Runaway逃離 英文原版 [平裝] pdf epub mobi txt 電子書 下載 2025

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☆☆☆☆☆

Alice Munro（艾麗絲·門羅） 著

圖書標籤:

• 懸疑
• 驚悚
• 心理驚悚
• 傢庭關係
• 失蹤
• 秘密
• 平裝書
• 英文原版
• Runaway
• 逃離

齣版社： Vintage Books

ISBN：9781400077915

商品編碼：19352525

包裝：平裝

叢書名： Vintage Contemporaries

齣版時間：2005-11-08

用紙：膠版紙

頁數：335

正文語種：英文

商品尺寸：1.9x14x19.1cm

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　　逃離，或許是舊的結束。或許是新的開始。
　　或許隻是一些微不足道的瞬間，就像看戲路上放鬆的腳步，就像午後窗邊悵然的嚮往。

內容簡介

The incomparable Alice Munro’s bestselling and rapturously acclaimed Runaway is a book of extraordinary stories about love and its infinite betrayals and surprises, from the title story about a young woman who, though she thinks she wants to, is incapable of leaving her husband, to three stories about a woman named Juliet and the emotions that complicate the luster of her intimate relationships. In Munro’s hands, the people she writes about–women of all ages and circumstances, and their friends, lovers, parents, and children–become as vivid as our own neighbors. It is her miraculous gift to make these stories as real and unforgettable as our own.

　　逃離，或許是舊的結束。或許是新的開始。或許隻是一些微不足道的瞬間，就像看戲路上放鬆的腳步，就像午後窗邊悵然的嚮往。
　　卡拉，十八歲從父母傢齣走，如今又打算逃脫丈夫和婚姻； 硃麗葉，放棄學術生涯，毅然投奔在火車上偶遇的鄉間男子；佩內洛普，從小與母親相依為命，某一天忽然消失得再無蹤影；格雷斯，已然談婚論嫁，卻在一念之間與未婚夫的哥哥齣逃瞭一個下午……
　　一次次逃離的閃念，就是這樣無法預知，無從招架，或許你早已被它們悄然逆轉，或許你早已將它們輕輕遺忘。

作者簡介

**Winner of the Nobel Prize in Literature**
Alice Munro grew up in Wingham, Ontario, and attended the University of Western Ontario. She has published eleven new collections of stories-Dance of the Happy Shades; Something I've Been Meaning to Tell You; The Beggar Maid; The Moons of Jupiter; The Progress of Love; Friend of My Youth; Open Secrets; The Love of a Good Woman; Hateship, Friendship, Courtship, Loveship, Marriage; Runaway; and a volume of Selected Stories-as well as a novel, Lives of Girls and Women. During her distinguished career she has been the recipient of many awards and prizes, including the Man Booker International Prize, three of Canada's Governor General's Literary Awards and two of its Giller Prizes, the Rea Award for the Short Story, the Lannan Literary Award, England's W. H. Smith Book Award, the United States' National Book Critics Circle Award, and the Edward MacDowell Medal in literature. Her stories have appeared in The New Yorker, The Atlantic Monthly, The Paris Review, and other publications, and her collections have been translated into thirteen languages.
Alice Munro divides her time between Clinton, Ontario, near Lake Huron, and Comox, British Columbia.

　　艾麗絲·門羅（Alice Munro，1931.07.10~），加拿大女作傢，被稱為“加拿大的契科夫”。艾麗絲·門羅1931年生於加拿大加拿大渥太華，大部分時間都在這個安靜的城市度過，少女時代即開始寫小說。門羅以短篇小說見長，截至2013年10月，創作瞭11部短篇小說集和1部類似故事集的長篇小說。1968年，門羅發錶第一部短篇小說集《快樂影子舞》(Dance of the Happy Shades)，並獲得加拿大總督文學奬。其代錶作有《好蔭涼之舞》和《逃離》。門羅多次獲奬，其中包括三次加拿大總督奬，兩次吉勒奬，以及英聯邦作傢奬、歐亨利奬、筆會馬拉穆德奬和美國全國書評人奬等。2009年獲得第三屆布剋國際奬。
　　2013年10月10日，艾麗絲·門羅獲得2013年諾貝爾文學奬，獲奬理由是：“當代短篇小說大師。”愛麗絲·門羅是諾貝爾文學奬曆史上獲此殊榮的第13位女性作傢。

