词汇：reading

n. 阅读，朗读；读物；读数

相关场景

There's a small reading fee for a few of the reviews.
>> 成人世界 Adult World (2013) Movie Script
San De is sitting down reading a Buddhist text. With a sigh, he puts it down. On the wall behind is hanging a Golden Sash.
>> 花旗小和尚 American Shaolin (1992) Movie Script
What's this I've been reading about you in the newspapers?
>> 美国往事Once Upon a Time in America Movie Script
CUT TO:
THE KID'S BEDROOM The Grandfather stops reading.
>> The Princess Bride Movie Script
GRANDFATHER: (off-screen, still reading) It was ten days till the wedding.
>> The Princess Bride Movie Script
CUT TO:
FLORIN CASTLE - NIGHT CAMERA HOLDS ON IT while we hear the Grandfather's voice reading.
>> The Princess Bride Movie Script
GRANDFATHER: (reading) "Do you know what that sound is, Highness?"
>> The Princess Bride Movie Script
GRANDFATHER: (off-screen reading) Five years later, the main square of Florin City was filled as never before to hear the announcement of the great Prince Humperdinck's bride-to be.
>> The Princess Bride Movie Script
GRANDFATHER: (off-screen reading) Westley didn't reach his destination. His ship was attacked by the Dread Pirate Roberts, who never left captives alive. When Buttercup got the news that Westley was murdered --
>> The Princess Bride Movie Script
GRANDFATHER: (off-screen reading) It was a very emotional time for Buttercup --
>> The Princess Bride Movie Script
(reading again) Westley had no money for marriage.
>> The Princess Bride Movie Script
GRANDFATHER: (off-screen reading) Nothing gave Buttercup as much pleasure as ordering Westley around.
>> The Princess Bride Movie Script
DISSOLVE TO: The story he's reading about, as the monochromatic look of the bedroom is replaced by the dazzling color of the English countryside.
>> The Princess Bride Movie Script
We've lost readings on the probe, Flight.
>> 火星救援 The Martian (2015) Movie Script
Am I reading that right?
>> 火星救援 The Martian (2015) Movie Script
She sat silently, not watching, while July sat just as silently. He could not help but wish that Dish Boggett had got lost in Wyoming or had somehow gone on to Texas. Hardly a day passed without him seeing what he thought were signs that Clara was taken with the man. Sooner or later, when Dish gave up on Lorena, he would be bound to notice. July felt helpless—there was nothing he could do about it. Sometimes he sat near Lorena, feeling that he had more in common with her than with anyone else at the ranch. She loved a dead man, he a woman who hardly noticed him. But whatever they had in common didn’t cause Lorena to so much as look his way. Lorena looked more beautiful than ever, but it was a grave beauty since news of the death had come. Only the young girl, Betsey, who loved Lorena completely, could occasionally bring a spark of life to her eyes. If Betsey was ill, Lorena nursed her tirelessly, taking her into her own bed and singing to her. They read stories together, Betsey doing the reading. Lorena could only piece out a few words—the sisters planned to teach her reading, but knew it would have to wait until she felt better.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
“It’s a soggy situation, I admit,” Augustus said, as if reading Pea Eye’s thoughts. “But it ain’t fatal yet. I could hold out here for a few days. Call could make it back to this creek in one ride on that feisty mare of his. Best thing for you to do would be just to travel at night. If you walk around in the daytime, some of these red boys might spot you and you’d have about the chance of a rabbit. I guess you could make it to the Yellowstone in three nights, though, and they ought to be there by then.” Pea Eye dreaded the prospect. He hated night travel, and it would be worse afoot. He began to hope that maybe the rainhad discouraged the Indians, but that hope only lasted an hour. Three times during the day the Indians fired on them.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
“I was never so married but what I could have managed a friend,” she said. “I want you to look at Bob before you go. The poor man’s laid up there for two months, wasting away.” The anger had died out of her eyes. She came and sat down in a chair, looking at him in the intent way she had, as if reading in his face the events of the fifteen years he had spent away from her.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
