Harald Kaas was sixty. His back became rounded, and he bent a little. His forehead, always of the broadest－no one else’s hat would fit him － was now one of the highest, that is to say, he had lost all his teeth, which were strong though small, and blackened by smoking. Now, instead of “deuce take it” he said “deush take it”. He had always held his hands half closed as though grasping something; now they stiffened so that he could never open them fully. The little finger of his left hand had been bitten off. According to Harald’s version of the story, the fellow swallowed the piece on the spot.
He was fond of showing off the left part, and it often served as an introduction to the history of brave adventures, which became greater and greater and greater as he grew older and quieter. His small sharp eyes were deep set and looked at one with great intensity. There was power in his individuality. He has no lack of self-respect.
His house, raised on an old foundation, looked out to the south over many islands; farther out were more islands and the open sea. Its eastern wing was barely half furnished, and the western inhabited by Harald Kaas. These wings were connected by a gallery, behind which were the fields and woods to the north.
In the gallery itself were heads of bears, wolves, foxes and lynxes and stuffed birds from land and sea. Skins and guns hung on the walls of the front room. The inner rooms were also full of skins and filled with the smell of wild animals and tobacco-smoke. Harald himself called it “man-smell”; no one who had once put his nose inside could ever forget it. Valuable and beautiful skins hung on the walls and sat, and walked on skins, and each one of them was a subject of conversation. Harald Kaas, seated in his log chair by the fireside, his feet on the bearskin, opened his shirt to show the scars on his hairy chest (and what scars they were) which had been made by a bears teeth, when he had driven his knife, right up to the end, into the monster’s heart. All the tables, and cupboards, and carved chairs listened in their silence.
68．Who or what most probably bit harald Kaass’ little finger off?
A．On of his fellow hunters
B．An adversary in a boxing match
C．A wild animal
D．One of his hunting dogs
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Harald Kaas was sixty. His back became rounded, and he bent a little. His forehead, always of the broadest－no one else’s hat would fit him － was now one of the highest, that is to say, he had lost all his teeth, which were strong though small, and blackened by smoking. Now, instead of “deuce take it” he said “deush take it”. He had always held his hands half closed as though grasping something; now they stiffened so that he could never open them fully. The little finger of his ldft hand had been bitten off. According to Harald’s version of the story, the fellow swallowed the piece on the spot.
He was fond of showing off the ldft part, and it often served as an introduction to the history of brave adventures, which became greater and greater and greater as he grew older and quieter. His small sharp eyes were deep set and looked at one with great intensity. There wsa power in his individuality. He has no lack of self-respect.
His house, raised on an old foundation, looked out to the south over many islands; farther out were more islands and the open sea. Its eastern wing was barely half furnished, and the western inhabited by Harald Kaas. These wings were connected by a gallery, behind which were the fields and woods to the north.
In the gallery itself were heads of bears, wolves, foxes and lynxes and stuffed birds from land and sea. Skins and guns hung on the walls of the front room. The inner rooms were also full of skins and filled with the smell of wild animals and tobacco-smoke. Harald himself called it “man-smell”; no one who had once put his nose inside could ever forget it. Valuable and beautiful skins hung on the walls and sat, and walked on skins, and each one of them was a subject of conversation. Harald Kaas, seated in his log chair by the fireside, his feet on the bearskin, opened his shirt to show the scars on his hairy chest (and what scars they were) which had been made by a bears teeth, when he had driven his knife, right up to the end, into the monster’s heart. All the tables, and cupboards, and carved chairs listened in their silence.
68．Who or what most probably bit harald Kaass’ little finger off?
A．On of his fellow hunters
B．An adversary in a boxing match
C．A wild animal
D．One of his hunting dogs
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