精彩書評

There seems nothing missing in this yet again brilliant collection...a literary inspiration'
-- Lorrie Moore

'Alice Munro has a strong claim to being the best fiction wirter in North America. Runaway is a marvel'
-- Jonathan Franzen

'Her genius cannot be denied...The contemporary writer I admire above all others'
-- Paul Bailey, The Independent

'Magic...It is a beautiful, echoing collection, and a demonstration of perfected and unflinching form'
-- Ali Smith, Scotsman

'The stories of Alice Munro make everyone else's look like the work of babies'
-- Ethan Canin

　　她是我們這個時代最偉大的短篇小說作傢。
　　——A.S.拜雅特（《隱之書》作者，布剋奬得主）

　　被中斷的人生、歲月的痕跡、生命的殘酷……艾麗絲·門羅達到瞭無以倫比的高度。
　　——《紐約時報》（美）

　　每讀艾麗絲·門羅的小說，便知道生命中曾經疏忽遺忘太多事情。
　　——布剋國際奬評語

　　令人難以忘懷的作品：語言精細獨到，情節樸實優美，令人迴味無窮。
　　——吉勒奬評語

　　喬伊斯，力壓契訶夫，每個故事中都是一個豐沛的人生。
　　——《波士頓環球報》（美）

精彩書摘

Carla heard the car coming before it topped the little rise in the road that around here they called a hill. It’s her, she thought. Mrs. Jamieson—Sylvia—home from her holiday in Greece. From the barn door—but far enough inside that she could not readily be seen—she watched the road Mrs. Jamieson would have to drive by on, her place being half a mile farther along the road than Clark and Carla’s.

If it was somebody getting ready to turn in at their gate it would be slowing down by now. But still Carla hoped. Let it not be her.

It was. Mrs. Jamieson turned her head once, quickly—she had all she could do maneuvering her car through the ruts and puddles the rain had made in the gravel—but she didn’t lift a hand off the wheel to wave, she didn’t spot Carla. Carla got a glimpse of a tanned arm bare to the shoulder, hair bleached a lighter color than it had been before, more white now than silver-blond, and an expression that was determined and exasperated and amused at her own exasperation—just the way Mrs. Jamieson would look negotiating such a road. When she turned her head there was something like a bright flash—of inquiry, of hopefulness—that made Carla shrink back.

So.

Maybe Clark didn’t know yet. If he was sitting at the computer he would have his back to the window and the road.

But Mrs. Jamieson might have to make another trip. Driv- ing home from the airport, she might not have stopped for groceries—not until she’d been home and figured out what she needed. Clark might see her then. And after dark, the lights of her house would show. But this was July, and it didn’t get dark till late. She might be so tired that she wouldn’t bother with the lights, she might go to bed early.

On the other hand, she might telephone. Any time now.

This was the summer of rain and more rain. You heard it first thing in the morning, loud on the roof of the mobile home. The trails were deep in mud, the long grass soaking, leaves overhead sending down random showers even in those moments when there was no actual downpour from the sky and the clouds looked like clearing. Carla wore a high, wide-brimmed old Australian felt hat every time she went outside, and tucked her long thick braid down her shirt.

Nobody showed up for trail rides, even though Clark and Carla had gone around posting signs in all the camping sites, in the cafes, and on the tourist office billboard and anywhere else they could think of. Only a few pupils were coming for lessons and those were regulars, not the batches of schoolchildren on vacation, the busloads from summer camps, that had kept them going through last summer. And even the regulars that they counted on were taking time off for holiday trips, or simply cancelling their lessons because of the weather being so discouraging. If they called too late, Clark charged them for the time anyway. A couple of them had complained, and quit for good.

There was still some income from the three horses that were boarded. Those three, and the four of their own, were out in the field now, poking around in the grass under the trees. They looked as if they couldn’t be bothered to notice that the rain was holding off for the moment, the way it often did for a while in the afternoon. Just enough to get your hopes up—the clouds whitening and thinning and letting through a diffuse brightness that never got around to being real sunshine, and was usually gone before supper.

Carla had finished mucking out in the barn. She had taken her time—she liked the rhythm of her regular chores, the high space under the barn roof, the smells. Now she went over to the exercise ring to see how dry the ground was, in case the five o’clock pupil did show up.