“Bad men would have a better team,” Clara said. “Find any colts?” Cholo shook his head. His hair was white—Clara had never been able to get his age out of him, but she imagined he was seventy-five at least, perhaps eighty. At night by the fire, with the work done, Cholo wove horsehair lariats. Clara loved to watch the way his fingers worked. When a horse died or had to be killed, Cholo always saved its mane and tail for his ropes. He could weave them of rawhide too, and once had made one for her of buckskin, although she didn’t rope. Bob had been puzzled by the gift—“Clara couldn’t rope a post,” he said—but Clara was not puzzled at all. She had been very pleased. It was a beautiful gift; Cholo had the finest manners. She knew he appreciated her as she appreciated him. That was the year she bought him the coat. Sometimes, reading her magazines, she would look up and see Cholo weaving a rope and imagine that if she ever did try to write a story she would write it about him. It would be very different from any of the stories she read in the English magazines.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
She longed, sometimes, to talk to a person who actually wrote stories and had them printed in magazines. It interested her to speculate how it was done: whether they used people they knew, or just made people up. Once she had even ordered some big writing tablets, thinking she might try it anyway, even if she didn’t know how, but that was in the hopeful years before her boys died. With all the work that had to be done she never actually sat down and tried to write anything—and then the boys died and her feeling changed. Once the sight of the writing tablets had made her hopeful, but after those deaths it ceased to matter. The tablets were just another reproach to her, something willful she had wanted. She burned the tablets one day, trembling with anger and pain, as if the paper and not the weather had been somehow responsible for the deaths of her boys. And, for a time, she stopped reading the magazines. The stories in them seemed hateful to her: how could people talk that way and spend their time going to balls and parties, when children died and had to be buried?
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
Reading stories by all the women, not only George Eliot, but Mrs. Gore and Mrs. Gaskell and Charlotte Yonge, she sometimes had a longing to do what those women did—write stories. But those women lived in cities or towns and had many friends and relatives nearby. It discouraged her to look out the window at the empty plains and reflect that even if she had the eloquence to write, and the time, she had nothing to write about. With Maude Jones dead, she seldom saw another woman, and had no relatives near except her husband and her children. There was an aunt in Cincinnati, but they only exchanged letters once or twice a year. Her characters would have to be the horses and the hens, if she ever wrote, for the menfolk that came by weren’t interesting enough to put in books, it seemed to her. None of them were capable of the kind of talk men managed in English novels.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
“Oh, shush,” Clara said. “The sun’s just been up five minutes.” She reflected that perhaps that was what she had held back—she had never become proficient at early rising, despite all the practice she’d had. She had got up dutifully and made breakfast for Bob and whatever hands happened to be there, but she was not at her best, and the breakfasts seldom arrived on the table in the orderly fashion that Bob expected. It was a relief to her when he went away on horse-trading expeditions and she could sleep late, or just lie in bed thinking and reading the magazines she ordered from the East or from England.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
“I’m the boss, that’s why I’ve got time to read,” the reading man said. “My name’s Wilbarger.” He wore iron-rimmed spectacles.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
“You’re too late, boys,” he said. “The hands just et me out of breakfast.” “Well, we’ve et,” July said, noticing for the first time a man sitting on a tarp by the ashes of the campfire. The unusual thing about the man was that he was reading a book. His horse, a fine-looking black, was saddled and grazing a few yards away.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇
As if reading his hunger from his expression, the girl quickly moved to strengthen her case. “I can catch varmints,” she said. “Bill taught me the trick. Mostly I can outrun ’em. I can fish if you’ve got a hook.”“Oh,” Roscoe said, “I guess you caught that possum then.” The girl shrugged. “I can walk faster than possums can run,” she said. “If we can get to the creek I’ll fix them stings.” The stings were burning like fire. Roscoe decided there would be no impropriety in letting the girl go as far as the creek.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