shrilled past them, damp and quivering.
"Not quite," said Mr. Parsons.
The blind peddler shivered crazily. "Not quite? What you mean, you—?"
"The story is true," Mr. Parsons said, "except that it was the other way around."
"Other way around?" He croaked unamiably. "Say, guv'nor—"
"I was in C shop," said Mr. Parsons. "It was the other way around. You were the fellow who pulled me back and climbed over me. You were bigger than I was, Markwardt."
The blind man stood for a long time, swallowing hoarsely. He said: "Parsons. By God. By God! I thought you—" And then he screamed fiendishly: "Yes. Maybe so. Maybe so. But I'm blind! I'm blind, and you've been standing here letting me talk to you, and laughing at me every minute! I'm blind!"
People in the street turned to stare at him.
"You got away, but I'm blind! Do you hear? I'm—"
"Well," said Mr. Parsons, "don't make such a row about it, Markwardt. ... So am I."