Most of the steady showers had not been particularly heavy, or borne on any wind, but last week there had come a sud- den stirring and then a blast through the treetops and a nearly horizontal blinding rain. In a quarter of an hour the storm had passed over. But branches lay across the road, hydro lines were down, and a large chunk of the plastic roofing over the ring had been torn loose. There was a puddle like a lake at that end of the track, and Clark had worked until after dark, digging a channel to drain it away.

The roof had not yet been repaired. Clark had strung fence wire across to keep the horses from getting into the mud, and Carla had marked out a shorter track.

On the Web, right now, Clark was hunting for someplace to buy roofing. Some salvage outlet, with prices that they could afford, or somebody trying to get rid of such material secondhand. He would not go to Hy and Robbert Buckley’s Building Supply in town, which he called Highway Robbers Buggery Supply, because he owed them too much money and had had a fight with them.

Clark had fights not just with the people he owed money to. His friendliness, compelling at first, could suddenly turn sour. There were places he would not go into, where he always made Carla go, because of some row. The drugstore was one such place. An old woman had pushed in front of him—that is, she had gone to get something she’d forgotten and come back and pushed in front, rather than going to the end of the line, and he had complained, and the cashier had said to him, “She has emphysema,” and Clark had said, “Is that so? I have piles, myself,” and the manager had been summoned, to say that was uncalled-for. And in the coffee shop out on the highway the advertised breakfast discount had not been allowed, because it was past eleven o’clock in the morning, and Clark had argued and then dropped his takeout cup of coffee on the floor—just missing, so they said, a child in its stroller. He said the child was half a mile away and he dropped the cup because no cuff had been provided. They said he had not asked for a cuff. He said he shouldn’t have had to ask.

“You flare up,” said Carla.

“That’s what men do.”

She had not said anything to him about his row with Joy Tucker. Joy Tucker was the librarian from town who boarded her horse with them. The horse was a quick-tempered little chestnut mare named Lizzie—Joy Tucker, when she was in a jokey mood, called her Lizzie Borden. Yesterday she had driven out, not in a jokey mood at all, and complained about the roof’s not being fixed yet, and Lizzie looking miserable, as if she might have caught a chill.

There was nothing the matter with Lizzie, actually. Clark had tried—for him—to be placating. But then it was Joy Tucker who flared up and said that their place was a dump, and Lizzie deserved better, and Clark said, “Suit yourself.” Joy had not—or not yet—removed Lizzie, as Carla had expected. But Clark, who had formerly made the little mare his pet, had refused to have anything more to do with her. Lizzie’s feelings were hurt, in consequence—she was balky when exercised and kicked up a fuss when her hoofs had to be picked out, as they did every day, lest they develop a fungus. Carla had to watch out for nips.

But the worst thing as far as Carla was concerned was the absence of Flora, the little white goat who kept the horses company in the barn and in the fields. There had not been any sign of her for two days. Carla was afraid that wild dogs or coyotes had got her, or even a bear.

She had dreamt of Flora last night and the night before. In the first dream Flora had walked right up to the bed with a red apple in her mouth, but in the second dream—last night—she had run away when she saw Carla coming. Her leg seemed to be hurt but she ran anyway. She led Carla to a barbed-wire barricade of the kind that might belong on some battlefield, and then she—Flora—slipped through it, hurt leg and all, just slithered through like a white eel and disappeared.

The horses had seen Carla go across to the ring and they had all moved up to the fence—looking bedraggled in spite of their New Zealand blankets—so that she would take notice of them on her way back. She talked quietly to them, apologizing for coming empty-handed. She stroked their necks and rubbed their noses and asked whether they knew anything about Flora.

Grace and Juniper snorted and nuzzled up, as if they recognized the name and shared her concern, but then Lizzie butted in between them and knocked Grace’s head away from Carla’s petting hand. She gave the hand a nip for good measure, and Carla had to spend some time scolding her.

Up until three years ago Carla never really looked at mobile homes. She didn’t call them that, either. Like her parents, she would have thought “mobile home” pretentious. Some people lived in trailers, and that was all there was to it. One trailer was no different from another. When Carla moved in here, when she chose this life with Clark, she began to see things in a new way. After that she started saying “mobile home” and she looked to see how people had fixed them up. The kind of curtains they had hung, the way they had painted the trim, the ambitious decks or patios or extra rooms that had been built on. She could hardly wait to get at such improvements herself.

Clark had gone along with her ideas, for a while. He had built new steps, and spent a lot of time looking for an old wrought-iron railing for them. He didn’t make any complaint about the money spent on paint for the kitchen and bathroom or the material for curtains. Her paint job was hasty—she didn’t know, at that time, that you should take the hinges off the cupboard doors. Or that you should line the curtains, which had since faded.

What Clark balked at was tearing up the carpet, which was the same in every room and the thing that she had most counted on replacing. It was divided into small brown squares, each with a pattern of darker brown and rust and tan...

好的，這是一部關於在廣袤的荒野中求生與自我發現的史詩級冒險小說。 《迷途之徑：荒野迴響》 作者：艾莉絲·範寜 譯者：[虛構譯者姓名] 齣版社：[虛構齣版社名稱] 齣版日期：[虛構日期] --- 內容簡介 在現代文明的喧囂與舒適中，總有一些靈魂深處的聲音在呼喚著未知的遠方。然而，很少有人能真正鼓起勇氣，割斷與現有生活的一切聯係，義無反顧地踏入那片被時間遺忘的蠻荒之地。 《迷途之徑：荒野迴響》講述瞭建築師卡萊布·霍姆斯的故事。卡萊布，一個在鋼筋水泥的叢林中摸爬滾打二十年的精英，成功、體麵，卻感到生命被一種無形的、令人窒息的倦怠感所吞噬。某日，他收到一封來自他素未謀麵的祖父留下的信件，信中隻有一張手繪的地圖和一句簡潔的指示：“找到它，方能找到你自己。” 這張地圖指嚮瞭北美洲西北部，一片以其極端氣候、變幻莫測的地理環境以及幾乎與世隔絕的原始生態而聞名的偏遠山脈——“寂靜之脊”。卡萊布做齣瞭一個令所有同事和親友震驚的決定：辭去工作，清空所有資産，購買瞭一批最基礎的戶外裝備，毅然決然地踏上瞭這段旅程。 第一部分：文明的崩塌與重塑 故事的開篇，卡萊布的旅程充滿瞭新手常犯的錯誤。他過高地估計瞭自己的體能，低估瞭荒野的嚴酷性。他攜帶的物資很快在一次突如其來的山洪中損失殆盡。被睏在人煙稀少的峽榖中，飢餓、寒冷和恐懼如同毒蛇般纏繞著他。 在這裏，他遇到瞭伊萊亞斯，一位神秘的老獵人，據說是這片山脈的“活地圖”。伊萊亞斯帶著一種近乎哲學傢的冷靜和對自然的深刻敬畏，開始“教導”卡萊布如何真正地活下去。這不是生存手冊上的技巧，而是關於傾聽風聲、辨識植物、理解動物行為的古老智慧。卡萊布必須拋棄他引以為傲的邏輯和規劃能力，轉而依靠直覺和本能。他的身體經曆瞭極限的重塑，皮膚被風霜雕刻，肌肉被磨練得如同岩石般堅韌。 第二部分：寂靜之脊的秘密 隨著卡萊布逐漸適應瞭荒野的節奏，他開始深入“寂靜之脊”的腹地。他發現這片山脈不僅是地理上的障礙，更是一個充滿曆史迴響的地方。他發現瞭被遺棄的礦井、被雨水侵蝕的印第安部落遺跡，以及一些關於早期探險傢失蹤的民間傳說。 祖父的地圖指引他尋找一個被稱為“迴音湖”的地點。在穿越一片布滿巨大冰川融水的苔原時，卡萊布必須獨自麵對一場突如其來的暴風雪。在這段被睏的絕境中，他開始迴憶自己逃離的“文明生活”：被無休止的會議占據的時間，對升職的焦慮，以及一段未能挽迴的感情。荒野的孤獨迫使他直麵內心最深處的恐懼和遺憾。他意識到，他逃離的或許不是工作，而是那個活在他人期待中的自己。 第三部分：邊界的模糊 在接近“迴音湖”的過程中，卡萊布與伊萊亞斯發生瞭理念上的衝突。伊萊亞斯堅持認為，人類的最高境界是融入自然，成為其不可分割的一部分，而不應試圖“徵服”或“標記”任何事物。而卡萊布，盡管心嚮自然，卻仍保留著探險傢試圖“到達終點”的執念。 “迴音湖”並非一個壯麗的景觀，而是一個隱藏在瀑布後的洞穴群。在這裏，卡萊布找到瞭祖父留下的最終遺物：不是金銀財寶，而是一本厚厚的皮革日記。日記詳細記錄瞭祖父當年並非是“迷失”於此，而是主動選擇留下來，體驗一種不受現代社會乾擾的生活。祖父寫道：“真正的逃離，不是跑得更遠，而是將你的內心安頓在最需要它的地方。” 第四部分：抉擇與迴歸 日記的結尾，祖父並沒有給齣明確的指引，隻留下一個問題：“你現在找到瞭你‘要找的’東西，那麼，你‘要做’什麼？” 卡萊布站在“迴音湖”畔，麵臨著他生命中最艱難的抉擇：是永遠留在這片他已深愛的土地上，追隨祖父的足跡，與伊萊亞斯一起過著與世隔絕的生活？還是帶著這片荒野賦予他的平靜與力量，重返他曾拋棄的都市？ 故事的後半段聚焦於卡萊布的內在轉變。他不再是那個為KPI焦慮的白領，他學會瞭耐心、謙遜和真正的獨立。他與荒野建立瞭一種深刻的、相互尊重的關係。 最終，卡萊布選擇瞭一條齣乎所有人意料的道路。他帶著從自然中學到的建築理念——與環境和諧共存、使用可持續的材料、尊重土地的承載力——離開瞭“寂靜之脊”。他沒有完全迴歸都市的快節奏，而是選擇在文明的邊緣地帶，建立一個小型的工作室，緻力於設計真正尊重生態、能夠讓人類與自然重新對話的居住空間。 《迷途之徑：荒野迴響》 是一部關於自我救贖、環境哲學和人性韌性的深刻作品。它提醒讀者，真正的冒險不在於抵達地圖上的終點，而在於在徹底迷失之後，重新發現自己的坐標係。這是一場穿越冰川、河流與內心迷宮的史詩之旅，展示瞭在極緻的孤獨中，人如何重新學習如何成為一個完整的人。 --- 主題提煉： 自然的力量與人類的謙卑： 對比現代社會的過度自信與荒野的殘酷法則。 探險的真正目的： 探索物質世界的邊界是為瞭界定精神世界的疆域。 技能的傳承與重構： 傳統生存智慧與現代思維的碰撞與融閤。 孤獨與自我認知： 隻有在絕對的安靜中，纔能聽見內心最真實的聲音。 本書適閤所有對戶外探險、生存文學、心理成長和環境倫理感興趣的讀者。它將帶你進行一場身體與靈魂的雙重洗禮。

評分☆☆☆☆☆

拿到《Runaway逃離》的平裝版本，我第一眼就被它的封麵設計所吸引。那種簡約卻極富視覺衝擊力的風格，仿佛在第一時間就將故事的基調定格。我不太喜歡那種過於復雜或者寫實風格的封麵，而這個封麵恰恰擊中瞭我的審美點。簡單的圖形和色彩搭配，卻能營造齣一種強大的張力，讓人不由自主地想要去瞭解背後的故事。書的紙張選擇也讓我驚喜，觸感細膩，翻頁時發齣輕微的沙沙聲，這是我獨愛的閱讀體驗。而且，它不是那種容易留下指紋的封麵，保持清潔也變得簡單。我把這本書放在我的書桌上，它不僅僅是一本書，更像是一個藝術品，為我的工作空間增添瞭一抹亮色。我期待它能像它的封麵一樣，在故事的推進中，也能夠保持這種簡潔而深刻的力量，讓我沉浸其中，無法自拔。這種對於書籍外觀的重視，也讓我相信，作者在內容上也同樣會下足功夫，帶來一場精彩絕倫的閱讀盛宴。

評分☆☆☆☆☆

我特彆喜歡《Runaway逃離》的這個平裝版本。書的整體外觀設計簡潔而有力，封麵沒有太多繁雜的元素，卻能準確地傳達齣一種引人入勝的氣息。我一直認為，一本好的書籍，它的封麵設計就如同一個故事的序章，能夠瞬間抓住讀者的眼球，激起他們的探索欲望。這本書就做到瞭這一點。紙張的質量也相當不錯，手感溫潤，翻頁時不會發齣刺耳的聲音，而且墨跡清晰，長時間閱讀也不會覺得眼睛疲勞。我把這本書放在我的書架上，它和我的其他藏書擺在一起，顯得格外突齣，充滿瞭吸引力。這種對細節的追求，也讓我對這本書的內容更加充滿信心，我知道，這不僅僅是一次簡單的閱讀，更可能是一次心靈的觸動，一次深刻的體驗。這本書的質感，讓我對即將開啓的閱讀之旅充滿瞭期待。

評分☆☆☆☆☆

這本《Runaway逃離》的平裝版本，在我拿到手的那一刻，就有一種沉甸甸的滿足感。書頁的質感很舒服，不是那種廉價的紙張，翻閱起來帶著一種淡淡的書香，讓我瞬間就沉浸在瞭即將開始的閱讀之旅中。封麵設計也相當吸引人，簡單的綫條勾勒齣一個充滿張力的場景，暗示著故事中隱藏的驚險與不安。我喜歡這種簡潔但充滿力量的設計，它不像那些花哨的書皮那樣喧賓奪主，而是恰到好處地激發瞭讀者的好奇心。盡管我還沒來得及深入閱讀，但僅憑這初步的觸感和視覺體驗，我已經對作者構建的世界充滿瞭期待。我知道，好的故事往往始於一個引人入勝的開端，而這本《Runaway逃離》無疑已經成功地做到瞭這一點。它的存在本身，就像一個等待被點燃的引信，讓我迫不及待地想去探尋它所帶來的震撼。在快節奏的生活中，擁有一本能夠讓人暫時抽離，沉浸其中的紙質書籍，本身就是一種奢侈的享受。我把這本書放在床頭，每天睡前都要翻上幾頁，感受它獨特的魅力，為即將到來的深度閱讀做足心理準備。

評分☆☆☆☆☆

《Runaway逃離》的平裝版本，手感非常棒。書的尺寸也剛剛好，不會太大顯得笨重，也不會太小顯得不夠大氣，非常適閤隨身攜帶，或者在傢裏的沙發上悠閑地閱讀。書頁的厚度適中，不會過於透明，也不會太厚導緻翻頁睏難。翻開書頁，能聞到一股淡淡的油墨香，這是實體書獨有的味道，瞬間就能讓人進入一種放鬆的狀態。我喜歡在夜晚，泡上一杯熱茶，然後捧著這本《Runaway逃離》，在柔和的燈光下，慢慢品味其中的文字。這種體驗是電子設備無法給予的。書本的裝訂也很牢固，不用擔心會散頁。總之，這是一本從拿在手裏到翻開閱讀，都充滿質感和愉悅感的書。它讓我感受到一種迴歸傳統的閱讀樂趣，也讓我更加期待書中精彩的故事內容。

評分☆☆☆☆☆

《Runaway逃離》的平裝版，對於我這個喜歡收集實體書的人來說，簡直就是一件藝術品。書的裝幀非常精緻，每一頁的印刷都清晰銳利，文字排列整齊，沒有絲毫的模糊感，這點對於長時間閱讀非常重要。邊緣的處理也相當到位，摸起來順滑，不會有毛刺感。握在手裏，能感受到它紮實的工藝，這種踏實感是電子書無法比擬的。我喜歡它的重量，不輕不重，剛剛好，適閤放在膝蓋上或者捧在手中閱讀。封麵圖案的細節也處理得相當齣色，光澤度恰到好處，在燈光下會泛起微妙的光暈，更添幾分神秘感。從外在的包裝到內在的觸感，都透露齣一種對品質的追求。我相信，一本精心製作的書籍，往往能為閱讀體驗增色不少，讓讀者在接觸故事之前，就能感受到一種儀式感。這種對細節的關注，也讓我對書的內容更加充滿信心，覺得作者一定也是一個對自己作品一絲不苟的人。在書架上，它擺放起來也格格不入，與其他書籍和諧共處，成為我藏書中的亮點。

評分☆☆☆☆☆

還沒有讀呢

評分☆☆☆☆☆

比較寫實

評分☆☆☆☆☆

送貨快，價格劃算，東西不錯！

評分☆☆☆☆☆

不錯，送貨速遞非常快，以後還在京東買

評分☆☆☆☆☆

不錯不錯不錯

評分☆☆☆☆☆

我們終將原諒這個世界，原諒我們自己。因為，我們一直以如此善意對待的生活，終將以善意迴饋你我。

評分☆☆☆☆☆

買上癮瞭，京東搞活動的時候，就忍不住，囤書總是有用處的吧?(?^o^?)?

評分☆☆☆☆☆

好。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。

評分☆☆☆☆☆

書挺貴的，本來滿懷期待，結果發現是盜版書，很失望！